#the serpent under't

[honorhearted]

❛  you’re cute. how about i buy you a drink ?  ❜ (Alice)

@pagetreader

Cute?

The compliment roused Benjamin to attention, yet his gaze turned wary once the woman practically melded into his side. Had she no shame? At present, he was trying to ingratiate himself with W.ashington's inner circle, and this? Well, he wasn't certain what she was trying to accomplish, but the gleaming quality of her eyes made him instantly leery.

"Thank you, but I prefer not to drink at parties," Benjamin replied. "Perhaps that makes me a teetotaling lobc.ock, but I've seen far too many people make total arseholes of themselves."

The woman, unfortunately, didn't seem any less diverted from her intentions (whatever they may be), and sparing her a tight smile, he asked, "Are you a friend of His E.xcellency? I don't recall seeing your face before..."

All around them, guests either milled about, or chose to partake in dancing in the middle of the room. Despite the present state of the w.ar, no expense was spared, and a part of Benjamin felt immense guilt from such appalling waste.

[honorhearted]

Alice's delight was infectious. Despite the sting over separation from his own family -- half of which being in a permanent state -- Benjamin was overjoyed at the thought of potentially having a new family of his own...a brother. This man would never replace Samuel, but to yet again have someone to care for, to nurture and guide, left Benjamin hopeful amidst his travels.

Prisoner exchanges were by no means simple affairs, and yet that afternoon proved favorable since the varying groups traded positions with nary a word nor conflict. And even on horseback, once Benjamin appraised the striking eyes of whom he presumed to be Nathan and Loretta Beaumont, there could be no doubt in his mind that these were Alice's beloved siblings.

Flashing what he hoped to be a welcoming grin, Benjamin dismounted and extended his hand, offering Nathan a handshake. "Welcome, Lieutenant," he greeted. "Although it aggrieves me to learn of your condition, I'm honored to be the one to escort both you and your sister back to camp -- to Alice. She's been waiting for your return with bated breath. And so have I."

Suddenly a bit self-conscious, Benjamin bowed and explained, "I'm unsure if Alice has written to you about me, but your sister and I...we've been engaged for quite some time now, and once the moment is right, I intend to make her my wife. I'm delighted to soon be a part of this family." Nodding toward his horse, he gently stroked the mare's flank. "This is Artillery. I can see about getting us a second mount, but she should be able to withstand Loretta and myself. Unless you two would prefer to ride together?"

Benjamin continued to defend her as Ann continued to wail her accusations, only ceasing when he threatened to shoot her good leg. In a pitiful heap on the riverbank, the woman wept as a handful of soldiers came running down the incline to assess the situation. 

“I-I’m alright,” she replied hoarsely, nodding through another shivering wave, ““H-has anyone ever told you that your timing is impeccable?” 

“Major Tallmadge!” Lieutenant Abbott addressed while the other two forced Ann onto her feet, “Is this the traitor you spoke of, sir?” 

After confirmation, Ann was led away, albeit sloppily with her injury, and Lieutenant Abbott helped Ben get Alice standing upright. 

–

Officially in custody, Ann could not relay the information to the British about the Continental Army’s advance on Rhode Island, resulting in a loss for the crown. This failure was blamed upon Major Duncan Drummond, the one who’d employed her. He had since been removed from the position of intelligence chief. 

Though the department was considered a waste of valuable time and resources, there was one figure who had managed to keep it running due to Alice’s success – that figure was her brother. 

He claimed that Ann had been a necessary sacrifice, a pawn in the game of chess that would lead to a greater victory in the long run, and Alice believed him. He’d never given her reason to doubt him before, and so she waited patiently for her word, which arrived precisely two months later. Disguised as a prisoner of war among the many that were to be exchanged, he would infiltrate the camp from within. 

The rest of the details had yet to be given to her, but that mattered little now that the plan was no doubt already in motion by the time she’d read the letter. As instructed, she told Benjamin that both her brother and younger sister were among the two dozen prisoners (both soldiers and supporters) captured and to be on the lookout for them so that he could bring them back to camp and her family could be reunited. 

"It's a miracle," she'd told him, squeezing his hands tightly as her eyes welled up with tears, "Please, bring them back to me. Bring them home."

Blackwood, under the alias of Lieutenant Nathan Beaumont, held fast to his younger sister’s hand. Loretta (also under the surname Beaumont) was about eight years her sister’s junior with more of a strawberry tint in her blonde curls, unlike Alice’s autumn shade.

Since both prisoners sported striking blue eyes, however, it was no doubt easy for Major Tallmadge, even on horseback, to distinguish them from the rest. With their appearance so beleaguered and having spent nearly a fortnight among the other prisoners to strengthen their story, no Patriot soldier could have possibly known that they were loyal British citizens.

