#saved a woman and she turned into his stalker

[zadien]

I find it fascinating that a whole plot line in season six episode one was dedicated to Nolan having the last shift "curse". Nolan, of all people. Like that wasn't just a normal day for him. Like he's not the most cursed man in the precinct. No disrespect or anything, but Nolan made an enemy of the entire Motor Dept in the first season because he couldn't stop destroying his shop. He went on holiday and found himself in a gun fight. The man is a trouble magnet but no, it was the curse of the last shift.

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

I love Spike so much. He's the most character of all time. But it's more than that. He's more than bleached hair, a pretty face, and bloodlust. He makes sense. The character makes sense.

He's William. He's still, despite it all, William Pratt, the god-awful poet and pathetic wet cat of a man under the thumb of mommy his whole life. He just wants to be loved and held and to satiate his unending bloodlust. He's not the big bad. He's pathetic.

He's burnt out on all the plots and schemes. Plots and schemes are Angel's thing. Serving some grand evil purpose is Darla's thing. Cruelty is Drusilla's thing. William Pratt is a poet and a mama's boy who just wants a strong woman to love him and tell him what to do. He's tired. He's so tired of the plots and schemes.

Sure, he knows how to have a good time, he plays kitten poker and sells demon eggs to the highest bidder but that's a matter of making money or hanging out with friends. It's not what he WANTS. The only thing he wants is to be loved by someone who loves him back. The problem is, he's toxic and obsessive. He doesn't fall in love. He becomes consumed. His whole world revolves around the object of his obsession. So when he's with Drusilla, he's the big bad evil guy doing schemes. Trying to impress her with extreme violence and death. Because that's what Drusilla is into. Torture and death. She's Catholic. And a vampire.

He also tries to impress Angel by killing Slayers because Angel is into Slayers and Angel and Spike canonically slept together don't at me. This man is bisexual.

When he's with Buffy he's a loyal dog. A bad boy, a part of the demonic world, but a dog nonetheless. He's a soulless monster but his obsession with Buffy turns him into one of the good guys. It's not natural for him. He feels it happening and he fights against it, but he's madly in love with her and he will be and do whatever it takes to impress her and make her love him back. He's obsessive.

He knows it, and he doesn't like that side of himself. He doesn't like that he's a pathetic dog. Sometimes he pushes against that side of himself. He tries to be a good person, for real. Not just a pathetic stalker of a man.

But he can't fight it. He is what he is.

And unfortunately that is a soulless vampire.

Hence that one scene that I pretend didn't happen.

But despite being definitionally evil, he can't stop being consumed the person he's obsessed with. Buffy wants him to have a soul. She wants him to not be the monster he is. So he rips William Pratt from his grave and resurrects him for her. He goes through hell to put his soul back inside his body for her. It takes her a long time to accept him again after what he did.

But he's the good boy now. He's a good dog.

Only she doesn't see him that way. In the end, he has her trust. Her love. She cares about him and sees him as her equal. As someone she can trust. She can't trust her friends because they're messy and constantly fucking up and betraying her because they don't understand what it is to be The Slayer. To have a human body and a human soul, with demonic power inside, and the divine mandate to sacrifice yourself for others, to save the world. No matter what that does to you.

Spike has a human soul, a demon inside him, trauma, and a divine mission to save the world. To sacrifice himself for everyone.

Spike is the only one who understands Buffy, and maybe the only one who ever will.

He's the perfect culmination of all her other relationships.

He fucks. Unlike Angel, Spike can fuck. He can experience joy alongside her.

He respects her strength and isn't emasculated or intimidated by the fact that she's stronger than him. He loves that she defeated a god. Unlike fucking Riley.

He's lived lifetimes worth of traumatic experiences. But he isn't currently experiencing an ongoing mental health crisis like Faith was.

And he likes poetry!

They even have the same ex boyfriend!

In conclusion He and Buffy are both the most character of all time and the narrative's favorites and therefore they are both perfect for each other and have the potential to be extremely toxic together and I'm so happy for them, I hope she pegs him, I know he would love that.

[hotwings0203]

"I swear, if she had just stayed with the group like a normal person would, she would've saved herself at least 30 more minutes of screentime," your friend says on the other side of the couch.

In retaliation, you playfully chuck a few kernels of popcorn at him and gesture wildly at the screen. "It's the classic bimbo trope! She's wearing a miniskirt and high heels in the forest for gods sake, it practically screams 'Murder me!' on her clothes."

You both squabble for a few minutes like this until the sound of violins coming from the t.v. cues you in for the next foreboding jumpscare. Both sets of eyes turn back to the dimly lit screen and lock in on the gore-fest about to unfold.

The main heroine cautiously creaks a door open in front of a tunnel and warbles out, "H-hello? Is anyone there?"

It's so cliche you could roll your eyes, but yet your heart is still pumping...

And your "friend's" body shifting a mere few inches away from you isn't helping the palpitations.

The two of you had been dancing around each other the past few months in some sort of premature courting method, the flirty remarks and jeers from your mutual friends egging you both on to seal the deal and admit your feelings for one another.

But, like every young romance blooms, the fear of wilt is just as strong.

And so you opt to get as close as you can to the real thing by being satisfied with his arm not-so-subtly thrown over the back of the couch , so softly playing with the ends of your hair so as to not disturb you.

You can barely focus though, as the girl on the screen inches closer to the end of tunnel, the boy behind you also creeps his other idle hand towards yours resting on the cushion.

It takes an incredible amount of effort to keep your breathing even and hands still as you watch from the corner of your eye as his veiny hands trail closer...his fingers outstretching towards yours...and...

Rrrriiinnngggg!

It's like a tidal wave comes crashing down as the woman on screen screams in tandem with your phone ringing.

You feign a groan as you shoot the disappointed man on your couch an apologetic wince, and try not to let your heart fall as he nods back with a barely understanding grimace. You round the couch and let the movie continue playing as you hit the green button and pick up the intruding call.

"Hello?" You snipe.

"Get rid of him."

For the second time in the night, your heart falters, but the former experience is something you'd beg for rather than this.

"H-how did you know someone's at my house?" Your voice drops to a shaky whisper and you throw a panicked glance into the living room to ensure that your lover/friend hasn't picked up on your tone. You duck into your bedroom and close the door slightly, your hands trembling as you do so.

The gravely voice on the other end chuckles, but the sound has anything but mirth in it.

"That's a funny way to phrase it sweetheart. Your question makes it seem as though I stopped keeping tabs on you."

A minute-long silence ensues after that, your mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. There's no sound except for the low hum in the background of your living room, and your caller's shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"You begged so nicely last time for me to leave you alone, even made it to the cops at one point. I granted you a shred of mercy, a bit of pity after the cops failed to take your report seriously- I mean, I don't blame them. Their time is precious, y'know? They've got bigger things to worry about than a dumb little girl whining about some invisible stalker jizzing all over her and her room when she sleeps," he snickers meanly at the sound of your choked gasps.

The taunting of your trauma is a slap to the face, a wound cut open again. You thought you got rid of this anonymous stalker a couple months back, you thought a police report and growing reclusive from your social life would dissuade any unwanted interactions from this psycho. You felt backed into a corner, dirty and ashamed as the threatening calls became more frequent. Love letters with ominous fluids coating the expanse of the papers started showing up at your front door when you changed your number. He'd attach polaroids of you in your undergarments, when you'd shower, when you'd cook, and so many other unassuming intimate domestic scenes in the envelope, and then when you couldn't take the terror anymore...it stopped.

The calls, the letters, the pictures, all of it...poof.

You had slowly started to hope that he had gotten bored of you and the lack of social life, lack of thrill in general at you losing your color.

With that hope, came bravery. Your friends started coming around again, the parties ensued, you switched your college class from virtual to in-person again, you even met the guy nestled comfortably on your couch currently.

"How many bodies did you think you could hide behind?"

The voice on the other end of the phone croons softly, but pulls you just as violently out of your dread.

"What do you want?" comes your shaky whisper, your fingers gripping the phone tighter in sync with your throat closing up.

"Ohhh sweetheart, now that's a loaded question. You and I have all the time in the world to uncover that, but your boy toy on the other hand..." His teasing lilt twists lower into something akin to a growl, and you can't help the whimper that escapes you.

You don't want to find out what his threat alludes to, or how serious he is.

Slow-burn romance be damned.

"J-just give me a few minutes-"

"Now."

Your teeth sink into your lips to hold back a frantic curse as you duck your head out the doorway to check on the living room.

He's still there, unassumingly checking his phone.

"Okay, okay. I-I'll tell him something came up, just dont-"

Your voice catches in your throat and you force yourself to swallow, taking in a deep breath at the sound of your stalker's pleased hum on the other end of the line.

"I'm watching you. Don't try to pull anything smart with me, unless you're eager to taste my blade in addition to my cock."

You blanch as the call ends, and try to quickly blink away tears of frustration. Wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts, you inhale deeply again before turning the knob and opening the door to the living room.

Rounding the couch, you softly pad your way to your lover and force the tense muscles in your back and arms to loosen, not wanting to give any indication that something's very, very wrong.

"Heyyy, you're back!" He drawls with a loose smile on his face. "Thought the movie scared you too bad and you ran off."

You force yourself to let out a faux chuckle and try to prevent your smile from looking too strained. He seems to unfortunately notice it though, because a crinkle appears between his brows and he sits up, tossing the phone in his hands aside.

"Woah, you okay? Did something happen?"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. Actually, this is really embarrassing but one of my girls called and I think she's blackout drunk at the bar near downtown, I gotta head out and pick her up. I had no idea I'd be on babysitter duty tonight, I'm so sorry," You frantically wave his concern off and try for another carefree laugh, but your shaking hands are a dead giveaway.

He stands up and grasps your hands tightly in his, the large and smooth planes of his palms enveloping yours before you can react. Your head spins as the realization of him touching you for the first time under these less-than-ideal conditions overwhelms you.

"Hey, y/n, look at me-no, look- you're okay, alright? It's no big deal, we can always finish the movie another time, seriously."

And before you can move back to save him, he leans forwards and pecks your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second the door closes shut, your phone rings.

Your hand, still on the door handle, drifts up to your lips as you nibble on your nails haphazardly.

You're terrified to know the consequences you elicited. You don't wanna pick up.

And yet, you know if you don't, he's capable of so much worse.

Your thumb slides on the green button when his voice breaks through the call with barely-concealed rage, the waver of fury coating his venom as he spits, "He touched you. He kissed you."

"I tried to back away! I tried to-"

"And I tried playing nice, but looks like we both failed each other, huh?"

The excuse dies in your throat as his hiss overpowers yours.

"I should carve his fucking lips out for touching whats mine," he continues after a beat, an incredulous and ragged laugh erupting from the other end of the call, making you wince.

"It would be so easy to get rid of him too. That shitty little apartment he scrimps and saves for at his 9-5 hasn't changed the locks in the complex for years now, he walks solely at night with his earbuds in, his bones would be so easy to break-"

"Please don't hurt him," you finally break his monologue with a sob of your own, unable to fathom being the reason why your lover would suffer such sinister endings. You throw your hand over your mouth to prevent him from hearing you cry and your legs give out from their mindless, panicked pacing around the house. The soft duvet comforters of your bed provide ample cushion for the fall, but not enough to swallow you whole and hide you from his inevitable wrath.

Your stalker pauses as he listens to your muffled cries, your skin prickling as he lets out a ragged moan at no doubt your misery. You can hear the sound of rustling clothes and a belt buckle hitting a floor of some sort.

"Are you scared pretty girl? Are you scared I'm gonna hurt you, or him?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"You should be."

The call drops, but you dont move for what seems like hours.

Your body feels like stone as you eventually burrow under your covers, mountains of stress weighing you down heavier than the blankets and pillows you use as meager protection. All the doors in your apartment are locked, the windows bolted shut, the knives taken out and placed under your bed, and your phone fully charged.

And yet, you might as well have been naked for the lack of protection you feel as the clock strikes past 1am. You jump every time the branches outside your windows smack the glass, and grip the edges of your covers tighter at the slightest creak from your aged abode.

You're curled in fetal position, tense and alert, ready to call 911 at a moments notice. You wont, you can't let him get to you, mentally or physically.

But eventually your body fails you as you drift off to sleep, the adrenaline high wearing off and lulling you into an exhausted state of rest.

You only awaken when you hear his voice.

"Hereeee kitty kitty"

Body locking up before your mind is fully aware, you freeze under the duvet as you see his silhouette from under the opaque material.

He's merely a few feet away from you, leering over your lumpy form.

Your eyes dart to where your door is, and you can make out the shape of it being opened.

How the ever-loving fuck did he get in?

You can't move, you cant blink, you cant even breathe as he inches closer to you, settling to perch by your feet.

He chuckles and snakes his lithe fingers from underneath your comforters, trailing up your feet up to your ankle, letting his offensive touch rest there as a faux show of affection.

"You're like a present underneath those blankets."

You let out a shaky whimper and tense up even more as he leans in, the dark shape of his head right over your face.

"Does the little slut want me to unwrap her? I think i've won my prize fair and square."

The hand on your ankle moves up to your calves, then your knees, all the while you start to squirm and wrestle against his hold.

He laughs lightly with sick glee as his hold on you tightens, allowing himself to indulge momentarily as one of his hands shoves itself between the apex of your covered thighs, the other squeezing and pinching up your torso to any part of you that he deems soft enough.

You both writhe like this for a minute or two while you fight for air underneath the increasingly-stuffy covers, and you know he's reveling at your losing battle.

Eventually he must get tired of playing with you, because you feel the bed dip and shift as he climbs on top and straddles you. As a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, you throw the blankets off, exposing yourself to him. You try to scramble away after dislodging him, but he's too fast. He grabs you by the neck and slams you down against the bed with a snarl, his hair mussed and disheveled as his hands encircle tighter around your throat. Adrenaline courses through you along with the blood pounding your head as you try to scratch at his face. The harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and through the black spots in your vision you can see his salacious grin, his hair falling over his face and barely concealing the victorious and manic look in his eyes.

You feel his skin pile up under your fingernails as you rake down a particularly soft side of his cheek, but instead of him drawing back, he fucking moans as blood blooms through the new cut.

He feels you hesitate for a split second in your awed disgust, and uses the momentary reprieve to rock his hips against your clothed mound.

You gasp feels like its ripped out of you all the while he shakes with tension and laughter.

He feels high off the mix of fear and disgust at your body reacting to his ministrations.

You thrash like a fish out of water in his hold, your desperation a sick contrast to the firm and controlled motion of his body eliciting responses out of you that you never wanted to give to him of all people.

"Fuuckkkk, thats it baby, just give in," he croons and shushes the sound of you choking. A shudder passes through him as he feels your throat constrict under his unrelenting hold, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts again into you.

He must hit a good spot, because he feels your legs twitch. To reward you for reacting to his touch, he lets up ever so slightly on your abused throat, and opts to duck his head down and replace his hands with his mouth.

The whole ordeal can't have been going on for more than a couple minutes, but it feels like your overstimulation has been lasting eons. You feel the adrenaline crashing down, your defenses rendered useless as he uses both his hands to envelope your own and lace his fingertips with yours, bringing both your intertwined hands up next to either side of your head. He locks your legs under his, ensuring that you can't wiggle out of his grasp, and lifts his head up slightly off your neck from the galaxy-covered hickies he left on the empty planes of your neck to look at you properly.

No makeup, bared open and vulnerable for him, hair looking like a rat's nest from the struggle, neck littered in violent splotches of blue, purple, and reds, lips bloated and shiny from tears trespassing down the planes of your face and down your chin. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, he feels your body tremble as you fight off the waves of exhaustion threatening to capsize your efforts. Your eyes, teary and bloodshot, ensnare him most of all. He feels as out of breath as you as he gazes lovingly, sickeningly down at you with unread emotions.

Love, hate, defiance, disgust, fear.

To him, you look ethereal.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he whispers, pulling one hand out of your own to gently move strands of hair out of your face to see you better. He bites back a frustrated growl as you flinch and turn your head to the side, burrowing as much of your face into the pillow as you can. You don't want to see or hear him gloat, you just want him to take what he came here for and to leave you the fuck alone.

"Stop fucking-no, look at me," the hand that ever-so gently caressed your hair hardens as his entire hand grabs the lower half of your face to face him.

You try to mumble something out, but his invading hand covers your mouth. He doesn't seem keen on moving it or hearing what you have to say from the way he merely presses harder against your ajar lips.

"I can fulfill you better than that wimpy fuck could ever dream," he hisses, leering over you. Your muted scowl doesn't phase him as he continues, "And you don't need friends anyways. I'm enough for you. I'll take care of all your needs, financially, emotionally, and physically."

At this, he presses his hips right into your cunt, and holds his body there, groaning at the way you pulse for him even under the layers of clothing.

You squeal and try to squirm, but your displeasure proved moot as he uses a free hand to slither under the waistband of your short and dip lower.

This brings around another round of muffled screaming, your back arching as his fingers dance over your soft mound, finally claiming his prize and swiping his digits through your lips.

He makes sure you watch as he brings his fingers back up to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning and closing his eyes in bliss as he does so. Your horror is practically palpable as you freeze at the bizarre show, the violation leaving you speechless.

"You should have told me you were enjoying this, you fuckin' brat," he scoffs and wipes his spit-covered fingers across your cheek, chuckling as you scream in rage.

"Had I known you wanted to play rough like this from the start I would've fucked you raw in front of all your little friends."

He leans in, savoring your terror.

"After all, all a brat like you needs is a fat, hard cock stuffing her widdle pussy until she breaks."

He uses your frozen state to flip your entire body over with one hand, immediately closing in on you and covering your prone body with his own. One hand braces dangerously close next to your face to balance himself as he uses the other to grab a fistful of your locks and pull back, craning your head to meet his eyes once again.

Your back and stomach shake with the effort of holding yourself up in this painful and awkward position, and his hips slot themselves against your backside as if it was their rightful place.

He's not lying, you realize with dread as you can feel his thick and hard imprint nestle between your asscheeks, your shorts riding up in the process.

"But don't worry," he pants as he pulls aside your shorts and panties and begins thrusting himself up and down your wet slit, all the way up to your ass, making careful sure to tap his tip against your clit a couple times, making you jerk and whimper at the buzzing sensation.

"I'm not letting you go anytime soon. We have the rest of our lives to break you and put your pieces back together," he bites your earlobe as he hisses the promise, moaning loudly in your ear as he lets his tip indulge in your entrance, barely pulling back and pushing in inch by inch.

You wince and try to move your body forwards to escape the inevitable, but he twists your supporting arm behind your back painfully and lets your head fall back on the pillow in defeat with a hoarse sob.

"You're fucking mine."

[scholomancefan]

hiii I’m prompting for danmei fanfic nightclub:) I would LOVE to request some binggeyuan comedy!♡ 

A bit more shenbros than i'd intended, oops. Oh well. Here you go, hope you enjoy!

“Stop that,” Shen Jiu hissed, and Shen Yuan could *hear* the seething rage in his voice.

Shen Yuan looked up from the latest installment of Proud Immortal Demon Way (the angelic young woman turned out to be an actual angel, with superpowers, even though this completely undermined the previous chapter where she was a damsel in distress and needed to be saved). And then Shen Yuan experienced a moment of disorientation, because standing before him was Shen Jiu and… Luo Binghe?!

Shen Yuan blinked. But no, the most convincing and realistic Luo Binghe cosplayer that Shen Yuan had ever seen was still there clinging to Shen Jiu’s arm. Shen Jiu gave him a vicious shake, and this deterred the “Luo Binghe” not at all.

“Does Qi-ge know about this?” Shen Yuan said slowly, still fighting through his bewilderment. 

“This is a lunatic stalker who accosted me on the street,” Shen Jiu drawled. “I’m trying to decide if I should eat first or go to the police station right now.” 

Shen Jiu apparently decided he was hungry enough to eat first and sat, although he then picked up a fork and looked at it like he was thinking of stabbing the cosplayer in the eyeball.

Well, Shen Yuan knew how to deal with this. He placed a hand on Shen Jiu’s wrist. “Ge,” Shen Yuan said calmly. “Stay calm. You don’t want to go to jail today, you’d miss the next episode of Thousand Autumns.”

Shen Jiu took a deep breath and released the fork.

“I do love your cosplay,” Shen Yuan said, turning to the other man. “Luo Binghe, right?”

Luo Binghe had been watching the siblings interact with wide eyes, but at Shen Yuan’s question he snapped to a more refined look. “This emperor is not wearing ‘cosplay’,” Luo Binghe said haughtily.

“You know this man?” Shen Jiu said wearily. “Shen Yuan, really, your taste in men is terrible.”

“I don’t *have* a taste in men,” Shen Yuan snapped. “And anyway, Luo Binghe is a book character in Proud Immortal Demon Way.” “That trashy webnovel you read? Ugh.” Shen Jiu’s disgust was palpable.

“Okay, the novel is trash, but the character Luo Binghe is amazing,” Shen Yuan slapped his hand on the table for emphasis. “He was such a kind and earnest child in the beginning, and even though the world was against him and tried to stomp that out of him, he *still* goes around saving people and taking down villains because he’s a good person. And he is so cool, the way he uses his demonic powers to win battles and conquer! Like with his blood mites, he can–”

Shen Jiu glared. “Your taste. In men. Is terrible.” He said slowly, enunciating every word.

Shen Yuan felt a pressure on his arm, and looked to see that the Luo Binghe cosplayer had shifted from clutching Shen Jiu’s arm, to clutching his.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe purred. “Found you.”

“Eh, Jiu-ge, what?” Shen Yuan stammered, wriggling. But Luo Binghe’s grip was like an iron vise, and Shen Yuan couldn’t escape.

Shen Jiu sipped his water coolly. “Better you than me,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “Waiter!”

[mtchee]

My Chosen Beloved - [Zhongli] GN

blurb:

In ancient Teyvat, you worship your Lord of Geo as much as the next villager. When you hear that you're cursed by something unknown, your fears are only confirmed when you're given to your Archon as a sacrifice to save your village. Only, it turns out you're not quite the sacrifice you thought you were. OH, turns out, you're to be wedded to your Archon. Except, since arriving at his hidden chambers, you've seen neither hide nor hair of him. Only his pet dragon, Morax, lazes about in the mountainscape to accompany you. Welp, new best friend! Even if it is a sassy lizard. What... What do you mean, he is the sassy lizard...

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, kinda chaotic [name], sugestive at the end, arranged (??) marriage trope except he arranged it, Zhongli is a little shit, i think he's slightly OOC im SO sorry, dragonli, young Morax?? but not quite, ancient teyvat au (kind of), swearing, might do a part 2

| masterlist | genshin impact collection |

[4.0k]

"Cursed!?" You cry out in horror, "I'm cursed!?"

"Not cursed, dear one," The sweet old lady hums, swishing around your cup of left over tea leaves, "just marked."

"Oh, oh good," You feign relief, "so I'm a target."

"Oh hush you," The tea reader swats you over the head, "you fret too much. Besides, there's more I've yet to see..."

You grumble to yourself under your breath, rubbing your sore spot with a pout before sitting and waiting for the rest of her verdict. The woman hums lowly, a content smile on her delicate old features as she keeps her eyes trained on the semi-warm yunomi cup in her hands.

"Ooh, would you look at that," She hums happily, "a crescent star--how wonderful. You will have an unusually large fortune happen upon you..." she swishes the cup once more, "and... ah! And these are... indeed! Health and happiness shall befall you! Though beware, a great sacrifice must you omit in your coming days for this to be achieved."

You sigh to yourself quietly, smiling softly with a shake of your head, "Thank you, grandma."

You place a small pouch of coins atop her tattered, velvet cloth table as you move to stand.

"Ah, ah, ah!" She tuts, eyes wide as she stares at your tea leaves, "my child... I see that someone has their eye on you; beware of whom it is that you trust, deary. Not all things are as they seem..."

You feel a shiver crawl up your spine, and you squeak; you feel your soul levitate.

You gain a cold sweat, "T-Thanks, granny..."

"It's no problem, child!" The old lady beams, positively ignorant of your terror, "come back anytime. It's always such a joy to read for you..."

"Aha, yes. I-I'm sure..." You wince, smile strained, "um... goodnight, granny."

"Goodnight, dear one!"

You're quick to leave the quaint tea shop, placid smile immediately dropping into one of panic. Ever since you'd gone up that stupid magical mountain or whatever, you'd felt these odd shivers down your spine, like someone was watching you.

Constantly.

Or, nearly constantly. It usually stopped when you got to your house--at least this stalker had some decency. 

It certainly didn't help that there was an apparent raid being planned on your village, an attack that you'd all been warned about by an anonymous.

It was a curse of sorts, unleashed by an old enemy of your land's beloved Archon, Rex Lapis. The main city of Liyue is only small at this time, and the adepti, each to their own, have additionally been busy with protecting the various other scattered villages around the land.

You were given fourteen days to figure out a solution. 

Now, there's only three left. 

You shudder, once again feeling a pair of eyes glaring into you from archons knows where, and you let out an angsty huff, crossing your arms over yourself. 

"Great," You crinkle your nose, "now I'm even more paranoid." 

"A WHAT!?" 

Ah, what a wonderful start to the morning, with two days left before the presumed attack. 

The whole village gathers with murmurs of concern, pity, and fear.

In seeing no other way to prevent the attack, the town elder had announced a last resort solution, as provided with help from the adepti.

A sacrifice is to be made and sent to the stone mountains where it is told that their Great Lord and his dragon reside. A sacrifice must be made to their Archon in exchange for protection from the oncoming curse.

And with consultation from Adeptis Cloud Retainer and Moon Carver, you were chosen to be the offered one. 

"You want me to be a WHAT!?" Your eyes practically bulge from your head, and a panic rushes through you, thoughts spiralling as your heart tightens painfully in your chest.

Your outburst garnered further chatter from the rest of the town, some shouting their concern for you, others in protest of the decision made--but ultimately, it wasn't up to them.

The adepti themselves had chosen. 

Your ears rang with a high pitch, gaze hazy as you grew dizzy, struggling to breathe.

You couldn't hear what anyone else was saying--and quite frankly, you didn't want to, nor did you care.

A further immense feeling of fright pierced through you, causing your knees to buckle. It was those eyes again. 

'Dear archons,' You thought to yourself fearfully, 'am I going to die?'

The next forty-eight hours went by too fast, consisting of preparation for your departure, where a group of villagers would later escort you to the mountains and present you at its base before returning home.

And where you would be left alone, alongside barrels of fruit and meat offerings, and baskets of their finest silk and gold.

Then, it would be up to their Great Lord to make the decision. 

And so there you had been, fearful and adorned in opaque silks and fine threads, arms and legs decorated with pretty golden jewellery for an extravagent yet elegant appeal.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest, breath uncomfortably stuck in your throat as paranoia and terror consume you simultaneously. The feeling of eyes being burnt into your form had never left, and they had never felt so intense until then.

Staring at the mountain base with your back to the open field behind you, you felt your very soul ice over as a dark shadow swallowed you. You hadn't dared to look back, eyes wide with your skin pricked, breath stagnant as your base most instincts went wild; run.

But you felt you were dead before it had even approached.

You don't remember anything from that point on, only recalling a behemoth silhouette drowning yours before everything went silent and dark.

You had fainted.

But freedom! You cry in your mind, finding yourself awake inside a palace worthy bedchamber. You weren't eaten! Yay! CELEBRATE FOOL.

You notice a soft quilt upon you, its fabric smooth to the touch. Your hands tremble ever so slightly, nerves recovering from being shot. You swallow thickly, unsure of what to expect as you observe your surroundings.

The room is heavenly. Much grander than even the nobles in the nearest city, the room is vast and elegant, with artworks and calligraphy engraved into the stone walls. Cor lapis illuminates it all, along with the plentiful golden intricacies.

An elaborate archway to your left is separated from your room by a semi-sheer curtain, and you can hear the ever so soothing tinkling of water. A bathroom.

Placed along that same wall is a beautiful vanity and smaller archway separated similarly to the other. You can spy a more than generous number of hanging fabrics and neat, polished crates--a wardrobe.

The opposite side of the room displays practically half a library. Gorgeous bookshelves line the walls with ornate pillars and decorative foliage, a grand desk situated nearby with an equally as exquisite chair. The floor is covered by a soft carpet, accompanied by various cosy and inhumanely large pillows.

Nevermind, you must have been eaten, because this looks like heaven.

Mouth agape in bewilderment and disbelief, you slowly slip out from beneath the covers, tip toeing along the cool flooring into the middle of the room.

Your eyes graze over everything, and you're tempted to throw yourself indulgently into the giant pile of pillows just begging to be laid on.

Yet you restrain yourself because where the hell are you.

The large door across from you looks promising.

It takes a good hard push from you before it opens, though once it does the doors part for you effortlessly on their own. You pause, peeking out into the hallway skeptically before actually stepping out.

The door shuts quietly by itself one you're out of its way.

Interesting.

The corridor itself is daunting, both in size and extravagence. One side leads to an archway concealed by a thick red curtain, whilst the other reveals an opening into what appears to be a sun room.

Well, that looks promising.

Like everything else, the area is expansive and elegant. Sunlight bathes everything in a soft, golden glow, and water trickles pleasingly from ornate divets in the high stone walls, following a painstakingly carved path down into a rivet in the ground that outlines the floor plan.

Looking up into the high ceiling, your mouth drops in awe at the crystal clear glass encasing. In an octagonal, dome shape, the largest panes showcase stained glass designs, threading rainbow highlights here and there.

Thriving vines decorate the roofs edge, neatly climbing down the walls and curling around the spaced pillars that hold it all together. The plantation has been carefully placed as to not obstuct or corrode the ornate architecture.

In the centre of the room is a mound of silks and pillows with gold trims and intricacies, a large serpentine figure curled atop the delicate fabrics gracefully as it slumbers.

What.

Pause.

A dragon.

A fucking dragon.

Morax, Rex Lapis' dragon.

And you know it's Rex Lapis' dragon because who fucking else would have a dragon.

Your mouth drops in absolute horror at what you've stumbled upon, and you start to backtrack in silent terror when the slumbering creature begins to shuffle.

You internally curse yourself as the thing emits a sleepy grumble that vibrates the floor before locking eyes with you.

It blinks drearily, lazily yawning and smacking its maws before learning towards you with lidded amber eyes and a grounding purr.

You've been frozen in utter fear for the entirety of its slow awakening, and it huffs warm air into your wide eyed face once its levelled with you.

You let out a frightened squeak, blinking rapidly to recover from the assault while the serpentine creature rumbles contently. It looks... entirely unbothered by your presence.

You can't quite tell what it's thinking, its eyes watching you ever so intently, yet with a peculiar fondness that has you puzzled.

"He.. Hello, dragon," Your voice cracks, and you take a hasty bow to make up for it, "uh! Morax. Um, am I... aren't I suppose to be, uh, eaten..?"

Morax blinks at you cluelessly.

"As, uh, in sacrifice?"

The dragon huffs at you again, though this time much more sharply, as though offended. An odd keen gets stuck in its throat as it tilts its head before shaking out its mane.

Then, Morax leans towards you again with a grumbling coo, as though attempting to soothe you before nudging its large muzzle at your chest.

You stumble back from the unexpected contact, but the being only prods at you again until you gently guide its nose away with both hands. It retreats back into the rest of its curled form, watching you expectantly.

You reach a hand to where Morax had been poking, touching the thick cor lapis pendant situated on your chest in the shape of the geo symbol, secured by a deceivingly delicate looking gold chain.

"Oh this?" You look down at it from your awkward angle, "is something wrong with it?"

Morax lets out a curt grumble, not in warning or any form of vexation, but as a sort of prompt. Not quite.

You furrow your brows, "Then... does it mean something?"

Its grumbles again. Closer.

Your mind blanks, and you stare back at the beast that just blinks at you slowly. It makes no more sounds to edge you forwards, nor anymore mortion to aid your thinking. Instead, it watches you patiently, expectantly. Fondly.

"...You wanna... you wanna tell me?"

Your features flatten when the dragon emits an exaggerated yawn, crossing its massive paws and laying its head down upon them.

"Oh, you've got an attitude, you know," You frown at the mythical thing, and it closes its eyes teasingly in cheek.

You look at your pendant again. It had been provided by the Adeptis, and passed onto the village chief for when the chosen had been annouced. Then it was later given to you at the end of all your preparations, and you've been wearing it since.

Funnily enough, your preparations were similar to those of your wedding traditions--the older women fussing over your appearance while the men gathered gold and jewels to toss and offer up in symbolizing a rich, fruitiful future for the beweddeds.

The pendant is a similar heirloom typically passed from the more forthright intended to their beloved, as a way to show both their devotion, and their will to provide and protect.

The heirloom is usually something that represents the family from which it is given, as the receiver takes on their last name.

But your pendant is the geo symbol, your Archon's insignia.

Holy freaking shit you're wearing your Archon's insignia and it's not a vision.

Your stomach drops.

"O-Oh my god!" The pendant drops back into place on your chest, and you stare wide eyed at the serpent that daringly matches your panicked gaze, "I-I'm our Lord's intended!?"

"You're my one true friend Morax. But don't tell anyone I said that, that's kinda sad."

You distractedly scrub the dragon's scales by his neck, having moved on from his claws. You're dressed in thin bathing silks that cling to your figure from the water, parts of the fabric sheer upon your skin. You're not bothered though, it's only you and the dragon in this huge manor.

For the week or so that you've spent here, you've seen neither hide nor hair of your dear Archon. One part of you is curious as to why, seeing as this is his abode, though the other shudders at the prospect of running into him in person. You're still not mentally prepared for that.

You don't know how to talk to a god! Let alone how to your god--and that's not even mentioning the fact that you're technically supposed to be married to him.

Yeah. You've figured it out now.