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves.” ― Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate

KINKTOBER 23' | 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓* | AO3

*this fic is in media res

wc— 6.3k

pairing— yandere!dom!gn!reader x defected!sub!getou

cws/tags— dead dove: do not eat, yandere/darling dynamic, erotomania, dubcon, mind break, restraints (ropes — shibari), death threats, bodily harm threats, gaslighting/manipulation, heavy sadism/masochism, knife play, manhandling, pain play (scratching + hair pulling), humiliation, dacryphilia + drool, spit as lube, handjob, edging, suguru fantasises about fucking you, frottage, cumming untouched, praise, pet names: “(my) darling” + “good boy”, dialogue-heavy

You stalked over to Suguru, taking the knife out of the back of your shoe, the embodiment of jealous fervour. Your fingers tightened around the knot of ropes at the centre of his shoulder blades, tugging him upright. He heaved and gasped, his face contorting in a mix of fear and confusion when he spotted the gleaming blade in your hand.

"What?! W-What are you doing?!" Panic laced his voice, evident in the wide-eyed terror that flickered across his expression. 

Who would protect his loved ones? His body tensed, arms and legs twitching, desperate to escape the impending threat. What would happen to them if he couldn't endure whatever ordeal awaited him? Imminent danger materialised with the knife in your hand. Some type of torture? Did that mean you were going to kill him? The room closed in. He had people to save, damn it!

"Where the fuck is it, Suguru?"

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Your initial chuckle morphed into a peal of chilling laughter, your head swaying on your shoulders. Your lip trembled as you screeched, "Where the hell is it, my one and only?!" 

Your chest heaved and your blood coursed hotly through your veins like lit gasoline, fueling your temper. The air, hot and suffocating, rushed in and out of your lungs, each exhale a smouldering release.

Where could it be? The words, the tattoo, the declaration? Was the man before you truly your one and only? Was he the illustrious figure you had adored from the shadows all these years? The questions echoed in the caverns of your mind, each reverberation stoking the flames of your incendiary anger.

Inhale. The air, thick and acrid, seared your throat as it surged through you. Your chest expanded with the intensity of a furnace.

No, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Suguru would never willingly choose this. He loved you; he had always loved you. Conviction burned in your thoughts, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the belief. The man bound before you was your cherished one. He had to be.

Exhale. A low growl escaped your lips, flames licking at the edges of your composure. Beads formed on your brow and palms, glistening like molten droplets.

It was probably that damned cult of his, wasn’t it? They were jealous, coveting him for themselves. They had stolen him from you, tearing him away from the love and devotion he owed you.

Yet, like fire, jealousy can both illuminate and destroy.

Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as they clutched the knife, the cold steel vibrating. The hilt felt slick in your grasp. The cool reality of the blade danced with the reflected light of the candles in the room, an undulating promise of searing pain.

Kneeling directly in front of Suguru, your armed hand reached around him, the knife a menacing punctuation madness. Your gaze bore into his eyes with a ferocious intensity, a frenzied stare.

His face contorted. Wide eyes were saucers of panic, pupils dilated to the brink as if attempting to swallow the horror of it all. Sweat adorned his furrowed forehead, shining like dew. His complexion drained of colour, leaving behind a pallor that starkly contrasted with the usual warmth of his skin. The lines of his face, once familiar and composed, now distorted into a twisted mask. 

His mouth hung agape, a silent scream frozen on his lips. Tremors shook his body, his jaw clenched, muscles poised to flee—though you both knew he couldn’t. Every nerve was on edge, a single touch could shatter the fragile equilibrium that barely held him together.

As you held the knife, its cold blade a chilling presence, you gently dragged the back of it along his left forearm, tracing a path of distress up to his elbow. The metallic edge left a faint trail against his skin.

"I can't let anyone else have you, Suguru," you murmured.

It sent a chill down Suguru's spine, the sensation racing through his veins, setting his pulse ablaze. The soft touch, though hauntingly gentle, was enough to provoke his Adam’s apple to bob nervously. A cold sweat broke out down his back, beads of anxiety clinging to his skin, as your blade traced a perilous path, a few inches away from the delicate network of his veins.

"Don't..." he managed to whisper, his voice trembling, a plea that hung in the air like a fragile thread. Tears brimmed at the edges, and an involuntary stillness overcame his legs.

His mind raced, an anxious torrent of thoughts attempting to strategise, to find a way to escape the impending threat. The ropes, however, proved an insurmountable obstacle, binding him in cruel proximity.

“I love you.”

"Please..." he begged softly, his voice a desperate entreaty. His eyes remained fixed on the glinting blade.

The flat of the blade dragged along Suguru's bicep, a chilling sensation that sent shivers through his entire being. As you continued, the cool metal skimmed his collarbones, leaving a trail of cold dread in its wake. 

"Ah, ah, hah..." he bit down on his lip at the acute discomfort of the blade. 