No, you had not been sentenced to your death. No pain or any form of violence has been inflicted since your arrival, unless you want to count the dragon tormenting you with the fluff of its tail.

Stupid dragon.

Speaking of the damned creature, you've taken solace in its company. Although non-human, the dragon is a sentient being of its own, and though large and very much built for battle, Morax has been nothing but patient and gentle.

Ever so aware of your smaller being, the dragon has been careful with its every motion, bending its languid body elegently and fluidly to accomidate you. Even in a playful mood, Morax takes great care not to jostle you or startle you so.

You've claimed the overgrown reptile as your best friend in claws!

Morax had preened at the proclamation.

"Has our Lord been taking care of you? I haven't seen him once since I've been here. Do you think I've scared him off?" You snicker, wringing out the soaked cloth in the floral water you're seeping in, "ah, yes. As I am everything he should fear in a spouse. A merciless tongue and a non-existent sleep schedule."

In the furthest depths of this absolutely insanely huge manor, palace or whatever, is an opening in what you presume to be the back of the mountain.

Walls opening into a magnificent waterscape with a lazy lake and picturesque waterfalls, vines and flowers and brush decorating the scene with giant trees overshading parts of the water.

Morax snorts at your accusations, nostrils puffing non-aggravated smoke.

You move on to delicately rinsing the dragon's mane in parts, fingers sifting through the long, smooth fur to untangle any knots.

"Is he kind?"

From its once sleep tempted state, the beast perks up, opening its eyes to gaze at you. Sensing Morax's confusion, you give a tender smile while you brush a hand through its mane and over its scales.

"My betrothed, our Lord," The dragon croons softly, leaning its massive head down to rest its chin on your lap as you chuckle bashfully, "only you and the adepti know what he's really like. When he's not attending his duties, I mean."

You swallow thickly, worry glazing your eyes before being swiftly masked by a ginger smile as Moraz nudges you.

"I just... to be wedded to our Lord is just a fantasy. Who could I ever amass to in comparison to our Archon? I... don't think he will be cruel. But," Your eyes flutter to the side unsurely, "I don't want to live a lie."

Your heart pangs in your chest, and you slow in your movements which begin to cease. The water ripples around you at each notion, the air still and serene. Yet, despite the peace, you feel burdened.

No, not burdened.

Your brows crease in thought.

Perhaps dejected.

Although you have yet to meet, you've been provided with an abundance of wealth. It's evident your Lord is the spoiling type.

Your room is just one example, full of things you love and could lose yourself in for hours, alongside a wardrobe full of clothes you could only ever have previously dreamed of.

And you have the entire mountain to explore to entertain yourself--and it's not as though you were trapped.

You've gone flying with Morax twice now, and further explored the wilderness surrounding with the dragon's protective supervision. If you so truly wished, you could leave these hidden chambers to go elsewhere. To be honest though, you don't trust yourself to be able to find your way back.

The food is plentiful. Visiting the kitchens each morning and night, you find a feast is laden. And during the mid-day when you're hungry, or the late hours when you're peckish, the pantries are stocked in abundance.

A warm breeze caresses your shoulders, and the sound of the water trinkling melodically echoes a tranquil tune.

Morax purrs at you, and your smile saddens as you speak a dismal truth, "I will forever worship our Lord, not just for what he has provided me, but for him in all his existence. Though I admit, my heart will carry the dual burden of heartache."

The dragon blinks at you slowly, before reeling back in all its grace with a low croon. Its eyes are lidded, looking down at you in fondness and something else you can't quite place.

You puff a breathy laugh, reaching up a hand to cup the scales on its cheek. Despite the comically drastic size difference, the mystic being leans into your touch with a rumble.

"Thank you, Morax," You murmur, awed, "but I could ask nothing more from our dearest Archon who has given so much already. I only pray that someday he will find the one with whom he can truly return their affections."

A disgruntled huff escapes from the amber dragon's maw, and it shakes its head before leaning down to carefully press its horned head against yours.

A smile traces your lips, sincere gratitude oozing from your being as your eyes slip shut, nuzzling back against the smooth and damp scales of your mythical friend.

Another kind brush of air kisses your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. From behind your eyelids, a bright flash of light is muted, though you pass it off as naught.

Suddenly though, the scales you had cupped fit much better in your palm, a sensation much softer gracing your fingertips. Your brows furrow slightly as you feel the weight of the dragon's physical presence decrease. The water around you ripples greatly, though the atmosphere itself remains undisturbed.

The winds swoop gracefully as always, musical water cascades still singing their dream inducing tinkles while the scent of the surrounding natural flora soothes you.

You hear a gentle rumble, though much softer than the dragon before you. Your eyes gradually open, slinking up to lock onto the ethereal man leant into your loving caress.

Your gaze drifts to his nose, and then his lips, observing his attire that consists of layers of intricate brown and golden silks that float atop the water's surface.

And then you gasp, meeting eternally wise amber orbs that stare into yours knowingly.

Your muscles tense and your stomach drops, and you stumble back, almost tripping in the water.

At your sudden lurch in movement, the devastatingly handsome man fixes his arms around you, a gavelly chuckle sending a flush of heat to the tips of your ears as he pulls you flush against him.

"Y-You! I--" Embarrassment in all its forms overwhelms you while your beloved Lord himself stares down at you with lidded eyes, exuding elegance and unwavering strength just as he stands.

You don't dare look him in the eye, gaze latched shamefully onto the intricate details laced on the garment covering his chest. Your shame only increases once you notice the opening in the fabric that reveals part of his chest.

"M-My Lord..!"

Humiliation causes tears to prick at your eyes painfully.

But the dragon--his dragon, he is the dragon!

Heavens above, how utterly foolish could you be!?

Weeks you have spent confiding and bumbling about with that damned beast had you spilling the deepest depths of your heart and innermost being.

You would have never behaved in such a trecherous manner had you known it was your Lord! How disgusted he must be with you. How offended he must feel for the ignorant things you have speeled!

You clench your eyes shut, almost trembling in his grasp.

"My.. My most sincerest apologies, Lord Rex Lapis. I-I must avow that for each word I have spoken I never did intend-"

"Whatever do you mean, my love?" His voice is warm and low, a pleasant gravel that slinks into your ears like honey.

Rex Lapis--Morax, your very Archon who is one in the same, pulls himself back to admire you with fond eyes. Though his gaze is ever intense, the emotion he expresses is more than palpable.

His touch is tender, careful but full of longing, "Perish such nonsense from your mind. I, apologise, dear one," He leans down hopefully to meet your gaze, "for startling you so. And for withholding my true self for so long."

You flutter your eyes open, swallowing shakily when he smiles at you oh so adoringly.

"To be honest, I was... nervous. Unsure as to how you would perceive me."

"You? Nervous?" You incredulous tone has him breathe out a laugh.

"Indeed, dearest," You flush at the endearment, able to process it past your panic this time, "it is not everyday you are intended to a God. Now though, I see I should have been the one to welcome you first and foremost."

In contrast to his gentle touches and patient tone, a familiar cheeky twinkle sparkles in his eyes, "To think you thought you were a meat offering."

You blink up at him, horridly aghast at the mention of your initial misgrievances.

Forgetting your prior reservations about him as your Lord, no longer heeding your behaviour to such, you recognise that mischevious glint just as on the first day you had arrived.

A sense of relief floods your being, and you gradually untense in his tender grasp.

Though you're still unwilling to let him off unscathed.

"Who's the one who had me snatched up on such short notice?"

A sense of sheepishness has him ducking his head in self awareness, nodding acceptingly and in apology. A pink tint lines his fair cheeks at that.

But then he glances down at your drenched attire, and his flush deepens as a desire much too long forgone has him turning up his cheek a little more than he normally would.

"Well," He clears his throat distractedly, "who wouldn't at such a delightful temptation, hm?"

And then it's your turn to feel flushed.

Although he had left you lonesome in you first few weeks of stay, he more than made up for it in the coming nights.

And in response to your apprehensions and concern in being wedded to a God, he addressed them directly by providing you with an adoring reverence than even celestia would envy.

And he continued to do so, for the many years that would come.

For he had chosen you; his one and true beloved.

[holylulusworld]

Every Breath you take (20)

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, domestic life, mentions of smut

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every Breath you take (19)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

Around one week later, you settled in. All of your belongings found a place in your new home, and you found your place too. It’s right next to Bucky.

“You were a cute little shit,” you giggle when Bucky tries to snatch the photo album out of your hands. Steve saved a few old pictures from their past and handed the album to Bucky before he went back in time. “Handsome too.”

“Steve and I, we were good friends. No, we were like brothers,” Bucky says. His eyes are saddened when he looks at a picture of Steve. “He left to live in the past.”

“What? I—” You blink a few times. “He went back in time to live in the past.” You rub your face, unsure what to think of Bucky’s revelation. Yes, you heard about Captain America’s disappearance but didn’t know about the reasons. “Why?”

“There was this woman,” Bucky sniffs. “She was more important than anything else to him. Maybe our friendship wasn’t as important as I thought. Till the end of the line didn’t mean as much as I believed either. Steve left to live with her and maybe spend time with a better, less broken version of me.”

He shrugs when you place your hand on his thigh. “Maybe he only wanted to be with the woman he loves, Bucky. You’d go so far as to kidnap me to be with me.”

“You think so?” He dips his head to look at you.

“We both did some crazy things since we met, didn’t we? I willingly let you kidnap me, and you threw me over your shoulder to do dirty things to me.” You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes.

He chuckles at your words, remembering your first time together. It’s been not even four days since you took the next step in your relationship.

It was all you ever dreamed of and more.

At first, Bucky was sweet and almost shy. But then he turned into a hungry wolf, devouring your body the moment you begged him for more. Bucky didn’t let you out of bed for the better part of a day. Until your legs were shaking, and you whimpered his name.

“Do you think we should buy a Christmas tree or get one from the woods?” Bucky suddenly asks. You gasp, realizing it will be your first Christmas together.

“I don’t know. Do you know if it’s allowed to get a tree from the woods around here? We can’t just go and cut a tree.”

Bucky chuckles. “Doll, the woods around here belong to my property. We can cut as many trees as we want to. Well, maybe not all of them.”

“Oh,” you hum. So far, you assume that only the house belongs to Bucky’s property. “We can cut one. That’s great.”

“Do you want to cut one with me? I’ll wear the full lumberjack outfit if you want me to.” He grins when you look at him with glassy eyes. “I assume this means yes.”

“Lumberjack, huh?” You put the photo album away to crawl on his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you say, “Will you get the wood out too?”

Bucky laughs, but his cheeks turn pink. “Who would’ve thought that you’re not a sweet but a naughty doll? I get the wood out of you’re a good girl and tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’d like to say something naughty again but decide against it. Instead, you bury your face in his neck and sigh. “I got what I want from Christmas right here. A warm and cozy home, a cute cat, and all my orchids.”

Bucky grunts when you don’t name him. “That’s all you need?”

“Well…” You kiss his neck. “Maybe there’s something else. A hot and naughty man who can both kiss me sweetly and fuck me hard.”

“Fuck?” He growls and slaps your rear. You giggle at his reaction. “I thought we made love, Y/N.”

“We did, Bucky Bear,” you coo before kissing his neck. “I like it when you get a little rough too.”

“Naughty girl,” he concludes and gropes your ass roughly. “I like that you’re sweet and naughty, Y/N…”

“Do you think people will ask questions one day? What if they find out I ran away with you?” you sniffle. The last thing you want is to get separated from Bucky. “Bucky?”

“I hope we made your disappearance believable,” he murmurs and nuzzles your cheek. “Even Sam believed me. Even though I’d like him and his sister to come around for Christmas and meet you.”

“What if we tell him one day?” You murmur. “Not right now, of course. We should find out if we can make this work for longer than a few weeks. But I’d like to get to know your friend and his sister.”

“Maybe he’ll understand that we wanted to protect our privacy. I’m still all over the news sometimes. You would’ve been in danger if anyone saw us together.”

You nod against him. “Yes, that’s perfect. One day, we will meet Sam and his sister. For now, I only want to be with you in our solitude.”

Part 21

Tags in reblog.

[usiel21]

There will come a day where the stalker or someone will kidnap Enid in order to use her against Wednesday. He or she will be filled with such confidence about their plan, but Enid will hold a smug sadness, saying that Wednesday won't come for her, Wednesday won't fall for such an obvious trap even if she was worth saving which she isn't. Enid, having come to terms with the fact she was in love with her best friend, that she came to terms with the fact that Wednesday would never feel the same, that she would pine and worship Wednesday from within the shadows for the rest of her life. Enid, believing that no-one would come for her, not Wednesday, not her family, because she thinks she's not worth it. But she's glad because Wednesday would stay safe even if it meant it cost her life once her usefulness was null and void. Until the ground started to shake and a rumbling seems to engulf the cabin. Enid looks up as the darkness seems to create a shockwave that consistently shakes the walls and the very foundations of the cabin "What in the fuck" He mumbles to himself, Enid hears the something being slapped into something else, a clicking sound and snap, Enid realises that the man has just loaded a weapon and primed it. The windows start to rattle as specks of black start to black out the windows, the mass seeming to sift and creep and Enid realises what she's looking at. Bees.

Millions upon millions of Bees. Suddenly the door to the cabin shakes in the frame as something rattles it. Something heavy. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. The man unloads several rounds into the door. Each shot causing Enid to flinch and shake, smoke pours from the end of the barrel, the last shell casing having clattered to the floor. There was sudden silence. Save for the buzzing of the bee's surrounding the cabin. The door is suddenly blown apart causing Enid to shriek and turn her head away as splinters of wood fly in all directions. Smoke dances and prances in the dim light until a shadow steps through, her face aflame with an icy fury. "You dare to take what belongs to me. I will make you beg for mercy in death" Wednesday says coldly, except Enid gapes at her, Wednesday is adorned from head to toe in black armour, a sword clasped in her right hand, a small dagger in the left.

But there upon one of the pauldron's is a small insignia, the head of a howling wolf. White in colour, except for two streaks of blue and pink atop the wolf's head. "Wends..." Enid whimpers softly.

"You think I didn't come prepared Addams?" The Man hissed. "You people are stupidly impervious to damage, except for this" The Man says pressing the barrel of the gun to the side of Enid's head. "I heard that the pain of losing the love of your life is enough to make you Addams' die from a broken heart." The man grins maliciously. "I'm curious to find out!"

Wednesday raises the sword and points it at the man. "Enid's life is the only thing stopping me from ripping you apart. The pain of losing the woman I love will destroy me, but I'll have enough will left to avenge her upon your corpse" Wednesday threatened darkly. "Wends..." Enid whispers almost silently "...you love me?" Her eyes pleading, desperate, shimmering with tears. "You overtook my soul with yours Enid, you conquered every corner of darkness with the light you bring, how... how could i not?"

Enid let the tears fall, because Wednesday was here for her. Wednesday had really come for her but as her assailant and Wednesday stared each other down more shadows moved behind her, Wednesday stepped to the side to clear her view and she saw the entirety of Wednesday's family behind her, their faces thunderous, Yoko, Divina, Ajax, Eugene, and half of Nevermore seemed to be outside.

And she realised that she was loved and cherished, so much so that Wednesday call in every favour she ever had to mobilize a small army. Gomez Addams stepped up behind his daughter, his own sabre raised, as he backed up his eldest, the look upon his face sent genuine fear down Enid's spine, his face dark, monstrous. "You stole our wolf from the Addams clan" Gomez uttered darkly, As Morticia gracefully came up to her husbands side. "And for that there shall be no mercy for you for she has our little stormcloud's heart, ensnaring all our hearts with her colourfully sharp claws!" "She is family" Morticia said proudly "And we protect our family." She said as her eyes turned black. Sweat began to pour from the man's forehead, his composure gone and doubt began to gnaw at him, the gun came away from Enid's temple to point directly at Wednesday who darted forwards, her sword flashing, and his arm, still clutching the pistol, hit the floor with a thud.

But Enid paid no heed to this, only when Wednesday flew to her side, her hands more gentle that she thought possible as Wednesday checked over her carefully, face laced with concern. Her hands became loose and Enid's first act was to launch forwards, ensnaring Wednesday in her arms, her scent a comfort, her touch a relief, her love a salvation.

Enid, inconsolable with both sadness and elation, with the knowledge she was now truly loved, that she had a family, that she had Wednesday, who held her tight lest she slip from her fingers again.

Enid, finally felt loved.

[pascalsbby]

CARNAL / Chapter 4: Defile

Joel’s POV <3

Chapter 3 / CARNAL Masterlist

Summary: 5K/ f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, stalker!joel.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, Joel defiles you, talks to you through it, then comforts you. dominate & aggressive joel, pet names, praise kink, stalking, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, talk of anal + the usual pure filth. you’re so welcome.

Made this extra nasty for my Joel girlies <3

“The enormity of my desire disgusts me.” - Richard Siken

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Joel doesn’t want it to be this way, but it just is, and he thinks it always has been. A shameful nagging that started even before his wife decided she didn’t want him anymore. Maybe she saw it, the pinhole, sitting slightly to the right of his chest, veering ever so slightly towards his heart.