Goosebumps erupted across his flesh. With each touch, his body reacted as if the very air around him had turned icy. His trembling and shivering became more pronounced under the merciless blade. Suguru's instincts begged him to scream, to resist, but his body, held captive by the ropes and paralysed by fear, fought against the primal urge. His eyes met yours with an expression of utter helplessness. He felt a desperate yearning for release, a desire to break free from the nightmarish reality that enveloped him.

"You're mine, okay? Maybe I'll make you match with me right... here," you murmured—a haunting promise.

The blade traced a perilous path, inching towards the area where his heart rested beneath his left pec. His heaving chest forced itself to still, a desperate attempt to avoid any accidental harm as the blade hovered over the epicentre of his being—his heart.

A helpless horror painted his features as he stared at your hand, left frozen in shock, a captive audience to the cruel drama. His body remained unnaturally still. He couldn't move. He couldn't say a word. He couldn't do a damn thing. Any motion, even the slightest twitch, threatened to turn this nightmarish ordeal into a self-inflicted tragedy.

"Or maybe..."

As you moved the blade with deliberate intent, dragging it inches from his skin and his pounding heart, Suguru's body betrayed him. The tip traced a sinister path along Suguru's abdomen, the cold steel scratching his skin but not breaking it. Shiny with sweat, his abdominal muscles twitched involuntarily in response to the metal.

A gasp of distress escaped his lips as the blade brushed against his skin, tickling every nerve ending and sending a sharp pang shooting up to his stomach. The heat emanating from the spot where the blade had touched created an acute awareness of the vulnerability of his soft, pale skin. A thin red line marked the path of the shallow scratch, not even enough to bleed. If he bled, would you be satisfied?

Down his hip bone you pressed the entirety of the flat, cold steel against the plushness of his thigh.

"Maybe here."

His body, already fraught with tension, tensed further at the sensation. The flat against his thigh felt like an icy brand. Suguru's hands shook uncontrollably, his entire being trembling in response to the cruel caress. Eyes, fearful and pleading, darted between your face and the blade. He waited for the anticipated moment of pain that never came.

"You... Please..." he whispered, on the precipice of breaking.

You, however, continued to stroke the inside of his thigh with the blade, a cruel tease. "It would look good carved right here.”

A sharp gasp escaped him as he felt the tingle of the blade running across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The sensation, a mix of fear and an unexpected wave of arousal, caught him off guard. He pressed his lips together, attempting to stifle any involuntary sounds that might betray the tumult within; but a soft moan escaped Suguru.

"Please…” he begged again, a fragile thread holding on to the remnants of composure, of pride. 

You licked your lips, your gaze fixed on the spot where the blade of the knife pressed against his inner thigh, a visual of the precarious balance between torment and perverse desire.

"You want me to be yours... permanently, right? You want me to be your soulmate, your forever—right?" he began, his voice a delicate balance of persuasion and vulnerability. His mind raced with the urgency of finding a way out of this hell.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze anxious as it fixated on the weapon pressed against his thigh.

"What if you can have me in a—in a different way? What if we can have something no other sorcere—no other couple can have?" he whispered, the desperation palpable in his voice. The air seemed charged with the weight of his plea as he attempted to navigate a fragile path between surrender and a desperate attempt at negotiation.

"And that is?" you inquired, a sudden brightness in your eyes catching Suguru off guard. He gave you a wobbly smile, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'll let you have me. In every way possible.” 

"Have you?" a shiver ran down his spine, his eyes on yours, searching for any sign of mercy or understanding. "I wanted to take my time with you, Suguru..." you sighed, your gaze dropping to the knife. 

"Please... I-I want you to have me," Suguru said, an unsettling desire that clouded his thoughts. "Please."

His body, restrained by ropes and paralyzed by fear, yearned to move, to escape the impending danger, but it remained frozen in place. A darker desire rendered him powerless.

"Please! I'll be good for you. I'll be good for you, I swear..." Suguru's desperate entreaty hung in the air.

You hummed contemplatively, your gaze appraising Suguru as he desperately sought a way out of the impending torment. "How?" 

A flicker of realisation brightened Suguru's eyes, a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. "There's a way you can keep me without having to—that," he began, his voice shaking but now laced with a newfound confidence. "You can mark me as your own. You can mark me as yours and keep me by your side..." he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his plea echoing in the room.

“How?” 

He remained silent for a moment, pride warring with desperation. Suguru bit down on his lip, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of words he yearned to say but hesitated to voice. The weight of the unspoken hung in the air, an unrelenting pressure pushing him toward disclosure.

"Touch me.”

For a moment, Suguru was left breathless, his admission hanging in the air like a cloud of uncertainty. He had said anything to make you drop the knife, to replace the impending pain with a different kind of surrender.

"Isn't it too soon? You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for the moment to make you… I wanted it to be perfect.”

In response, Suguru laughed—a genuine sound that echoed in the room, a laughter he hadn't experienced in a long time. A laughter that betrayed the nervous undercurrent beneath the surface, a way to mask uncertainty. The thought of it being a nervous laughter didn't cross your mind, the genuine tone seemingly validating the moment.