Women are better at telling those things, just knowing this and that. Identifying the rotten thing before they ingest it.

He’d been captivated by other women before. Coworkers, thigh-high wearing sweethearts at the bar. Sarah’s friends. His ex wife’s friends. It was easier to keep up with them when he knew where they lived, worked, who they hung out with. Accidentally running into them at the local corner store… offering to pump their gas whenever he happened to be there, too.

This was different though.

The chasm cracked the day Sarah had shown him the photographs of you. He felt the sudden release of tension before the pain of the wound itself settled in. This… this is what his being had been searching for, right? You. And it just took longer cause he’s 26 or so years your senior. He’d lived an entire life before you, the same amount of time you’ve been alive.

If anyone was gonna save you, it’s him.

He spent hours in the depths of whatever website would give him what he needed to sustain his interest. He knew exactly where you grew up, he’d walked the beige colored halls before. But that wasn’t enough. What door was yours in Sarah’s apartment complex? Before he found out, he bet it was the one with the evil eye mat in the front. He was right.

What car held you as you drove through town… when’s the last time you checked the oil? He found out quickly, knew you wore your seatbelt too. Good girl. He’d even opened the hood one evening and checked the oil. It was entirely too low, so he filled it up. You needed to check this stuff.

What bars did you frequent? One was The Strip, where you spent most your time outside at the bar politely dodging older ‘men’.

He knew your favorite aisle of the water-damaged grocery store down the street. You spent the most time deciding on which hand soap you wanted, smelling them all and scrunching your nose when you didn’t like the smell.

What boys were you seeing? And at what times? As far as he could tell, none. And that’s how he liked it. But he couldn’t be inside your long classes with you, and he gave up sitting outside of them a couple weeks ago. They were three hours long and you usually went straight home. What if there was a boy in there?

He needed to physically insert himself into your life and then maybe… maybe you’d want him to stay. See how good for you he could be.

When he turned from the nude woman painted on the wall, a version of you in oil, to the warm, guts and roaring blood of you- the gash completely tore itself open in the moments it took for his eyes to eat you in. Every nerve ending in his forty plus years heeding, 7 trillion of them.

God you were a pretty little thing. He knew that, from watching you defile yourself for him over a screen. Listening to your pussy shush itself as you slipped your fingers between your folds, cooing at him. But having seen these things before, having seen every crevice of you, didn’t stop his cock from all but jumping towards you. He wanted to be in those crevices; tasting, smelling, feeling.

He’d never been a man to beg, but he’d do it for you.

He knew too, in that moment, that you hated him the moment your eyes settled upon his face and your heart, body, told you precisely who he was; before he’d even reached out his hand and introduced himself. Before he even got the chance to touch your skin. What a hard-ass.

Here you were in front of him, pretending like he didn’t just tear your world open. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t think of another way to do it… there was no other way. You wouldn’t have met him if he asked, or on the off chance you would, you wouldn’t have stayed long enough for him to explain himself after he uttered a few words of who he actually was.

You’d spent too much time being told, screamed at, by men telling you what to do. Why would you listen to him? He knew it. But he was hoping that your chest opened for him, too. That you had the same defect for him.

He had to get you in public, around the people who you were hiding your secret from. That was the easiest way to guarantee that it stayed that way. No telling Sarah, no telling your dad.

You had looked so scared. And it thrilled him, honestly. He had that over you. You were trembling and he wanted nothing more than to bend down and lick the sweat from your forehead. He did that, made you feel that way, had that control. It meant he had a chance to talk you out of the fear. Fuck it out of you, even. Hush your whimpers and screams into his palm.

He needed to see you, touch you, smell you. Seeing you over a computer screen, no matter how intimate, was not enough. He feared what he would do if, when on his stalking sprees, he saw you with another man. He needed to get this feeling out of himself, before he hurt someone.

“I said, excuse me.” You interrupted your dad.

Joel's instincts took over as he reached out for you, his fingers grazing the warmth emanating from your hip beneath your dress as you pass, almost walking through him. He is struck by the velvet-like softness that greets his touch, a sensation that lingers in his fingertips as a dull ache. Your warmth seeps through his skin, ripping the hole in his chest even further than he thought imaginable.

How could these two realities simultaneously exist on the same plane?

That deep-rooted desire to comfort the hurt within you. To hold the ever-wounded little girl and brush his lips across your forehead. Tell you that he’s here, you’re just fine. He’ll protect you. Lay you down on his chest and shhh your fears away. You deserve to be protected.

He wanted to raise goosebumps across your freckled shoulders and be the person you melt into at the end of the day. He wanted you to intertwine your tired bones with his.

He would do, be, better this time around. You wouldn’t leave him like she did, no. You would devour yourself for him, spit back out your bones and let him put them back together.

There was another place within him where he desperately needed your body. He needed to feel your hole flutter against his tongue, his cock. One where he could slip his spit covered fingers into your tight heat and stretch you just big enough to fit the girth of him. The sound that would vibrate through your lips would unnerve him, he would do anything for you. Fill any hole you wanted.

You’d fit around him so tight, so well. Always such an obedient sweetheart for him. “Oh c’mon darlin’, use your words. Pull them apart, oh goooood. Shhh. You can take it. It’ll only hurt for a minute Birdie.”

He wanted to push you onto the ground beneath him and unravel your inhibitions- force you to come undone for him. He yearned to scatter bite marks across your soft stomach and side, lick between your breasts, kiss the back of your knees.

He wondered what his initials would look like carved into your soft inner thighs. Marked by him, for him.

How could he undo you while trying to hold you together? A deafening need heaved through his chest. It fucking hurts.

He knew, deep down, that you would willingly surrender to him. Even though hatred was spewed across your face. Whether he asked kindly enough or convinced you that his involvement was obligatory rather than just desired, he sensed you would comply. He couldn’t help that his blood simmered for you, it stung him. He felt like he was burning from the inside, out, clawing around in his insatiable desire to explore the depths of you. To feel those depths with his fingers, his cock, his tongue, his nose.

He gathered himself out of his thoughts, and drew his body toward the path you had taken in your escape. He didn't pause to ponder the questions that would be asked: why he, out of all people—neither your mother, father, nor best friend—was the one chasing after you.

It was him. It had to be. It always has been. He had decided it the day he met you that summer, the first time he heard your laugh. Then, you grew up. And he wanted more. He was so fucking ashamed but there was nothing he could do to stop the want. He didn’t try very hard, though.

He didn’t want to stop it, because then that meant you were gone. You wouldn’t have kept accepting the calls if you didn’t want him back. You wouldn’t have nearly fallen to your knees in front of him if you didn’t care. Which is why he stopped trying to get rid of this vile thing you nursed inside of him, because you wanted him, it, just as much. You just haven’t had the chance to realize it for yourself.

The moment he entered your warmth, you would feel it too. He knew.

Why would you lay yourself out for him, reaching down to spread yourself wide open for his view, for his pleasure, and beg him to defile you- if you were just gonna leave?

As he observed you throwing yourself against the metal doors between stairwells, he caught the faint scent of your perfume—notes of bergamot, vanilla, and ire. When your eyes met his, truly and not merely through photographs, he felt an overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and weep in front of you. He wanted to surrender his entire being, to give himself over entirely if it meant that you would believe he meant you no harm besides the kind you wanted. The kind that felt good. That he was chasing a feeling that erupted within him and wouldn’t stop knocking at his chest.

You smelled heavenly, perfume and fear. You embodied the rest of his life.

The whole in his chest was the shape of you.

With a deep breath, he entered the bathroom, realizing that he needed you to remain by his side long enough for him to articulate the growing emotions within him. He yearned to explain why he acted the way he did, hoping that you might find it in your heart to forgive him for just showing up (and being seen this time).

He was still trying to figure it out himself. Why the world chose him for you, and why it was making it so hard for him to fulfill that proposition.

At the beginning he brooded over whether to stay and ultimately hurt you no matter how often he argued within himself that he would never… or to go and leave you be. That wasn’t an option anymore. It never had been, really.

You looked maddened, irate. But the blush kissing your cheeks from the heat of your anger looked so pretty.

“I was 15,” you spat at him. “Do you do this often, Joel? Stalk your daughters friends and tell them how much you want your nasty cock in their mouth? Pay them to strip for you and pay them extra to stick their fingers in their pussy so you can get off? How many? How many fucking girls have you done this to Joel?”

Ouch. You only saw the illicit side of everything he was willing to give you. He was paying you, even, to stay in his life. How could you not see he just wanted to be closer to you? But you weren’t wrong, it did look like that from the outside. An older man pursuing his daughter’s best friend, his best friends daughter. Finding her online, showing up to her gallery show.

Sarah would probably never speak to him again if she knew the extent of his need… the things he’s done to himself in your name. No one knew how much it hurts though, to know you’re out there in a world where he can’t have you all to himself.

He didn’t answer in time.

“Should I ask Sarah?” You continued.

Absolutely fucking not.

“Shh, shh. Lower your fucking voice,” he spat as he stepped towards you. You looked so small beneath him, face red and angry. He gripped your shoulder and pushed you against the concrete wall. He liked having this control over you, and he knew you liked it too in some sick way.

It was easy for you to give up control if it meant cowering down beneath his broadness. He was rock hard.

He felt himself buzzing, seeing the slight shock against your face before you pulled it back and turned it to anger. He watched your nipples harden beneath the thin layer of your dress and knew you wanted this just as bad, whether you admitted to it or not.

This was all for you. The possibility of losing his relationship with his daughter.. this is a small town, he could lose his job, then his house. Everything. All for you to stand here and pretend you don’t want it, basically yelling it down the hallway for everyone to fucking hear. After everything he had given you and how intimate he’d been for you. After just last night, you watched him spit on his fingers and fuck himself.

Yet you stand in front of him, threatening his dissolution.

“One word out of your pretty mouth and I will break you.” He whispered into your hair, once again inhaling you deeply. He kissed your forehead, a weak apology for being quick to anger. But you were starting to thrash around, making it so much harder than it needed to be. So he stood himself sturdy in front of you and put one arm above your head and the other next to your side, pushing you further into the wall.

Maybe if he showed you how good he could make you feel, you’d stay. He just needed to remind your cunt how good a cock felt inside of it.

There was silence, a contemplation.

“Why me?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Fuck, you needed him, it was written all over your face. Who else was going to protect you like could?

“It was your eyes, Birdie.” He admitted.

You continued to run your pretty mouth, but he wasn’t having it. He begged for you to listen to him, but you wouldn’t. Finally, he had enough of your talking.

“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he accidentally spit and watched as you licked it away without thought. Fuck. He would happily give you more. His already hard cock pushed even further against his struggling zipper.

“What? What exactly are you going to do?”

You questioned, softening in tone and running your hands up his chest. That was an invitation. He took it.

“How ‘bout I show you, you fucking brat. You can’t hide from me. I see you, I can see through you. I saw you the very first time our eyes met and I see you now. Wigglin’ beneath my touch. You need me sweet’heart, stop denyin’ it. I know you remember how I made you feel without me even touchin you. So let me touch you.”

Before you could argue some more, he moved his hands to your small shoulders and turned you around. His hands were massive compared to your body, and he liked it. Your curves were dying to be let free, held in too tight by the dress. Your breast, begging to be cupped and played with.

Oh he’d imagined so many times rolling your hard buds between his lips, tonguing them. Your breath hitched, and he let out a low chuckle. Already, you were giving in to him. He knew you would, such a good girl.

He threw the dress to the ground and looked upon you, naked, standing below and in front of him with your palms against the wall. You were completely ready for anything he wanted to give you, stick in you.

He couldn’t help but moan into your skin, you answering in response.

“Now go on, tell me more ‘bout how much you hate me, Birdie,” he growled into your ear, pushing his entire body against yours, taking your breath away as his cock brushed against your back.

You made sounds, no full words.

“That’s such a pretty noise,” he nudged. You didn’t respond but your cunt did, releasing more sticky want.

“S’okay, you can hate me Birdie, but your pussy flutters every time I look at you. She doesn’t hate me, princess, she needs me ‘n she wants me.”

You let out a barely audible fuss.

“Aww lookie there baby, she’s drippin’.”

He reached down and caught the drop with his finger, sucking it clean into your ear as you dizzily looked into the concrete wall, attempting to level your want for him. He didn’t even know if you fully heard his teasing in your state.

“Your effort not to melt under me is truly admirable.” He growled as he stuck out his tongue and ran it along your ear, sucking and breathing, tickling. Fuck. You tasted sweet but your nervousness had caused you to sweat, but he liked that too.

Then, he slid down to his knees so he could be level with your pussy, immediately reaching to spread you open and take you in. He reached in front of you and grabbed a handful of your stomach, pushing your ass more towards his face. He could smell your arousal, and he almost came right then and there, like some goddamn teenager.

Red underwear stared him in the eye, a deeper burgundy down your seem where you’d been dripping for him.

“Oh so fuckin’ pretty sweet girl. Look at that,” he traced his thumb down the back of your cunt, pushing the fabric deeper into the slick already coating them. You whimpered and attempted to buck your hips back, rotating your hips so that your holes were even more open for him.

“Nuh uh uh,” he tutted as you started to squirm even more. That wasn’t gonna do, he needed you still so he could have at you. He dug his thumbs into your ass, spreading you open once again, without a doubt leaving marks that would later bruise, showcasing his want. Reminding you that you were entirely his.

He held your pussy open, air hitting your open holes, licking lines up and down your slit as you moved. Your cunt wide open, showing him that she was ready for him, sucking up a mix of his spit and your cum every time you moaned and your walls fell in on themselves, pushing in and out in want.

He laid his tongue flat and licked from asshole to cunt, flicking and sucking on the thin skin between the two.

He spit.

“You’re the dirtiest girl I’ve ever seen, you know that? Letting me stick my tongue and nose on your pretty little asshole. Want me to fuck you here baby girl?” He circled it, pushing his spit in with the tip of his pointer finger. You whimpered as your hole swallowed the tip.

He knew if he fucked you there right now, the tip of his cock wouldn’t even make it in before he came, and that wasn’t the type of game he wanted to play right now.

“Hmm, I hear you. We’ll save that for next time. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to work you open first.” Breathless, he heard a “please Joel” fall from your lips.

“Oh fuck. Say it again. I’ve been waitin’ for my name to pass your pretty lips.”

He didn’t know how much he needed to hear you mutter his name like that until it hit him in his fucking chest.

“Joel, please.”

He smirked against you, pointing his tongue into your hole, circling and lapping at you as you continued to drip onto his tongue.

“Could taste these sweet juices for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” The sounds your body made as he pointed himself in and out of your cunt were godlike, vulgar.

He told you to keep your palms against the wall and stop moving, your final warning. His nose was covered in you.

“Joel, I-“

“Tell me baby, use your words,” he murmured into you.

“Take me, right now, please. Can’t wait Joel, I’ve been waiting so long.” God you sounded pathetic for him, begging and wanting him.

Without warning he fucked two of his fingers into you, and realized how tight your walls were stretching against them. You were already completely full from just two fingers.

“You wanna take my cock? You’re so tight you can barely handle two of my fingers. So fuckin’ impatient, hmm?” He curled them upwards and the spongey insides of you continued squelching, you tightened around him and he knew what you wanted… needed. You just needed to let go, stop thinking.

“Let it happen. Stop fightin’ it and let it out baby. I’ll catch you.”

You threw your head back and your long hair fell against the top of his head as he crouched below you. He wanted you to cum down his wrist so he could lick it clean in front of you.

You looked pure, hungry, and your body shook around his fingers as all of your sounds immediately stopped. Your orgasm rocked through you and the bathroom was dead silent, only filled with the sounds of his fingers coaxing out more juices.

Then your thighs stopped shaking aggressively and you spoke.

“I can take it. Please Joel. Please, sir.”

He rose from the ground. Did you just fucking call him sir? That was all he needed.

“Then take it.”

Somehow during all of the movement he had taken his cock out of his jeans. It was fully erect, kissing his stomach every time he moved further into your pussy with his face.

He wrapped his large hands around it and guided it to the back of your cunt, precum sticking to your lips. He tapped your cunt with his throbbing tip, moving his cock around to pick up your juices and mix his in with yours.

Finally. Finally you were going to be his.

He wrapped his arm around you from the back, his forearm covering your mouth before you dropped your head back onto his bicep. Your hair was sticking to your face from the sweat, eyes rolled back in anticipation.

And then he was one with you, cock hugged by your tight warmth. And it was everything he thought it would be, but better. He let out grunts as he fucked into you, hips hitting your ass as the sounds of your wetness meeting bounced of the bathroom stall. You fit so well on him, he fit so well against your walls. It was meant to be, he knew even more so now.

Breathless moans left your lips and he bent his head down to swallow them. Sucking on your top lip as you sat limp against him, his body holding you up as you took him like the good girl he knew you always were, would be, for him.

“S’tight baby girl. I don’t know how those little toys even fit in these holes. Gonna need to stretch you out better next time ‘n it won’t hurt so much. I’ll fit you even better next time.” He shushed your moans, dropping his nose into your hair, completely lost and intoxicated by the smell of your sex.

“I-inside,” you managed. He almost shot his spend into you right then. You could warned him before you said something so nasty, so good.

“Want me to cum inside that tight cunt, is that what you’re tryin’t ask me? ‘N what about your daddy, hmm? What would he think ‘bout you walking out of this bathroom with his best friend’s cum drippin’ down your legs?”

Defeated, you let out another sound.

“Dirty girl. I want nothin’ more than to fill you up. But this isn’t the time or the place. You know that.”

You came again, squeezing his cock so tight, and Joel pulled out as fast as he could after your walls kissed against him, wanting, but not letting himself cum just yet.

“Turn around, baby.” He ordered. And you did, slowly and shakily. You were having a hard time catching your breath.

He then pushed you onto your knees from your shoulders, not caring whether he was hurting you or not. All he saw was how fucked you looked, pure bliss still lingering between your legs, tiredness clouding your eyes from cumming multiple times on his cock. It was his turn.

You grunted in pain as your knees hit the floor, and that’s all he needed from you. He cupped his heavy cock and stroked himself, spitting down to it making it even wetter.

“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” The words getting caught in your throat. That’s all he heard as he planted his feet into the ground and threw his head back, grunting as his cum spit out of his aching tip, dripping all over and down your pretty face. He swore he saw the slightest grin reach your lips before you stuck out your tongue and caught the mess he was making.

And then it was over. You were covered in his cum from what didn’t reach your mouth, bare and still shaking. You looked so pathetic, ruined. Your mascara had fallen down your face at some point and it looked like you had been crying.

Now what?

His mind was clear for the first time in months, thinking about how they’d been gone thirty minutes or so. How would they answer the questions that would undoubtedly be thrown their way? How the fuck were you going to be able to get yourself together again, looking like what you did before you came into the bathroom?

You were sitting on the ground, wiping cum from your face with paper towels that you got from above you. Joel reached to the side and handed you your dress after fitting his soft cock back into his jeans.

“Here, baby.” He said softly.

Silence.

There was something hanging in the air, unsaid. Was it guilt? Shame? For acting like complete animals the first time you two were alone together, devouring one another whole.

And then, your shoulders heaved and a deep sob left your mouth. It was the saddest thing he’d ever heard, full of pain and hurt. He immediately felt it in his own chest.

You weren’t going to cry naked on the bathroom floor, so he picked up your dress and held each of your arms up as he put it over your head and dressed you, letting out soft, “shhh”’s to you.

He wet a few paper towels and bent down to face you, gently grasping your face as you were shying away from him, tears falling. Your eyebrows were turned inwards, your face showing just how much pain you were feeling.

He wiped your face softly, focusing underneath your eyes where your mascara was running. He cleaned you up and then held your face in his hands, you, squeezing your eyes shut so he couldn’t see you. Or rather, you couldn’t see him and the look upon his face.

He sat fully on the ground and pulled you into his lap, doing a once-over to make sure you were all dressed and clean. You’re immediately nestled your head into his neck and he placed his large hand on the back of your head, holding you there gently.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby girl. You can let it all out, okay? I’m here baby. Let them out, it hurts too much when you don’t.” He stroked your hair and prayed that you felt comfortable in his arms.

He could tell this was painful for you, crying in front of him- the vulnerability and nakedness it took to completely lose yourself in front of another human. He understood that he had just taken something from you, had just hit something deep within you.

“Birdie, look at me,” he whispered. You opened your eyes without question and waited.

“Be weak with me. Break, rupture, scream. Intertwine your bones with mine and I will hold ‘em safely so they can rest. I’ve got you baby. ‘M not gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t respond, so he put your back against his chest and rocked your slightly, letting you have the silence and calm.

Minutes passed and your sobs eventually stopped, Joel’s shirt soaked from them. You moved so that he was holding you, but could look into your eyes better.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He let out, shamefully. He knew he could be overpowering, he’d been told before. “Let me stand up and I’ll leave, okay? Tell ‘em that I couldn’t find you but I looked everywhere.”

“You can’t just touch me like that and then leave,” you let out, begging him.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Notes: Here’s Joel arguing with himself, trying to justify his actions as he descends into his own chaos.

I added more dialogue because in my mind Birdie is so lost in pleasure during the last chapter that she isn’t even narrating everything to herself/us.

And I just wanted a dirty talking Joel ;) You know me.

Someone referred to ‘carnal!joel’ and my heart grew 10 times bigger. I love it.

Tag List: @strang3lov3 @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @i-love-rafe @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter

[hyperfixationstati0n]

When you know, you know

An: so… I got very carried away and didn’t realize I was taking so long to get to the romance stuff that I barely had any time for romance stuff!! so the promise is if you like this pretty please tell me and I’ll make a part two (also I wrote this in first person by accident and it was too late to change it and I kinda like it more) 

Pairing: Spencer x bookstore owner!reader

Content warnings: I tried to make it gender neutral but it could come across as more fem if you squint, lowkey slow burn, both Spencer and reader are socially awkward (but reader is more than Spencer), there is A swear

Word count: 1,106

Summary: When Spencer Reid walks into your bookstore, you’re stunned and speechless, yet also too afraid to talk to him. But fate brings people together in odd ways.

When I made the biggest decision of my life to drop most of my savings on a rundown shop at the edge of town, the regret was almost instant. The anxiety seeped down from my brain to deep in my body, settling in my bones before reaching my heart. As progress was made and it started to look like the bookshop of my dreams, the anxiety lessened, but not by much.

For the first few months, it was just me. There weren’t many customers, which I was fine with. Since I was the only one there, that meant I had to work the register. Every time someone walked in and I heard the little chime of the bell I had on the door, my knees started feeling like jelly. I got nervous talking to people.

So when I was finally able to hire some help, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted off my chest. I had two employees, one older woman who lived in the apartment building next door. Her name was Rose and she smelled like vanilla she always brought in baked goods. She helped me keep the store organized. Then there was Lennon, a 21-year-old college student who was looking to make some extra money before graduation. Lennon's whole existence was working the register. It worked. Our little trio soon caused the bookstore to grow. not by much, but at least now I was making more than I was spending.

About a year and a half into this endeavor was the first time he came in. I was restocking the fantasy section. The chime of the bell made my head turn-that’s when I was met with this feeling I could only describe as fate. He had these hazel eyes, golden curly hair, and such an awkward demeanor that it almost rivaled my own. I felt a tinge of pink cross my cheeks and I immediately turned my attention back to the copy of “The Lord of the Rings” lying in my hand. I put it back on the clean wooden shelf as I heard Lennon greet the man who had just walked in. As much as I tried to keep to myself and focus on my task, I was listening out for where he went in the store. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, he didn’t go down the fantasy aisle. I see his tall figure through the space in the books as he checks out and leaves. It felt like I had just had the wind knocked out of me just by him standing there, my heart rate a little elevated and a clear amount of blood rushing to my cheeks.

Lennon never let me live it down.

It only got worse over the next coming weeks, when this mystery man I was swooning over kept coming in. And I avoided him every time. I learned through Lennon (my little stalker) that his name was Spencer Reid. Spencer was always very kind to Rose whenever he was there, oftentimes humoring the old woman’s ramblings with some of his own. I mean, it was like he wanted me to fall for him. His presence made the once dusty and desolate bookstore more warm and lively than it had ever been.

But he never spoke to me.

Or I didn’t speak to him, rather. I was too scared I’d stumble over my own words and lose him before I even had him.

But like clockwork, with the chime of the bell, Spencer was in my store again. Only there was an issue. It was close to closing time, and I had let Lennon go home early that day as he had a nasty cold and I was too much of a germaphobe to approve of him being in the store. And not just that, Rose had gone home too because her daughter was visiting for the weekend. So there I was, standing at my least favorite place in the world, the cash register, making brief eye contact with the man I had been gushing over (but never actually talked to) for almost 3 months, completely alone. I was fucked.

He flashed me an awkward smile and a wave before going down the small science and math section we had. As soon as he was out of sight, I was frantically texting Lennon who told me to: 

“Grow some balls”

Good advice, actually. I waited, tapping my nails on the register as I debated going to see if he needed help with anything. But before I could even finish that thought, there he was, with a stack of maybe 4 or 5 books in his hand. How my mystery man went through books so fast, I didn’t know. But I wanted to know.

I smiled at him and started scanning one of the books-“Cosmos” by Carl Sagan. Then, I went for it. Months of pining and crushing had led up to this moment. 

“Did you find everything alright today?”

Well…at least I said something.

His eyes, one of the many things about him that entranced me, met mine. He nodded and smiled softly. I swear I could’ve died happy right then and there.

“Yeah…you guys have a great store here.” 

I smile and scan another book.

“Thank you! It’s-well, I’m the owner.” 

“Really? Wow-I didn’t know. I never usually see you when i come in.”

I smile more awkwardly as I scan another book from his stack.

“Yeah, yeah. Usually, I keep to the back. The register is not my thing.”

“Well, you’re doing great. With everything. Seriously, this is the best bookstore in town. I’m surprised you don’t get more customers.”

I blush more obviously than I would’ve liked. I scan the last book and start ringing him up. He pays in cash. 

“You’re very kind. I-we, love seeing you in here.”

Nice save. 

He takes his bag, full to the brim with books, and looks at me for a moment. Just looks. Suddenly I was very aware of how I looked, My jeans were a little too worn, my sweater had a small paint stain on it, and my hair slicked back into a bun as I hadn’t washed it yet. But his eyes were kind, not judging. My heart was beating and all of a sudden, I knew something. Something I couldn’t quite place my finger in. 

He gives a small wave, and I give one back, offering a quiet goodbye. 

But just as he’s about to leave, I hear a sentence that would haunt me forever.

“You should work the register more often instead of hiding behind the bookshelves.”

[oatmealcrisp-freak]

heres what i got for the zetsubou billy the dyke fic so far btw. teruhashi enjoyers will know where i'm coming from.

Statistically speaking, a female serial killer is considered ‘anomalous’. Uncommon.

Rare.

This is despite the frankly lacking research into the subject.

What few of these women have risen to prominence tend to follow along certain trends. White. Average to high intelligence. Employed in health care. Whether their targets, their victims, are thus because of convenience or in a bid to seek attention further divides the statistics.

Statistics.

Numbers.

Pieces of data. Impersonal, unafraid, incomplete.

No, statistically speaking a woman is unlikely to become a serial killer.

It’s much more likely she’ll become a victim.

“I-I’m sorry,” Her breath rattled in her chest. 

It was dark. Her apartment wasn’t that far from the bus stop, but it was dark, and the street was cold, and though she could hear the faint hum of the television from the home next to her she knew, knew deep within her, that nobody would be coming to her aid.

They never had.

How could she deescalate this situation? How could she get out of this and still get home safely? The thought tore through her mind to just turn and run, but.

But the man was bigger than her. He had longer legs that could eat up the distance far easier. And in the off chance that she did make it home, the only thing that would do was lead this person straight there.

She put on her sweetest smile and hoped it didn’t tremble too much. “I. I’m flattered! But I’m sorry. I’m so b-busy with work, I. I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”

Did. Did she bow? To show polite deference, to seem kind? But that would take her eyes off the man and he-

He had a knife.

The memory of her parents' bloodied bodies pulsed through her mind's eye and she swallowed sharply. This was just the topper on a terrible day, wasn’t it. Only today the trial had ended and the man she’d seen kill her parents had been set free.

He’d been set free, and he’d been laughing.

She’d spent the train ride back to Kanto in a numb haze, a creeping misery slowly coming upon her as reality set in. 

She should have killed him. 

The thought settled onto her suddenly. She should have killed that vile man. Right outside the courthouse, she should have killed him. Pushed him into traffic, or stabbed his eye out with her high heel, or clubbed him to death with a rock. She should have killed him. It wouldn’t bring her parents back, but it would be justice that the law refused to serve no matter her eyewitness testimony.

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

Misa knew with sharp intuition that she wouldn’t have that chance ever again.

“I. I see.” The stranger’s shoulders slumped.

He was plain. Older than her by what looked like a wide margin. There was a ring on his finger.

Pathetic.

So pathetic, and yet-

Her eyes swung down to take in the large kitchen knife again. She slowly took a step back, praying the sound of her heel scraping the ground wouldn’t set him off. If she could just find a place to hide-

But then what.

Call the police?

She’d called the police once before. They’d promised her justice for the slaughter of her parents, then they’d botched the investigation and the man she’d seen do it had gone free. There was that, and the news reports. Women being stalked. Women going to the police to save them. Women being killed by their stalkers anyway. The general public shaking their heads in sympathy. If only the police had been able to do something sooner, then that beautiful life wouldn’t have been cut so tragically short. But alas, the law was the law, and their hands were tied. Stalking by itself was such a minor offense. Who would have thought it would turn into murder?

And then, if the murderer was caught at all, they’d get between five and ten years.

The man looked to the side, not so coincidentally the side whose hand held the knife. Misa could feel her hands shake, a cold sweat pooling rancid in her stomach.

“So you’re not interested in me,” The man’s voice was shaking too. “I see. I... see.”

Where was the justice in that?

Misa was going to die here tonight.

She swallowed and took another step back, her heart hammering in her chest, her hand reaching behind her to take a firm grasp of her skirt.

She could only hope it would be quick, that it wouldn’t be preceded first by the ultimate violation. Maybe, if she got lucky, if she got so lucky, she’d somehow be able to tear the knife from the stranger’s grip and stick it in him before he could put it in her.

Her parents’ killer hadn’t even gone to jail so surely she wouldn’t for defending herself, right?

But she had to make sure she killed him.

If she didn’t kill him, he’d only come back to attack her again.

Her entire body started to sing and her other hand grabbed her bag. It wasn’t very heavy, but if she could blind him, and then-and then make him trip or something, maybe she’d be able to get the knife when he fell.

She wouldn’t be overpowering him otherwise.

‘I have to make it look like an accident.’ A cool drop of sweat seared the skin of her throat. ‘I can’t make it look too deliberate.’

Her eyes flashed over his body, and landed on his neck. His throat. She’d go for his throat. If she got lucky-

Her parents' bodies, rended open, sacks of meat with gaping faces on their living room floor.

If she got so lucky-

The knife swung up and the man gripped it with both his hands. All the sizzling hope drained right out of her.

“Then I’ll kill you,” He cried, deranged, his eyes bulging and his teeth flashing in the low light. “And kill myself afterwards!”

He lunged for her. Misa felt herself scream. Just like before it all seemed to happen in slow motion. She threw up her hands.

There was a sound like a knife clattering to the ground, and then there was nothing. Nothing but ragged panting, and the sound of her own blood rushing through her ears. Misa slowly lowered her hands, wincing through them, and found a boggling sight.

The stranger stood in front of her, arms at his sides, swaying lightly back and forth like a buoy in shaky waters. His eyes were dazed, but he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. 

And then.

And then?

He turned and he walked away.

Misa gaped after him, then started and breathed a sharp gasp. What the hell was she doing just standing here, this was her chance!

She turned, and she ran.

Just in case, instead of going home she ran to the nearest convenience store, a 711 that was thankfully only a block away and required a right turn as opposed to a left. There, she pushed her way to the counter and wailed for the clerk to call the police.

Maybe they wouldn’t do anything. Maybe the man would still come after her and kill her - he clearly knew the area in which she lived.

But she could at least get the file started and hope that, should she die, a kind hearted detective who actually cared might look at a picture of her corpse and decide to do his best for her with the information she’d already given them.

Only it didn’t end up going that way.

“What?” Misa gasped, staring up at the officer in shock.

She was in the back of a cruiser, a blanket clutched tight around her shoulders, the door open and wagging in the wind. Above her, the officer nodded.

“It looks like a heart attack.”

Dead.

He was.

He was dead?

Misa didn’t know what to do with that. She swallowed tightly and looked at her knees. There was a tear in her dark stocking, a bandage on her knee. She’d tripped in her haste to get away.

‘What horrible luck.’ She thought, a tremble crawling through her. ‘Thank goodness.’

Maybe it wasn’t right to be thankful a man had died, and it was eerie to know she was probably the last person to see him alive, but. But thank goodness.

Thank goodness.

“Honestly it’s a bit of a strange coincidence. You should probably be grateful to him, really.”

Blankness shot through her. Slowly, Misa looked up at the officer. He was giving her a half-hearted, awkward smile.

She knew he was trying to be kind.

But.

“Grateful?” She asked in a shivering whisper.

The officer adjusted his cap and nodded, looking left. “Yeah. He gave you a, uh, a pretty perfect alibi actually. Just a little while ago, the man you say killed your parents - he died too.”

The officer looked at her, and there was a queerness in his eye. Almost a fear.

“Another heart attack.”

Her breath stalled out in her chest, and instead of air she was filled with something like light, her eyes widening slowly.

A heart attack. No. Two heart attacks.

Kira.

Kira, that myth that had been going around on the internet, the cause the populace had attributed to the sudden outbreak of lethal heart attacks among criminals. Kira was real.