That laughter quickly transformed into a smile, the genuine expression playing on his features. Your eyebrows raised inquisitively, observing the way he spoke convincingly about being ready for you.

"Not at all," he whispered, his voice carrying a confidence that contradicted the vulnerability in his eyes. A millionaire smile adorned his face, a façade—the world was, indeed, perfect in that moment.

The handle of the knife in your grip felt unyielding, your knuckles pale from the force with which you held it. Slowly, you leaned your face toward Suguru, your gaze fixated on his lips. A slight tremor ran through you.

Suguru's eyes widened as he observed your approach, the blade pressed against him momentarily slipping from his consciousness. You were so close now, the minimal space between you diminishing further. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as his breath caught in his throat.

"Kiss me," he whispered.

The kiss was hesitant and nervous on your end, the palpable tension between you vibrating with adrenaline and a barely suppressed need. As you went to pull away, Suguru deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you into his mouth, and in that moment, the knife slipped from your grip, clattering with relief to the floor. Pleasure swept through him, and any fear he had of the blade was momentarily forgotten. Seizing the opportunity, he took advantage of your distraction, deepening the kiss again with an eager moan.

Your lips met his, tongues finding their place together as the two of you kissed with abandon. Pleasure surged through Suguru as your arms went around his neck, holding him close in a passionate embrace. You cradled his cheeks in your hands instead, even as he stayed tied up. You pushed your tongue greedily into his mouth, and one of your hands laced into his hair, tugging it by the roots gently. 

When your tongue entered his mouth, his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. His body tensed and flexed against the ropes, instinctively rebelling to try and reach you. He moaned softly into your mouth, his hands shaking against the ropes that keep him restrained.

The kiss left both of you panting and trembling, desire and anticipation thick in the air. You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against Suguru's, locking eyes with him. His gaze, hungry with longing, met yours.

"You..." you started, and Suguru swallowed thickly.

"You look so... Beautiful..." he murmured, his voice breathless and sincere, even if the sincerity was part of the act.

You chuckled airily. Open-mouthed kisses peppered his skin, and he responded with a breathy groan. Starting near his chin and making your way to the base where his ear met his neck, you bit down lightly, running your tongue over the sensitive skin. Suguru gasped, his head angled by the tug of his hair, your other hand gripping the ropes on his chest.

Straining against the ropes, his back arched like a taut bowstring, the bindings leaving indents that promised to bloom into bruises with the back-and-forth torment. With his hair pulled at a different angle, his gaze turned upward to meet yours, the height difference accentuated in this vulnerable state. Hungry eyes watched your every move, his mouth half-open, each inhale catching in his throat.

Your kisses and marks trailed along his neck, the tugs on his hair and the scratches of your nails against his scalp sending shivers down his spine. The hand on his chest ventured down his abdomen, tracing circles against one of his Adonis lines, a teasing touch that further heightened his arousal.

The familiar ache between his thighs pulsed with intensity, a relentless reminder of the desire that simmered. A yearning plea lingered in the air as he pressed himself closer to you, the heat of his breath mingling with the anticipation of your every exhale. He took a deep breath, his racing thoughts hidden behind closed eyes. A silent prayer echoed in the quiet recesses of his mind, a fervent hope that you would attend to the ever-hardening cock that strained to feel you.  

Shivers ran through his body as your nails scratched against his skin, a hint of pain mingling with the pleasure to keep him hooked. The ropes dug deeper into his skin, leaving red, painful marks across his back, chest, and shoulder blades. He squirmed, his skin begging for more.

"Ah…!" Suguru let out a half-moan, half-gasp. "T-That... That feels good..."

"You're mine," you mumbled against Suguru's throat before lightly biting it. 

A whimper escaped him, his body writhing against the bindings that held him captive. His arms were securely tied, leaving him unable to touch himself or you, but the sensation of your teeth against his skin, against his neck, was enough to elicit a response.

"Fuck... I'm yours..." Suguru mumbled, his eyes closed. There was no room for any other response; he was yours, willingly or not.

"You're safe with me," you reassured, kissing along his collarbones. 

His eyes flickered open briefly, only to close again as he noticed the tight grip of your hand in his hair. The pain, a sharp contrast to the pleasure, mingled in a way that seemed to deepen his surrender. The hand massaging his thighs made him squirm, his back arching to intensify the sensation of the ropes against his skin.

"W-Woah, easy on the hair," he muttered out of breath, a plea laced with both discomfort and a desperate need for your touch. 

You pulled back, narrowing your eyes and arching a brow. "What was that?"

Suguru whimpered softly, the fear rushing back as your fingers remained entwined in his hair, the tightness starting to border on pain. Swallowing thickly, his eyes opened slowly, his heart pounding with the resurgence of apprehension.