Kira had saved her life.

Kira had given her parents justice.

Misa would never have the chance to kill the man that’d killed her parents, no, but Ken Inoue was still dead. He would never be able to hurt anyone else, ever again.

Kira.

Misa took in a trembling breath at last and shut her eyes, bowing her head and gathering the gritty blanket all the closer.

‘Thank you.’

The police drove her home. Filled with that lasting golden light, Misa walked her apartment in a daze. She ate. She showered. She changed. She went to bed.

The next day, utterly buoyant beyond anything she’d felt since the day she’d witnessed her parents murder, Misa bounced into a salon. Her hair still smelled like fragrant, upscale bleach when she was scouted for a modelling agency just two hours later.

Thanks to Kira, everything in her life was back on track. 

She would never have her parents again, no, but at least now they could rest peacefully.

Misa knew she would be eternally grateful. 

And not to that piece of shit stalker either, no matter how much an ignorant cop would insist otherwise.

~~~

“For the past two days, you’ve been followed by somebody.”

‘Ah.’

Light closed her eyes, neatly tucking away the way they’d so briefly widened outside her control.

‘I see.’

Honestly, it was about time. 

Still, it was annoying that it was bothering Ryuk. He had yet to prove himself overly unreasonable but she had the sense he could become as such if he wasn’t managed carefully. She flicked her golden brown hair over her shoulder, using the opportunity to give Ryuk a small nod.

“I understand.”

Still walking, she pulled her bag around and opened it, withdrawing a compact. Flicking it open, Light quickly angled it to catch the scenery behind her. A man in dark clothes, with dark hair, casually turned into the convenience store. Approximately 180 centimeters, attractive, possibly mixed race.

The mirror captured her faint smile as she turned it to regard her reflection, gingerly thumbing away a fleck of mascara before closing it and returning it to her bag.

Interesting. Had L turned to the Americans, perhaps?

She would have to be careful still, but she was relieved that so far things had panned out to her expectations. Light’s mistake killing that Lind L. Tailor had been rather embarrassing, but so far she’d managed to salvage her position. Hopefully Light could arrange things just so that it would be the police themselves who would deliver the true L into the spotlight, and from there her rule would be practically a promise.

‘There will be approximately fifty people under investigation,’ Light thought as she let herself in through the gate and then into her house. ‘I don’t expect surveillance will reveal me, but if I can figure out his name, that would be good insurance if it goes that way.’

She certainly didn’t want to kill him if she could help it. If the man who had been following her was an agent, likely FBI or something similar, then he could be of value serving her rule. 

‘Then again there’s so many conspiracies the Americans have about the FBI,’ Light thought as she sat at her desk, chin finding the grasp of her fingers. ‘Who’s to say how many therein are honest men and women who serve justice, and who among them are just there for the power.’

It was hard to remember sometimes, but not every police officer was her father. 

Light sighed and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. Damn the need for makeup. Her face was perfect without it, but a woman her age who refused to wear any could find herself quickly ostracized. That would hardly serve her purposes, nevermind her pride.

She caught her reflection in the darkness of the computer monitor. In it, she resembled little more than a typical hard working teenager. The man who had been following her, Light recalled the past few days per Ryuk’s timeline, would have seen nothing except that.

She looked into the mirror of her own eyes.

‘Light,’ She thought to herself, absently reaching out to touch her fingertips to the monitor. ‘Light Yagami.’

Seventeen years old, set to graduate highschool at the top of her class, at the top of many things. Her height at once intimidated idiot boys from talking to her and ensured single-handedly any pursuit of ballet would be a private one. She was well aware that people looked up to her, both literally and metaphorically.

The perfect woman. That was what some people sighed where they thought she couldn’t hear them. Smart. Beautiful. Athletic. Talented. Keen of social graces and charismatic. A good older sister, and a fine daughter any parent should be proud to have.

That was who she was.

Was.

Past tense.

But she was on her way to becoming something much, much more.

Light smiled and turned on the computer.

The Death Note had come into her life just a few months ago, and each day since then had brought with it a blessing. Though Ryuk said that he hadn’t chosen her, had only dropped the notebook randomly out of boredom, Light knew she was being called upon to follow her life’s path.

The existence of shinigami simply proved it. A shinigami required that a person had a finite amount of time on this earth, but further an amount that was predetermined. An amount that was judged by fate. 

This by itself proved the existence of destiny.

Light believed Ryuk, yes. But her and only her spotting the Death Note fluttering to the ground in a bath of sunlight, its creamy pale pages fluttering like pigeon wings, was no mere coincidence. 

The world was rotting - both sides of it, living and dead. It wasn’t hard at all to recall the broadcast she’d overheard on her walk home that fateful school day. Yet another woman murdered. Yet another man arrested. Whether or not he’d serve any meaningful time was to be determined. The police could only do so much after all. So often it had seemed to her that things would go so much smoother should there only be some divine intervention. The efforts of humanity could only stack up so high in the eyes of pure universal truth, and so often there were people who sought to muddy the waters to their own benefit.

Who sought to harm. To take advantage.

Her memory flashed to the image of a frightened woman, not much older than herself, surrounded by leering men on motorcycles. While provoking a very understandable fear, until physical contact was engaged or threats were uttered, the grounds for self-defense in that situation were dubious. There was nothing reasonable Light could have done to help. Had she inserted herself into the situation, it would have only escalated.

Typically, by the time it escalated into the physical, it was too late.

But.

This time, she’d had the Death Note. 

By the time the poor woman had begun to scream, the name of her second experiment had already been written down forty times.

To harm, to take advantage, yes.

To kill.

There had been a surge of emotion unlike that which she’d ever felt. It had, admittedly, taken Light some time to truly come around to the idea of harnessing the Death Note’s powers for the ultimate good of humanity. After all, she was killing people. Supposedly, killing people was wrong.

She’d asked her father once why, if killing was wrong, did Japan have the death penalty. She’d been perhaps five. It had taught her a good lesson.

Killing was wrong until you were the authority in charge. Then, and only then, did killing become justice.

Light had found sanctuary and zeal inside the thought that the owner of the terrible, otherworldly notebook would probably kill her, too, when they found her. Until then, she had to use her time wisely and take as many criminals down with her as possible. 

Light had been ready to sacrifice everything. She had done very good work in those five days.

And then Ryuk had told her that no, the notebook belonged to her from the second she’d laid hand upon it.

That could only mean one thing.

‘Little wonder why Tailor disturbed me so much,’ Light thought as she browsed her father’s servers. ‘Those accusations…’

The fool. Even though she’d confess to some relief that Tailor had turned out to be a death row inmate, to have been the one to draft that script, to call her a murderer? L truly must be a fool. Whoever the detective was, L could not be counted on to help create a utopia if that was what they truly thought.

The idea that L might be a woman was pondered over briefly, then ultimately discarded. While entirely possible, given the voice scrambling software and anonymity the detective used, it seemed unlikely.

Light knew exactly how difficult it was to be a female attempting to serve the law.

The thought twisted her lip, her heart thudding briefly in anger. She soothed it away habitually. She’d won her father’s respect through her work. She’d won over his coworkers, too. There wasn’t a single police officer in Tokyo who wasn’t aware of her capabilities, she was sure. There was little point in getting irritated over the past, even if her mother continued to lament her desired career path.

‘It would be cool if L was a woman, though.’ She thought as she clicked into another folder. 

A pity, given she’d no doubt have to kill them, but still very cool nonetheless.

No, the Death Note had called to her. The Death Note, and the godhood Light would reach through it - that ultimate authority was her destiny. There was nobody better for it. Not even L, hypocrite that they were. Fascinating, how L could put a man to death, on television no less, and call her a murderer simply because she was the guillotine blade - nevermind who put the man’s neck there to begin with. Fascinating, and infuriating, but perhaps, also, comforting. Such a thing required cooperation from the police, the government. It gave her faith those entities could be swayed, should she only be able to convince them. Such would certainly happen with time. It was only the beginning and her reputation was becoming mythic. Crime rates were already dropping. GLOBALLY. It filled her with fierce pride.

She’d make this world a better place or she’d die trying.

Such was the duty of an officer of the law, wasn’t it?

“Light.”

Hm? She raised her eyes, looking upon the grotesque countenance of her companion. Ryuk was certainly an interesting creature to look at - only vaguely humanoid in the overall coincidence of construction. She absently wondered whether or not shinigami had standards for beauty as humans did, and if that was so, where on that scale Ryuk fell.

How was a shinigami born?

How did a shinigami die?

These were questions that, infuriatingly, Ryuk did not know how to answer. Considering how bored he’d been, it was a little baffling how much he’d simultaneously taken so much for granted. How could you deconstruct a structure effectively if you didn’t know the ins and outs of its anatomy? Then again, perhaps Ryuk was simply not as optimistic as her. Could even shinigami learn helplessness?

But he did know some things.

“There are two key differences,” Ryuk said, holding up two very long fingers. “Between a shinigami and a human who use a Death Note.”

Just the two?

Fascinating.

“Do you know why the shinigami have to use the Death Note?” Ryuk asked.

Light couldn’t help her smile. Ryuk really was such a troll, of course she didn’t. “How should I know? You’re very talkative today, Ryuk.”

Ryuk explained.

The thing about eating years - that made sense. But the evolutionary biology that allowed it to happen?

The eyes?

That would have been a boon indeed, had it not come with such a hefty drawback. Light was fully aware of how easily kingdoms crumbled after their creators died. She needed as much time as possible to ensure that would not happen.

Still. It gave her an idea about how to lure her stalker out into the open. Light smiled at her computer. 

She had just such a worm to bait the hook with.

But first she had to test the limits of the Death Note’s capabilities. Her fingers, nails painted a sweet blushing pink, swept over its otherworldly surface. It almost hummed beneath her touch, the granular texture seeming to welcome her home.

Light opened the cover and got to work. In a fit of internal hilarity, she smiled.

‘I hope L appreciates the presents.’

~~~

There were things that were expected of Light. She’d discovered this early, and the way this defined the structure of the life she would lead. Social standards came with a hefty rule book, but while Light was nothing if not a perfectionist, there were rules that, plainly put, simply didn’t make sense to her.

Key among them was one tenet in particular.

Life wasn’t fair.

It should be.

To declare this, however, would gain the resulting derision of being called ‘naive’. This, too, didn’t make sense to Light. How was it naive to want equity? To want fairness? Society had so many rules, and so many of those rules had been created seemingly in answer to the idea of equality. Between the lines, however, it was a whole other ballgame.

Light had spent much of her time sorting through this puzzle and putting it together in a way that might both make sense, and exist in a way that she could live with.

Her parents had not appreciated this.

Their reaction made many things clear.

Light Yagami was allowed to be blisteringly intelligent, but she was not allowed to have opinions. Light Yagami was allowed to be stunningly beautiful, but only so she could marry, breed, and pass that beauty onto eventual children. Light Yagami could win medals for her athletics, so long as she didn’t care about them too much. Light Yagami could be interested in fairness, only as long as she didn’t upset the status-quo.

Light Yagami was allowed to be a person, but only sometimes. She was an eldest daughter first.

It was difficult to put into words, the way it felt as though her humanity and independence and pride were things she had to win. 

She was at once grateful and spiteful that this was a problem that Sayu didn’t seem to have. Tracking her little sister’s development had been eye-opening. Sayu seemed to have very little problem fitting into the mold society had seemingly designed for her. Intelligent, but not too much so. Pretty, but down to earth. Charismatic and popular, but interested in the things everybody was seemingly interested in.

Perhaps the lynchpin was that Sayu was more interested in Hideki Ryuuga than the idea of pursuing police work. Light had watched time and time again as Sayu’s crooning over actors and romcoms and magazines and pop music softened the line of their mother’s shoulders as though this behaviour was somehow reassuring. Those same shoulders would so often tense oh so subtly if Light did not do the same.

So, though Light did resent it, she did actually try to follow suit. She studied her classmates and gained popularity. She ensured the length and health of her hair and nails. She wore skirts that were short, but not too short - enough that her mother would tease her for trying to catch ‘the right boy's eye’ and her father, when he was home, would wince but laugh. She wore mascara that itched her eyes, and took note of popular makeup trends. When she grew taller than her female classmates, she let her hair grow out all the longer so her build wouldn’t diminish her femininity. All the while, she earned top grades.

In every way she could stomach, Light became a chameleon to best please her family.

It was a far reaching plan that, if it succeeded, could maybe convince some reciprocation of her effort - or so Light had hoped, eleven years old and unable to sleep on her front. If she did these things, maybe she would be allowed to become a police officer like her father. A detective. Maybe by the time she was old enough, the world would have changed enough, and her track record would speak for itself enough, that she too would become a police chief that people respected. Light would be able to help the world become a fairer, safer place.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

It involved a lot more scraping and clawing and bitter, teeth-clenched spite than she’d expected as a prepubescent but by the twelfth time she’d nailed the perp in a case, even her father had to admit that letting her mind go to waste would be a shameful use of resources. She’d been thirteen.

He’d worked on Sachiko.

Her mother had relented - somewhat. It was by and large unspoken, but Light knew for a fact that she was expected to still have children no matter her chosen career. Preferably two. A son first, and then a daughter. If Light failed to meet this expectation then her other achievements would suddenly mean very little.

She would become an embarrassment.

To say that it grated was an understatement. 

This was an emotion, however, that she tucked tightly away.

Light worked relentlessly to be the best. To be the perfect daughter. Things that had been difficult at first became as easy as breathing. Light was the shining star of the Yagami family and her school district.

For all the stress that had plagued her at first, the success actually became rather boring.

And then new challenges presented themselves.

Puberty. Or, more specifically, boys in puberty. Which brought her back around to the idea of children, and how best to please her own goals and her family at the same time.

When she was fifteen and turning down a boy for the fifth time that week (it was Wednesday), Light had decided upon her route of compromise. If she took care of herself, she would still be beautiful enough by the time she was twenty-two that she could likely get any man she preferred. The man in question would need to be intelligent enough they could communicate effectively, but not so intelligent that he couldn’t be swayed. He’d preferably be handsome enough that they wouldn’t look odd together, but also interested in keeping house because Light would really prefer to not give up her career. They would then adopt two children, preferably by the time she was twenty-five. This would disappoint her parents initially, but the social capital would soothe that over easily enough. After all, it was oh so admirable, oh so understandable, that a woman in her field would see disadvantaged children and strive to take them in. To give them a chance they’d otherwise not get. It’d help that Sayu would very likely have her own biological children, barring any unexpected fertility issues.

Maybe Light would even come to love her future children and husband, she’d sometimes hope for wistfully. It would probably make life easier. Even if she didn’t, though, she would do her best by them, financially and otherwise. Sex, for instance, would be an unfortunate but required hassle. When she realized this, Light added to her list of requirements. 

Her future husband would need to be experienced, preferably older than her so age would diminish his libido and he’d know enough to not hurt her. It would narrow the list further since this required the eventual partner to value virginity, but not to a feteshistic degree that might drive him to cheat on her and cause embarrassment. Light did waffle on this somewhat, fully aware that her refusal to be ‘easy’ would likely narrow down the pool to a potentially annoying extent. Sounding out her parents delicately over the course of a couple months decided the matter. Light was ultimately her father’s ‘little girl’ - her comfort was therefore paramount. While her mother would prefer she not make waves, Soichirou knew her well enough to trust her discretion. If it came down to it, she would have his support. Relieved, Light promptly, albeit internally, prioritized her own comfort.

Hell, maybe if she got exceptionally lucky, she could convince a gay man to accept her as his beard and then sex wouldn’t be an issue at all. It would require discretion and NDAs for his partner or partners, but it was an entertaining possibility.

This meant that Light could not afford to burn the bridges in her local area, or gain a reputation for being a ‘cold fish’ - whatever that meant. That would only drive suitors away or, worse, incite the urge to ‘teach her her place’.

This would mean she should start hunting when she was in university. She would flirt with the idea in highschool and attend a date every so often to seem approachable, but wouldn’t look seriously until after. She would be going to To-Oh of course, which could present a challenge in and of itself given the likely demographic of career oriented men, but Light was certain in her ability to be convincing and charismatic enough to sway a sucker, or a self-interested homosexual, to her point of view.

At present, Light felt reasonably proud of her forethought in this matter. Happily, her efforts would still advance her plans. 

‘The way it all seems to just slot into place so perfectly,’ Light smiled in pleasure. ‘So neatly, so satisfyingly… it’s surely a sign that this is meant to be.’

She was on the right path.

Her experiments with the Death Note had proven largely successful, and she still had a stalker.

Now all she needed was a patsy.

She looked at her phone. It was just a little after nine.

“A bit early…” She smiled and flicked open the phone. “But it should be fine. I think I have a few people in mind.”

“A few people?”

“Yep.” 

Light looked up at Ryuk as she held the phone to her ear, her other hand gently twirling the end of her long, thick braid. She widened her eyes just so, peering up at the monster from beneath her lashes as she flashed a coy smile.

“It may be hard to believe but I’m pretty popular, you know.”

Girls didn’t ask boys out on dates. Well, they could, but such a thing could be construed as too forward, too desperate, or even too masculine, to suit Light’s purposes. It was another of those things that didn’t really make sense to her, but that she abided by nonetheless. 

That didn’t mean she couldn’t steer someone around to it so they asked her out instead.

Light had chosen carefully.

Yamamoto was handsome enough with tousled dark hair, squared shoulders, a prominent profile, and glasses. Helpfully, he was also taller than Light’s unusual 179 centimeters, clearly gained by way of her father. She wore flats, of course, to maintain this. Wearing high heels as a woman of her height was seen as ‘brave’ and a declaration of confidence - however, Light wanted to seem demure, sweet, and potentially vulnerable for this exploit. Heels were therefore unsuitable, sadly.

His personality was also appropriate, decent even, and he had a very convenient weakness for Light’s eyes. 

Sometimes, even a few months in, it galled Light to think in this fashion. Using people’s emotions to further her own gains - it was a disgusting tactic.

But Light had promised herself that she would sacrifice anything she had to for the betterment of the world, even her own morals. This was something she had to do. Looking back on it in ten years, if Yamamoto had the full context of the situation, he would probably be fine with it.

It wasn’t like Yamamoto cared all that deeply about her anyway.

A deep, intimate place inside her clenched and before Light could wonder if anyone truly did, she forced herself to wave.

“Yamamoto! Hello,” She said as she trotted lightly to the bus stop. She gave him an upwards look through her eyelashes, enhanced with a judicious use of mascara and carefully applied falsies. Sweeping her hair behind her ear in a way she knew through long experience and study made it shimmer very nearly gold in this type of light, Light smiled.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

Yamamoto obediently blushed, a crooked grin already on his mouth. He had, Light was pleased to note, made something of an effort in his dress. There were far too many boys out there who thought appropriate date wear included food stains.

It made Light internally shudder. Even if she had been born male, she was certain she’d never allow her standards to sink so low. How anyone could stand wearing that kind of mess - it was just another of those things that baffled her.

It was frustrating that so many of these social standards remained so ridiculous, but it was really just another sign of Light’s intelligence, she supposed. The world didn’t work in the way it ought because the bulk of the people in it were both greedy and short-sighted. Or even downright unintelligent. They were rotting.

Sometimes it was difficult not to begrudge especially the ones who had found themselves in charge enough to write the rules, but Light was here, now.

She would mend the way.

But, in the present, it did please her that Yamamoto hadn’t shown up with grease spots on his shirt.

“No, not at all. Uh. Here.”

He handed her a light pink paper bag with corded straps and a logo on the front that announced itself as some sort of sweets shop. Light took it and looked inside.

“I know you don’t eat many sweets, but you said Sayu likes madelains, right?”

Light was somewhat alarmed to feel a genuine smile steal across her face. At least it only made Yamamoto sparkle at her all the more when she gave it to him with a nod.

“She does, thank you so much.”

To reward his sentimentality, Light shuffled closer and linked her arm through his elbow, pressing in enough that he’d be able to smell her perfume. Subtle with faint traces of caramel, Light didn’t favour scents very much but found that this one's implication suited her colouration.

“She’ll really appreciate these.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Yamamoto rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t pull away. “You. You look really pretty today, Light.”

Light praised her ability to blush on command. “Thank you.”

It was still too early to look at him full on, Light decided, so continued to make do through her bangs and lashes.

“You said on the phone that you were having trouble with English, didn’t you? Maybe while we wait for the bus, I could help you?” She said, allowing herself a faintly mischievous look.

It worked. Immediately diverted from expecting his own compliment, Yamamoto laughed and waved his hand in denial. “No, no, Light, let’s not! I know you’re the top student in Japan, but let’s just hang out for a bit before we gotta deal with school work again, eh? It’s the weekend after all.”

Light breathed an airy chuckle into her knuckle. “Alright, if you say so. But don’t make me say I told you so since it’s due on Monday.”

“Everything is due on Monday. I swear, our teachers want to kill us. And then we still have to go to cram school…” Yamamoto sighed and shook his head. “I dunno. Everyone in our grade is so stressed and none of the adults seem to care. Sometimes I wish things were different.”

Then it seemed Yamamoto realized who he was talking to and he startled with a jerk, pasting on a thin smile that radiated worry as he looked down at her. “Well, everyone except you, Light. You’re as cool as they come!”

“Mmn.”

Light lifted her head, looking up into the blue of the Fall sky. Whether or not he realized it, Yamamoto’s stereotypical woes had really touched upon a lot of what she’d been thinking about these days.

“No,” She decided to say. “No, I wish it was different too.”

Yamamoto’s eyebrows practically kissed his hairline. “Really? You do?”

Light pasted on one of her cutest smiles, and even made sure to bounce so that her hair - loosed from its braid but crimped attractively for it - bounced with her. It was a motion that was designed to be charming but had to be carried off carefully, lest it make her chest bounce as well and distract from her face. Now wasn’t the time or place for that.

“Yes. That’s why I want to become a police officer so badly.”

She diverted her eyes to her shoes. Hm. There was a small scuff on the side of her boot. Unfortunate. “My parents would really rather I didn’t, but.”

Light looked back up at him but this time, looked Yamamoto directly in the eye. “I want to help the world change for the better.”

While this little declaration could potentially tie her to Kira, it was really just reinforcing what people already knew and supposed about her for one and.

Well.

For two, Light wanted to let Yamamoto know that his prayer hadn’t gone unheard.

At the end of the day, she was doing this for the people after all. Light certainly wouldn’t become a teacher, and she obviously wouldn’t be killing teachers who piled on too much homework - the thought was simultaneously ridiculous and a reason why she couldn’t trust the Death Note to people like Yamamoto. But once her rule was assured, once the world was safe from would be killers and rapists and burglers, maybe she could move on to benefit people in different ways. Systemically. There would always be the element who just wanted to watch the world burn, but for those whose actions may not have happened if they’d only had some more support…

Yes. Yes, this was a good idea. After all, if Kiichiro Osoreda had felt safe accessing health services, he may not have turned to marijuana, and therefore wouldn’t have ended up killing two people in order to support his addiction. Perhaps this was a simplistic view but if anything it merited research and studies once the time was right.

Yamamoto, at the end of the day, had committed no crimes. He was an innocent.

And therefore a perfect alibi.

Yamamoto’s eyes were round with awe and admiration behind his glasses. Then he smiled.

“That’s so you, Light.”

Light nudged into him playfully. “Maybe you should become a teacher, and that way we’ll have both spheres covered. We can change the world together!”

Yamamoto laughed. “Maybe you’re right!”

The stalker stepped into the bus shelter beside them. Light briefly gave thought to displaying discomfort at his presence, but just as soon dismissed it. The purpose of this endeavor was to find out the man’s name and affiliation. If he really was law enforcement like Light thought he was, hinting that he’d been tailing her would only make her suspicious to the average person.

Light was fascinating enough to attract stalkers, yes. She’d had a few in her time.

However.

Yes, best to simply do as she had been and continue pretending not to notice him.

The bus turned the corner in the distance and, above, Ryuk began to breathe his odd, raspy laugh. Light was almost tempted to join him.

The simple maneuver of getting on behind Yamamoto ensured Light got the aisle seat. Yamamoto’s chivalrous first instinct had been to usher her on first, but it thankfully didn’t become awkward. Light’s stalker took the seat behind them, as she knew he would.

They filled the time with chatter, low enough to be unobtrusive but present enough to make it look like they were friendly but not so intimate they could spend their time pleasantly in silence, such as the elderly couple ahead of them. Light found herself actually enjoying herself somewhat. Yes, she’d chosen correctly. Yamamoto was not unreasonable.

It was too bad there was no way he’d be getting into To-Oh. Based on what she knew of him and his present behaviour, feeling him out as a potential homemaker may have had potential. Of course, people often changed when they had commitment, sadly. 

It would be interesting to see how or if Yamamoto’s behaviour changed in the face of the upcoming trauma.

Light idly began to make a mental checklist of what he might do. He would likely attempt to protect her physically, for instance. His presence in the window seat would make it difficult to attack her pawn. Would he attempt to move her? A sound application of pressure from her pawn would certainly stopper that, should it come to pass…

The drive was peaceful. Sun glowed through the windows and the idle rumble of the engine decorated the low, polite conversation of the handful of people on the board. Looking in the driver’s rear view mirror from the corner of her eye, Light saw even he appeared to be smiling. Behind her, her stalker’s shoulders actually seemed to be relaxed, his eyes closed and a very faint trace of a smile decorating his attractive face.

He looked at peace.

Everybody did.

Ryuk’s laughter and her own building anticipation felt almost cruel but Light couldn’t deny the way her heart rate escalated the closer they got to that one, certain, bus stop.

‘I feel excited,’ Light realized out of the blue.

Yes. This feeling growing in her chest, it wasn’t only anticipation. It was excitement.

She couldn’t remember. The last time she’d felt something like this - she couldn’t remember. Tennis had gotten close until her parents kindly ‘suggested’ she quit to focus on her ‘slipping’ studies in view of highschool entrance exams, but even that, no, even that had nothing on this.

Light couldn’t help but trade a look with Ryuk, his large bulbous eyes lamplights italicizing this peculiar bubbling within her. Together, they smiled.

This, yes. This.

This was certainly interesting.

The bus pulled up to the sidewalk and gently slid to a stop. The doors opened.

Osoreda stepped on board.

‘I hope this entertains you, Ryuk,’ Light thought as she took in her unwitting pawn who would so shortly be dead. ‘As much as it will certainly entertain me.’

Fighting for humanity was so rewarding.

[uselesslilium]

as someone who considered reading ONK but didn't get around to it, what's the tea, if I may ask?

Okay, so. The general issue is that the writing has basically tossed all the established themes about the exploitation of minors in the entertainment industry and the dangers of toxic parasocial relationships between fans and celebrities out the window at the last minute in favor of ~dramatic twists~ while also stretching everything out to a truly exhausting degree.

For more specifics and spoilers, I'll go into more detail under the cut:

The way the main villain of the story has been handled is not only gross, but also extremely baffling. We had an entire arc that delved into his history as a child actor and victim of CSA and his relationship with Ai (the original murder victim). The arc concluded on a note of revealing that actually he was only ever a passive player in the celebrity murders, and in fact never meant for Ai to be killed at all, and it was his partner in crime who had been pushing things and being more proactive about it. He seemed to feel genuine remorse about the things he'd done, the twins both got a sense of closure and were able to let go of their resentment towards him, and the story was turning towards taking down the 'real' big bad.

...And then the following arc revealed that no, actually, he really was pure evil and his partners (including the original stalker who actually stabbed Ai!!!) were the Real Victims because he's got magic manipulation powers and thinks of nothing but murder all day, and the Only Possible Way to deal with him is kill him first.

This is what the protagonist, Aqua, who has suffered from severe suicide ideation ever since early childhood as a result of witnessing Ai's murder, decides all on his own before implementing a convoluted scheme to take out this villain in a murder-suicide. Which is framed as a clever and noble necessary sacrifice to protect his sister from this guy, even though a) he's already protected her once just fine with the help of the people around him, b) everyone around him keeps telling him to rely on others more and not take on everything himself, and c) his actual sister has straight-up told him that she only reason she can keep going is because she has him in her life. AND it's been excruciatingly dragged out over like three chapters now, landing it firmly into 'can we just get this over with?' territory. For me.

On top of that, all the girls have been sidelined hardcore for the sake of making this plan even vaguely plausible. Akane, the most competent woman alive, is not allowed to save Aqua the way he saved her or be a partner who could help him find another way. Kana, my personal fave, remains completely shut out of the entire main plot and trapped in pure love interest purgatory to the bitter end. All of Ruby's very compelling character conflicts have been glossed over in favor of brocon jokes, and even her feelings have been ignored for the sake of framing her as an inevitable victim who must be protected. And Ai herself has all the wishes she entrusted to her children left unfulfilled - there's no saving the person she first fell in love with, one of her children is going to die rather than grow up healthy, and in the end her 'true self' was never revealed to the world.

It's bad!!! Real bad!!!!!

[nagirambles]

Rambling about Fairies - Manga Chapter 200

Warning: generally negative.

And so the decharacterisation of Juvia begins. Like, I get that Gray was the reason she broke out of her rain woman slump and all, but her new hairstyle and her friendships within the guild came from Lucy and Cana. Why does everything get reset all the way to Phantom era just because of Gray?

I feel like this could've been some kind of deep character building moment in the long term-- it could have been Juvia realizing she was being overdependent on Gray because the second he discards her (he wasn't holding on to her particularly to begin with) she dissolves back into being socially inept. It could've been her moment to go from focusing on Gray to focusing on herself and her own goals. Does she return to this form because it's the one that Gray saved? Did she want his attention again, so she reverted, so Gray could save her again? I wish it went in that direction, because then there would be something. But there wasn't. This was just Mashima's brand of humour, and it's what begins Fairy Tail's downward spiral.

Which is ridiculous! She spent so much time away from them in Nirvana and Edolas and was fine until Happy told her about Edolas Gruvia!

It's so unhealthy and I wish I could be joking right now, but I can't. It isn't even portrayed as negative unlike her usual stalker shenanigans. God forbid, when it happened in Avatar it was entirely stated that Gray was the one that needed to be brought back to their side because Juvia's not okay without him. Sure, Gray needed to be brought home, but no one mentions how Juvia is way too fucking dependent on her man that she's somehow completely unable to take care of herself once he's gone! She made herself sick and wandered about like a zombie without any meaning left in her!

What did she spend so many months in the guild for, if she somehow never experienced family enough to remember it after Gray left? Even Phantom Lord taught her the meaning of 'being accepted regardless of your flaws/baggage' and you're telling me Fairy Tail gave her nothing except crippling overdependence on Gray?

When did she become someone that only lived for Gray? Where is my strong and brutal, desperate to prove herself, confident, self-sacrificing shy girl? Where is the girl that just wanted Cana to accept her, where is the girl that hurt herself to save Gray from Meredy, where is the girl that brought Gajeel to Fairy Tail because she didn't want him to be alone after Phantom disbanded? Where is the girl that, when mind-controlled, cried because she didn't want to hurt Lucy anymore? Where is she?

I really feel like this moment and the later Avatar situation could've been a character building moment to enrich both her and Gruvia as a dynamic. Rather than Avatar completely tuning all the blame on Gray, it should've been a moment where Juvia herself went to save Gray and bring him home. She proves her place later on, during the Water Make moment--- but that's about her love for Gray. What about her pride as a member of Fairy Tail, as family, as Juvia Lockser, the strong and independent rain girl that now knows the sun? Where the fuck is she, Mashima? Why were we robbed of the moment where Juvia, after growing as a member of Fairy Tail, went and brought Gray home to a place that would accept him after he turned to the dark side? Where is Juvia bringing Gray into the sun to bring their development and relationship full circle? Why is Gruvia going up and down like a cheese grater?

[vintagevict0ria]

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

Chapter 2 "Ive been watching you for ages..."

pairing: Adam Driver x f!reader content: alcohol consumption, use of Y/n. a/n: oh gosh guys im so sorry this took SOOO LONG!! I have not had any motivation but i was determined to get this out! part 3 will not take as long!! Added a tag for all my works: #victoriassecrets!!

Endless scrolling turned into you following asleep. When you woke up, you found a pool of spit under your chin and your phone was dead. Rolling your eyes, you sat up stretching your arms before plugging your phone in and wiping your face. Today you had planned to get breakfast with Carolina today, to debrief from the past few days. It had caught you by surprise how much your co-star had been on your mind- an unhealthy amount you should say…

Hopefully this date would help clear your mind and focus on the actual movie and not Adam Driver. 

You arrived at the coffee shop shortly before Carolina did so you found a table by the window. When she arrived: she lit up instantly when her eyes met yours. “Hey girl!!!!” She let out a squeal of excitement as she frolicked over. Standing up, you embraced her in your arms. “Oh em gosh we have so much to talk about!!” Of course, Carolina couldn't wait to start talking. Sitting back down, you took a sip of hot coffee before speaking “So i want to discuss how JJ is planning on building and establishing me and- Sorry- Taylor and Johns (you and Adams characters) relationship”

“He wants you and Adam to get to know each other from the other side of the camera so that way we have something to build off of before we start filming.”  This caught you by surprise.In the past, no directors had asked you to have an actual connection that isn't just acting.

“We have 7 weeks till filming starts and I've already scheduled you and Adam a reservation at the restaurant down the road for tonight- lets get ahead yeah?” Dinner. Tonight. With Adam. It was hard to imagine what this could possibly mean. “So it's a date basically?”

“Oh gosh no silly!” She laughed, shaking her head. “Just think about it as a…” she paused. “Yeah it's basically a date.”

Oh Carolina, why would you do this to me!!