"N-Nothing... Nothing at all," he stammered, nervously avoiding your gaze. "I like it when you pull my hair... I like it really—really hard," he added.

A smirk played on your lips as you tugged his hair, bringing his face closer. "Good boy. I know you can take it, because you're strong, aren't you?" you cooed.

"Y-Yes... I'm strong..." Suguru whispered, gritting his teeth, attempting to hide the pain behind those words. He tried to muster a confident smile. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, lying. "I can take it," he whispered, his expression a mosaic of hurt, arousal, fear. "Yeah... I'm a good boy..." he continued, the words laced with a plea for reassurance. "I can take it... I-I can..."

You smiled approvingly and leaned in, kissing Suguru so softly that a moan escaped him, his eyes closing in bliss. The kisses were sweet and tender, carrying an addictive quality that seemed to erase the pain in his hair, replacing it with pure, unbridled pleasure.

In contrast to the softness of your kisses, your hand in his hair maintained its tight grip, a silent assertion of control. The other hand on his thigh sank its nails into the plush flesh, a sensation that brought a sharp intake of breath. The pain, though evident, seemed to intertwine seamlessly with the pleasure of your kisses. Suguru hesitated to voice any discomfort, reluctant to ask you to stop when the pleasure seemed to outweigh the pain.

Suguru was acutely aware of the pre-cum, a testament to the relentless ache that pulsed through his throbbing dick. The warm, wet stickiness coated him, and his fingers twitched to wrap around it just for some relief. His mind painted vivid fantasies where it wasn't his own skin but yours, where the pre-cum painted your skin with the rawness of his desire. The yearning for a deeper physicality clawed at him—your skin flushed against his.

A need that pulsed through him, a need that he found challenging to express: he needed you—needed you desperately, damn it.

A whimper escaped him as your touch lingered on his thigh, the pressure from your fingernails digging deeper. "Oh, God..." he whispered softly, his lips trembling slightly but still yearning for more of your touch. 

You pulled back, allowing your hand to fall from Suguru's hair, and instead, you tucked some of his long, silky black strands behind his ears, your hand lingering around the rope on his shoulder. Both of you were breathing heavily, and as you sat back a little, you admired the sight before you.

"You're gorgeous like this, darling,” you remarked, your voice laced with a mix of satisfaction and admiration.

A shiver rolled down Suguru's spine when you pulled away, his eyes slowly opening. He stared back at you with admiration, his gaze flickering down to your hand around the rope as you tucked your hair behind his ears. His breathing stilled, chest slowly rising and falling as he absorbed the sight of you appreciating him. The moment, however, took a sharp turn when your hand pulled away, and his expression shifted from admiration to fear as you drew close to the rope.

"P-Please!"

"Please?" you teased, a smile playing on your lips. Your nails dug into his thigh again, and you pulled, leaving deep, raw scratches.

He yelped and whimpered at the sharp sting, his whole body shivering at the feeling of your fingernails digging into his thigh and pulling. He whined and squirmed in his constraints, the ropes biting into his wrists, torso, and legs. Despite the discomfort, he had no choice but to endure.

"Please, I'll do anything!" he begged, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat.

You raised your eyebrows, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, I'm sure you will. Because you love me, don't you?" 

Your hand on his thigh gently stroked the fresh scratches, a soothing touch that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. Suguru's breath hitched, and his mind, clouded by desire, struggled to discern whether he wanted to run away.

"Yeah..." he whispered, closing his eyes once more. "I do... I do." 

A part of him still yearned to break free, but the fear and anxiety of losing your touch overrode that desire. It was less about escaping and more about staying by your side, ensnared.

You lifted your hand off his thigh, wetting your lips before spitting into your palm. The sudden shock of your spit-slicked hand wrapping around his needy dick made Suguru's body stiffen. Despite the initial shock, the sensation felt undeniably good, and the movement of your fingers made him squirm in both fear and pleasure. His eyes darted between your face and your hand, his breath catching in his throat. Each stroke and pull like a drug, addictive and consuming. Biting his lips furiously, Suguru's face flushed crimson. His face twitched with anxiety, yet his entire body trembled with pleasure.

As the pace of your hand quickened, he keened and whimpered, unable to articulate a coherent response. "Is that how you like it, darling?" 

Suguru attempted to form words, but all that escaped were high-pitched whines. His teeth seemed practically glued together as another whimper slipped from his throat, his bound hands pulling on the ropes in a desperate attempt to get closer to you.

"Does that feel good? Yeah?" you teased, chuckling and watching his expressions in awe. “Aw, cute… I can feel it twitching.”

"It's so... M’so… Hah, fuck…"

His words failed him. He couldn't even form a sentence. The touch of your hand between his thigh was pure pleasure, and he was unable to keep himself composed. His hands were still pulling on the ropes against his arms, wanting more—so much more. His hips, driven by his muscles flexing and tensing in fervent and rhythmic thirst, pressed against you insistently. Suguru's breath, once controlled, now grew increasingly irregular, as he whined between gasps.

"Please... S-so good," he groaned in frustration. "Oh, please, fuck, I need to… Need to–"

“Yeah? What is it, darling?”

He nodded frantically, his ability to articulate lost in the whirlwind of moans and whines escaping his lips. The sensations between his thighs, guided expertly by your hand, were undeniably addictive. His hips rocked in response, a desperate rhythm that mirrored the instinctive urgency of his body, pushing into your touch with fervent desire.

As your lips met his, Suguru melted into the kiss, every nerve in his body ablaze by the sensation. The rhythmic movements of his hips intensified, a testament to the depth of his longing. Each kiss drew out desperate whimpers, his body writhing in pleasure. Yet, beneath the surface, a palpable tension hinted at the intense need he harboured.

He could envision it—the way he would fill every inch of you, the intoxicating stretch that would make your body slick with sweat. The sounds—the hitch in your breath, the loud moans escaping your lips as pleasure surged through both of you. Your legs would wrap around his waist, craving him closer, more deeply. He would moan, his cock twitching inside you, a testament to the exquisite torture of the denial. Yet even in fantasy, you would smile at him wickedly, using him all for yourself.

You felt the rhythm of his movements, the desperation evident in how roughly he fucked your hand, and you knew the depth of his arousal. Breaking the kiss, you murmured, "You close?" into his mouth.

A wave of pleasure swept through Suguru's body as your whispered words hung in the air. His attempts to speak were stifled by the overwhelming sensations, reduced to a series of groans and gasps. His eyes remained tightly shut, lips trembling, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath.

His hips, driven by instinctive urgency, pushed into the air, need pulsing through him. His cock stood flushed, dripping, and achingly hard, the anticipation etched into every twitch.

Your actions, guided by a blend of desire and control, only deepened his yearning. The precum drooled from his slit, messy and exactly how you liked it. Your saliva-slicked hand teased and pumped him, each movement accompanied by an embarrassingly loud wet sound that resonated with his whimpers.

Just before he could cum, you withdrew your hand, and his body quivered in response, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The abrupt absence of your touch left him gasping for breath, words caught in the throes of long-gone ecstasy. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away, panic contorting his face. 

"No, no, please…! Please don't..." he whispered, his plea hanging in the air as he longed for the return of the sensation that had brought him so close to release.

As you pressed your lips against his, a surge of warmth radiated through the touch, your fingers coiled around the taut rope of his shoulder, the lit fuses of lust. The conflict made him beautiful—a part of him, a mere whisper amid the cacophony, yearned to resist, to reclaim control. Yet, that struggle was seared away by the overwhelming touch, by the overwhelming you, making resistance a distant and feeble notion. The texture of the rough fibres kept him tethered to the intensity of the kiss, a dance of lips and tongues that became him.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip; his response was visceral—a loud, involuntary moan—the sound of surrender. His lower lip quivered beneath the sharp pressure, a tangible sign of the white-hot desire surging through his veins. His surrender, the white flag, was taken into your heated hands and scorched to black, to lust. With closed eyes, his world narrowed to the victor, to you.

Breaking the kiss, a glistening strand of saliva lingered, connecting your parted mouths. With a mischievous smile, your hand rose, and your thumb found its place in his parted lips. The wet heat enveloped your digit, his tongue swirling sensuously around it. His eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, met yours. A groan hung in the air, caught in the rawness of his throat as he eagerly sucked on your offered digit, his tongue curling around it.

"I wanna… Mmmf…! I wanna..." His voice, laced with restrained desire, faltered as he bit down on your thumb, the words teetering on the edge of a plea. "More, more..."

You leaned in, your face tantalisingly close to his, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "More, huh?"

Withdrawing your thumb from his heated mouth, you directed your attention lower, teasingly inching it between his legs once again. The soft pad of your thumb, a gentle torment, caressed the sensitive contours of his length, drawing circles on the leaking head, smearing pre from the slit along the prominent vein of his shaft. He let out a strangled moan, his hips involuntarily frotting into your hand as he gasped for air, unable to respond beyond the primal sounds escaping him. His body shook and his hips bucked desperately.

The hand wrapped around the ropes tugged him nearer, and you rested your forehead against his, the candlelight flickering in the inky black depths of his eyes like a torch in the night.

"You're beautiful," you whispered, “You’re mine.” 

Blushing under the weight of your words, his eyes widened. Your breath, a sweet and intoxicating scent, mingled with his. He shuddered, a soft whimper escaping him. Desperate to contain the rising chorus of pleasure, he bit down on his lower lip, the delicate dance of pleasure and restraint evident in the way his hips instinctively rocked. His body trembled under the tender torment of your touch.

"Please," he begged, soft and needy.

"Tell me that I'm the only one for you, the only one to make you feel this way," you murmured, a sly smile playing on your lips.