“No the red! No wait- the blue! wait - yes the red! Wait..” Holding up the two dresses and making Carolina pick was impossible. She was your hype woman and you looked good and anything but gosh this woman could not pick to save her life. “Girl, just pick! I'm going with the red-” before you could finish Adams manager walked in-”The cab will be here in an hour” she left quickly after dropping the news. Lovely, now I'm being rushed. 

“Ok pick a dress and i’ll get someone her to fix your hair and makeup-”

“No- I got this. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Carolina smiled, looking up from her phone and going over to hug you. “First impressions are everything” she whispered in your ear. All you could do was laugh.

Dress? Red(or blue?) No yeah red…

Hair? Down! No up!! Wait… Down!!

Makeup? Uhhhhhh…

“Ms. Y/L/N! The cab is here!!”

Crap! You quickly grabbed your purse and ran downstairs while still trying to put shoes on. After who knows how long, you finally got your shoes on and was greeted by Adam. 

“Evening.” He said, holding out his arm.

“Good evening.” You joyfully intertwined your arm around his elbow, letting him guide you into the cab. 

The flash of the cameras was bleeding. Being an actor in Hollywood meant stalkers, love letters, cat calls, and of course- paparazzis. Security did their best to quickly get you too into the car with little to no time for the cameras to catch a glance of you and your co-star. As soon as you entered the car- a woman- around the age of 20, started pounding at the window of the car. “Adam! You are so hot! Have my ba-” the car sped off before the woman had a chance to finish. You glazed over at Adam but he didn't seem fazed at all. Was he used to this? The ride was quiet. All that could be heard was the rolling on the car on the roads of LA and the faint playing of the radio. Before you could be relieved of the stress of this event, you stupidly went on instagram and your DM’s were full of pictures that the paparazzis had taken just minutes ago. The pictures were not as clear as expected considering you basically ran to the car. You could just faintly make out the scene of Adams' arm around yours. 

Once you arrived at the restaurant, the door swung open and a doorman held out his hand to you. You hesitantly grabbed it. Making sure your dress didn't get caught in the car door- you exited the vehicle and was once again escored beside Adam and security. Little to no paparazzis were around but somehow, many civilians knew you two were expected. Some profanities and obscure things were shouted but you too paid no attention to them. The restaurant lights were wildly contrasted with the dark outside. Adjusting to the lighting, you walked over to a table that was draped with a white cloth along with two wine glasses, silver wear, and a candle. Adam pulled out the seat, gesturing to you to sit down. Embarrassed, you smiled and whispered ‘thank you’ under your breath. Adam sat down across from you.

“So-” Adam began to speak, his brown eyes looked so whimsical in the lighting. Before speaking again, he cleared his voice. “Where are the menus?” He chuckled, looking around the restaurant. At Least he was trying to make this not awkward as possible.

“I was just thinking that! Have you ever been here before?” You scanned the room, it was quite empty- well entirely empty.

“No, you?” You shook your head. Right as you were going to say something, your waiter walked over, pen and paper in hand. “Apologies for the wait- what can I start you off to drink?” You both ordered a glass of red wine to start and shortly after receiving menus- ordered entries. Taking a sip of your drink, Adam asked “Thoughts on the film so far? Well, the script that is.” He brushed his hair back, still making eye contact with you. You couldn't believe you were having dinner with Adam Driver. He was so beautiful and there was something about him that wouldn't allow you to look away.

“I like it! Also- apologies for Carlonia setting this whole ‘date’ thing up- she can be really extra sometimes' ' putting date in quotes excentauted how awkward this dinner was. You hoped he would just laugh it off but- oh no.

“Carolina?” he laughed, shaking his head while looking down, “No, this wasn't JJs or Carolinas idea. It was mine.”

_________________________

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[ragingbookdragon]

The Soul's Tethers

Kotallo x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: I FUCKING LOVE THIS MAN SO GODDAMN MUCH. -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The Nora had come through the window of her shelter before she’d even realized what was happening, and it was only until the two were in the floor, split lips and busted eyebrows that the two understood that they weren’t each other’s enemy—especially when the horde of stalkers rushed down below the trees. They’d assisted the other in taking them out and when they were reveling in their spoils, she invited the Noran back up until the rain had stopped.

She handed the girl, Aloy, a bowl of stew and tossed a log into the fire, sitting down beside her. “You’re quite a ways from Noran lands, Aloy.”

Aloy huffed sardonically. “I tell myself that every day.” As she ate, she couldn’t help but gaze curiously at the woman. “What tribe do you belong to?”

“I was once a part of the Sky Clan, though I claim it no longer.” Her expression soured. “My uncle…he betrayed me.”

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Tekotteh.”

Aloy blinked and looked at the fire, muttering, “I feel bad for you.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied, sharpening her knife, gazing towards the sky. “He was different when I was a child and younger woman. But power changed him. He is no longer the man I once respected.”

“How…did he betray you?”

Her gaze turned almost sad as she answered, “I fell in love with one of the boys he was mentoring. We…grew up together and were always close. But as he got older, and stronger, my love grew, and my uncle saw that I was loyal to him more. He sent my love away to become a marshal for Hekarro.” Her hands moved absentmindedly along the metal. “I saw through Tekotteh’s reasoning. And when Tekotteh told me he was killed at the embassy, I spoke out against him. Called him a coward and a traitor to our people. He banished me for disloyalty to the clan.” She shifted, taking the empty bowl from Aloy. “I’ve been here ever since in grieving. Away from my people. On my own…it’s…comforting somehow.”

Aloy frowned. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her expression turned solemn. “I was there, y’know? At the embassy? I tried my best to get as many out as I could.” She sighed. “I wish I could’ve saved your lover. What was his name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Kotallo,” she said, a sad smile playing her lips. “His name was Kotallo.”

Aloy froze, not even blinking as the Tenakth continued to talk about him, then she blurted out, “Did you just say Kotallo?”

“I did?” her brows drew together. “Why?”

“Kotallo’s not—he’s—” Aloy shook her head. “Kotallo’s alive.”

Shock bled into her posture and face as she gaped at the Noran. “What?”

“Kotallo survived the Embassy Massacre. He’s still alive.”

“He—he is?” she started rising. “Can you take me to him? I—I want to see him. Please, Aloy, take me to Kotallo.”

Aloy was already grabbing her bow and spear, rising too. “Yeah, absolutely, c’mon.” she paused and looked back at her. “Tekotteh told you that Kotallo was killed?”

Anger drew along her, nostrils flaring in rage as she spat, “I’ll kill him.”

“Get in line.”

***

She was quite baffled by the technology that Aloy’s base contained, but nevertheless, she was grateful for the new Focus, beginning to understand a little of the mission that the Noran had explained to her along the way. The companions that Aloy kept were pleasant enough, but she hadn’t yet seen Kotallo; it was only when Zo explained that the man had gone to hunt that she somewhat relaxed, sitting in the common room, waiting nervously for the man she hadn’t seen in almost two years.

Zo sat down beside her and handed her a cup. “Here, some tea for your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” she retorted, but took the cup anyway. “I’m fine.”

The Utaru smiled knowingly. “Drink.”

She did as Zo said and took a few sips, the warmth bleeding down her throat. “I haven’t seen Kotallo in almost two years. I…don’t know how to greet him.”

“Aloy said your uncle told you he had died.”

“I assume it was to somehow relieve me of my love and force me to marry someone else.”

“Yet you did not.”

She glared into the cup. “I saw through his manipulations when he sent Kotallo away to become a Marshal.”

“You never forgot.”

“And I will never forgive either,” she added, looking up when the door opened and a man’s voice she recognized so well echoed through.

“Erend, I do believe you owe me a drink because I in fact found not one, but two stags.”

The Oseram groaned and dropped his head on the table as the Tenakth warrior came around the corner, looking around the common room, but his eyes stopped on her.

She rose to her feet, hands pressed to her chest as her throat tightened, tears filling her eyes; she didn’t know what to say as he stepped in, his own eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.

“You—you’re here,” he breathed, and she nodded wordlessly, unable to fight the tears dropping down her cheeks.

“He told me you were killed at the embassy,” she managed through a clenched throat. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I—” she crossed the floor to him in slow steps, reaching up to touch his chest. “But you’re here…alive.” Her eyes dropped to his left arm, and he frowned.

“No, I did not die…but I did not walk away unscathed.” He looked back at her. “In my state…I do not know if you wish to be with me. I…am not as worthy a warrior as I once was.”

Her hands were soft against the roughness of his dried paint, cupping his face, thumbs brushing over his scars and cheekbones, pulling them until their foreheads touched. “My Kotallo,” she whispered, nuzzling their noses like traditional lovers did in their culture. “My tether.”

He tipped his head to the side. “There is someone worthy of you. Please, do not waste your love on me.”

“The only man worthy of my soul is you.” She pulled away enough to see into his eyes, wiping the tears that had grown in his. “You are my tether, Kotallo. My soul is yours. It always has been. It always will be. And no amount of limbs lost will ever change such.” She smiled through her tears. “I have missed you so, my tether.”

Kotallo let out a breath and shut his eyes, voice soft, but so strong as he replied, “And I have missed you, my soul.”

[caspers-multifandom]

Just A Little Push

|| Masterlist ||

Don't we just love an indecisive man. Welp, least he pretty.

____

Soap had known Price for years, knew him to be strong headed and wise – always ready within a tactical situation. The man had saved his life on multiple occasions just by using his head and getting a plan into action. He had the upmost respect for him and would always look up to the older man.

But right now he had to take a photo of the silent stunned expression as he gawked at the poor woman who’s face was the shade of a beetroot. When he took the photo and sent it to Gaz and Ghost he could still see Price was frozen.

“Ya gonna scare the socks off her ya keep starin’ like tha’” He teased as he slid his phone back away.

Price blinked and seemed to click back into reality at that moment. He shook his head and cleared his throat as he took in his bearings and then turned to Soap.

“Go take the rubbish out, I don’t pay you to do nothing.” Price demanded as he put his own phone away finally and turned back to one of the coffee machines behind him.

Soap gaped like a fish above water as he tried to retort but gave up when Price didn’t acknowledge him and left to take out the rubbish in the back.

Price watched out of the corner of his eye to see Soap disappear and then let his shoulders sag. He rested his hands on the counter and hung his head with a deep exhale. He could feel the sweat building on his back, some on his forehead too. He took his cap off his head and wiped away at the layer building before replacing the cap and leaning against the counter again. Idiot. You see one woman and you’re a stinking mess, get a grip!

Price couldn’t help but let his eyes trail from the cups of coffee he was making throughout the rest of the afternoon. They would start on the task at hand, then he would be waiting for a machine to finish pouring the shot into the cup, then his eyes would raise above the machine and land right on the woman and her mother. She became much more relaxed as time ticked by, her mother made her laugh and her smile was radiant. The crinkle by her eyes, the rosey tint in her cheeks – hook, line and sinker.

*

The night came, the cafe was closed, and Price was sat with his head in his hands as his friends snickered and teased him after Soap re-enacted his earlier embarrassment. They had all met at the local pub down the road from their cafe, it was a steady night and Price was only half thinking he should’ve declined Soap’s offer for a drink.

“You’ve hundred percent convinced the woman that you’re a creepy stalker.” Gaz chuckled and took a swig of his pint.

“Shut your trap.” Price grumbled into his own pint as the rest chuckled at him.

“Come on Price, least let us see her.” Soap begged.

“You’ve already seen her, you serve her.” Price raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’ve never seen her.” Gaz raised his hand in level with his face.

Price exhaled heavily through his nose and leant back on his stool. He pulled his phone out and slid it over to the boys like a pack of mutts and they were instantly looking through the profile of the woman he had matched with.

“Aurora Wells, damn she is a beauty.” Soap gawked at the phone.

“She’s a teacher at the primary school near the cafe. Seems Price has a teacher kink.” Gaz teases. Price glares at him over the rim of his glass.

“Good hips.” Ghost comments and then turns back to his own pint.

All three men look at him as he lifts his balaclava up to his nose and drinks his beer.

“Well, he ain’t wrong.” Soap shrugs and looks back at the phone.

Price thought he could poke his own eyes through his head with the way he drags his hands down his face. He should never have let these boys sign him up to this app.

“So are you going to say hello to her?” Gaz asked as he passed the phone back – much to Soap’s disappointment.

“Not with you muppets hounding me.” Price puts his phone away.

They continue their drinks through the next couple of hours, pushing onto ten o’clock before Price calls it a night. He had deliveries in the morning, and he didn’t need to hear any more of the lads questioning when he was going to give this match a go.

He left Gaz and Soap stumbling together back towards their flat with Ghost following behind them with his hands in his pockets. Price lived the opposite way so began his trek home on his own.

The phone in his pocket burning a hole in his leg.

* 

The lunch rush was finally breaking down into the last few people that always ran late for everything. Price and Gaz were behind the counter, Soap running tables and Ghost was handling the food in the kitchen. Fridays were the busiest days in the week, followed closely by Mondays. With Ghost’s waffle special on Friday’s, it made the day even busier.

“So did you message her?” Gaz asks as he stands next to Price at the counter. Price was wiping down the coffee bean machine while Gaz was steaming some oat milk for an order for a middle-aged woman on the opposite side of the counter.

“What’re you sprouting about now?” Price sighs.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Gaz chuckles to himself.

Price was already exhausted of this conversation.

“No.” He grumbles and finishes wiping the one spot of coffee that just refused to come out. Gaz tuts at him as he adds the milk into the ceramic mug and places it on the receiving counter for the lady waiting. Once she had walked away Gaz span onto Price and crossed his arms at the older man.

“What’s got you so worried about it? You’ll message her, maybe go out, maybe even have fun.” Gaz hinted. He then quickly dodged the cloth that Price threw over his shoulder at the young man.

“Butt out of, Kyle.” Price warned as he started to restock the coffee beans into the machine.

“Fine. I’m going out back for five.” Gaz shrugs then walks past Price to go through the kitchen.

Price was starting to become more irritated than interested because of all the nagging he was getting from his men. He had half a mind to delete the app from his phone and never give it another thought.

That was until he turned around to serve the new customer who just walked in and froze. Because standing on the opposite side of the counter was the schoolteacher that he matched with.

[holylulusworld]

Dumbass stalker (1) - Every step you take

Summary: You’re the worst stalker ever.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: stalking, obsession, possessive/delusional reader, mentions of violence/sex

A/N: Please consider this reader is obsessed with SB. Her behavior is concerning.

Dumbass stalker masterlist

DS - Prologue

It’s art.

Some might call it stalking. You call it mastering an art.

Since the day Vought announced that Soldier Boy is still alive, you are only living for him. Your world revolves around him.

Most of the fangirls scream and annoy their dream man. You mastered the art of following your man. He never sees you or gets annoyed with you.

While the others earn eye rolls and harsh words – you are allowed to admire Soldier Boy from afar.  Of course, you are allowed to watch him. He’s your man after all.

Your man only needs a little more time to realize that you are the woman for him, not the bimbos he bangs to release some tension.

One day and that’s for sure, he will see you, and his eyes will shine, and his heart will beat only for you.

First things first. You sneak around the corner to get a better look at him. He smirks at some fangirls and makes a crude joke.

While the girls scrunch up their noses, you chuckle. They just don’t get his humor. But you do.

Being locked away for so long, trapped by his enemies changed your man. If only he’d be free of Vought so you can take care of him.

“Soon, my love,” you whisper, and take another picture. “You look so good today. If only we could be alone.” You sigh deeply. “What a pity this is another stupid fan event.”

Snapping a few more pictures you smile. Soldier Boy poses only for you. He flashes a smile for the camera, and throws his head back, laughing loudly.

“Soldier Boy here,” one of the girls calls for him. “Do you have a girlfriend?” She asks. You square your jaw at her question. “What do you like in a girl?”

The spell is broken when he turns away to walk back inside the tower. “Stupid bitches,” you grumble. “You had to ruin it for all of us.”

Another day, another chance. You found him easily among the commoners. Soldier Boy leans against a bar counter. His true identity is hidden by a baseball cap and sunglasses. He tries to pretend to be one of the normal people.

Only you know the truth. Soldier Boy is extraordinary. A perfect specimen. Your one and only.

“Another one,” he barks at the bartender. “Fill me up tonight. I only want to forget.”

Your heart clenches in your chest. He looks so tired, and sad. If only you could take him in your arms and make everything better.

It’s not the time. Not yet.

You need more time to prepare for his arrival at your home. Your home is almost perfect for the two of you. Soldier Boy will feel welcome and comfortable the moment he steps inside your home.

“Hey, I was first,” a man barks at Soldier Boy. “Get in line. I’m the next man she serves. After I had my fill, you can have sloppy seconds.”

You scrunch up your nose at the man’s implication. Most of the men you have met in your life are crude, rude, or perverts. Or, if you get really lucky – everything at once.

While you watch your man from afar, hiding in the shadows, a fight starts. Soldier Boy throws the man across the room. You step out of the shadows to snap a few pictures before you flee the crowded bar.

The end is already written. The hero will take the pretty bartender he saved from a creep home and fuck her brains out.

You’ll return home and dream about being in his arms like most nights. One day, he will take you home, you’re sure about it…

Part 2