His brow furrowed with the exertion of pleasure. Your words, a catalyst of praise and affection, wielded a power that rendered resistance incapable. His attempt to deny, to resist your influence, was a futile battle:

"You're... You're the only one," he whispered, surrendering to the truth. 

His eyes fluttered shut, teeth gritted, and his hips moved with an urgency that betrayed the depth of his craving. Each thrust forward sought the contact that momentarily eluded him, and a plaintive whine escaped when your touch lingered just out of reach.

“Tell me you want me."

"I... Oh, God, I want you. I want you so much right now. Need you so fucking badly right now."

His admission trembled through the charged air, a declaration of desire that hung heavy between you. His body quivered, and he clamped down on his lips, a valiant effort to withhold further vulnerability. Yet, the pull of your tease and touch unfurled the neediest corners of his soul, a rekindled lust that had nearly withered in the grip of isolation.

"Please…! Please touch me... Please, please touch me again..." 

Your question hung in the air, a subtle challenge:

"You feel this?" 

The room echoed with a ravenous moan as your hand reached down, cupping Suguru's balls. If the intensity wasn't overwhelming enough, you chose that precise moment to massage his ballsack between your fingers—swollen and heavy with cum, aching to be released. The sudden, deliberate contact jolted him into a realm of heightened sensations, his eyes snapping open to reveal the surrender etched across his face under the spell of your grip.

No words found refuge on his tongue, eclipsed by a primal symphony of moans and the hungry, needy whispers that escaped his parted lips in response to your touch.

"Please..." A quiet whimper, a plea, an admission of craving.

"This is mine now, alright?" you declared, asserting yourself with a subtle squeeze.

Wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat, he found himself ensnared in a web of possession. Your grip, both firm and tight, elicited a soft whimper, his hips instinctively pushing into the touch, yearning for more. The declaration wrapped around him,the reply spilt from him, a desperate cascade of surrender and longing—a willing captive to the depths of your lust:

"Y-Yeah... Y-Yours, fuck…! Oh, God, yours. Your touch is mine, yours... Just yours... Only yours, I want you, need you..." 

Your words, a melodic coo, dripped with a seductive assurance. "So obedient, you're learning.”

As your touch found a firm rhythm, a seismic shift surged through him. His body, a canvas for the symphony of pleasure, responded with unrestrained fervour. Fingers curled tightly around the ropes, a desperate attempt to anchor himself amidst the rising tide of need. A guttural moan escaped him, his tongue lolling out involuntarily as breath hitched in his throat.

Rocking forward, every movement strained against the constricting bonds, ropes carving into his skin, a painful reminder of desire, control, captivity. Pleasure, a white-hot current, coiled in the pit of his stomach, setting his nerves ablaze with an intensity that bordered on exquisite agony. But your words, a cascade of praise and affection, were the one craving of his you satiated. He needed you now. He needed you.

You.

A cry, raw and hoarse, reverberated through the room. Tears, involuntary witnesses to the overwhelming ecstasy, streamed from his eyes. His legs tensed, a quiver coursing through them, and his whimpers escalated into squeals. But as you withdrew your touch, a pang of longing seized him, a hurt he hadn't anticipated. Fervent pleas spilt from him, his body squirming in your grip. 

"Please…! Oh, fuck… No, no, please…! Please touch me again..." His words, infused with desperation, hung in the air, a plea for the return of the exquisite torment you provided.

"You wanna feel more? Do it yourself," you drawled, a burst of mocking laughter accompanying your words.

Suguru's sob, a raw expression of frustration, mirrored the internal turmoil. Tears blurred his vision, but the silhouette of your smug grin etched itself in his mind. A blend of desire and frustration mingled in his plea, "Please-please-please-please... Please touch me..." The imploring gaze sought your hands for solace.

"Please, darling. For me,” you taunted.

Eyes pleaded, and his body trembled once more as he reluctantly began to move, the tight grip of the ropes emphasising the solitary nature of the act. Sweet, pearlescent tears gathered on his lashes, welling up in those gorgeous eyes, and rolled down his flushed cheeks. They shimmered, streaking his face, as baby hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Brows knitted together, frustration etched across his features—what a sight he was for you.

Each thrust into the air was met with a loud whine, but despite the physical effort, it could never replicate you. You were incomparable. Another cascade of tears leaked from his eyes, tracing damp trails down his cheeks. A hot ache coursed through him—that familiar aching bliss.

"It doesn't, ah, feel like you... Like you..." The room hung heavy with the echoes of Suguru's whines.

"Oh, my darling. C'mon, keep going. You're so close now, aren't you?"

His eyes opened, a flush of embarrassment painting his face as he met your gaze. Head shaking in protest, he struggled with the solitary act, his voice trembling, and breaths shallow. The effort, while valiant, felt insufficient, a stark reminder of the absence of your touch.

"I'm... I'm fucking trying…!" he whispered. More whimpers escaped him, the absence of your touch haunting the moment of indulgence.

A groan emerged, lips parting in surrender to pleasure. Your encouragement became his guiding force, pushing him closer. Moans echoed, his eyes rolled back, and his back arched in response to the steady grip of the ropes on his shoulders. Pleasure consumed him, his body wracked with its intoxicating embrace, yet the struggle to contain the sounds persisted.

You seized his jaw, holding his mouth open, a witness to his contorted face—shame, pleasure, fear—those uninvited guests. His body writhed, torn between the desire to escape the situation and the undeniable arousal that tethered him to your command. Feeble protests echoed in the room, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of your influence..

As his hips accelerated in their erratic movement, a violent shudder seized his entire body. Streams of thanks spilt from his bitten lips, a testament to the overwhelming release that surged through him. Suguru's orgasm, a crescendo of heat and pleasure, shook him violently, the length of his cock now coated in warm, sticky evidence of his climax, thrusting into the air with feverish need.

"There you go, my darling. Good boy, you've done so well," you said affectionately, creating a momentary reprieve, a gentle acknowledgement of his surrender.

The room held the lingering echoes of Suguru's release, his body still trembling as he kneeled there, caught in the aftermath of the fireworks that had set every nerve ablaze. A pyre to pleasure, his chest heaving with each laboured breath—a testament to intensity.

Blissful heat. 

As his eyes stayed closed, fingers wrapping around the ropes that bound him, he grappled with the profound impact of the experience. A spectrum of feelings—humiliation, frustration, repulsion—warred within him. Yet, an undeniable satisfaction lingered, a product of the attention you had lavished upon him.

“How many people will do anything for the one they love?”

The weariness clung to Suguru's teary eyes as he fought against the heaviness, attempting to blink away the exhaustion. The world blurred with each slow blink, his eyelids closing reluctantly, weighed down by the fatigue that permeated his entire being. Your hands released the ropes, the final tethers of his consciousness, and he teetered.

"Honestly, Suguru, you’re lucky to have me," you chirped.

The metallic scrape of the knife being lifted off the floor, a sound that would have sparked alertness in any other circumstance, barely registered in his fading awareness.

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have been so lenient."

Eyelashes, once vibrant, seemed burdened by the weight of exhaustion. Each blink, a futile attempt to stave off sleep, betrayed the struggle.

"Then again, you’re my one and only, and I’ll do anything for you, ‘cause I love you. Anything."

Lines deepened on his forehead as the battle against fatigue intensified. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, meeting your smiling face.

"Even when you don't know what's best for yourself. Don't scream, okay?" you murmured gently.

He felt the cold press of the knife.

a/n: well. there we are, then. lol. this was a really fun thing to write icl... i should do more yandere stuff in the future :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

[discjude]

SGE themed Macbeth adaptation. MacPeth, if you will

[camelliagwerm]

Okay so, that last post I reblogged actually got me thinking regarding Camellia. She mentions in her act 5 quest that Horgus expects camellias to be in bloom all year round, and it is among the camellias that you can find her mother Iris' grave.

I found it a little odd at first that the camellias in bloom were red rather than the white I'd usually associate with the flower (partially because of Chanel's long-standing association), but I think it's deliberate. Red camellias are often tied to passionate, romantic love, but also deep desires. In this case, these deep desires could be Camellia's desire for her freedom, her desire to kill, her desire to no longer hide, her desire for acceptance, understanding, a connection with someone and her desire for the Commander if she is romanced. Checks out to me.

Also, those little blue flowers on the grave itself? I wouldn't be surprised if they're meant to be irises - Camellia's mother's namesake.

[tinyvariations]

look the innocent flower (but be the serpent under't)

aka the supercorp victorian murder mystery au no one asked for

When Lord James Olsen's body is discovered in the river near Thorul Estate, the local constabulary dismisses it as an unfortunate accident. His influential family, unsatisfied with this conclusion, hires private detectives Kara Danvers and J'onn Jones to investigate.

Baron Lex Luthor, newly anointed and exuding a veneer of charm and intelligence, hides his own sinister motives beneath his polished exterior. Meanwhile, his enigmatic sister Lena, a brilliant botanist with a passion for medicinal plants, becomes a source of fascination and conflict for Kara.

As they delve into the investigation, they must navigate the labyrinthine world of Victorian aristocracy, where secrets are buried deeper than the roots of the Luthor family tree. In a world where trust is a luxury and deception is the norm, the detectives must tread carefully to unearth the truth and survive a treacherous game of power and lies.

Credit to @itsyouknowmeart for the amazing art!

[distantsapphicdream]

“Look like th' innocent flower

But be the serpent under't”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: 'I'm not here to fuck spiders' type of vibe. I am just going to warn you now, the reader is definitely a 'fuck around and find out' type of gal. "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't'" - Lady Macbeth, the original man eater, my guiding light.

Chapter 30:  Fire and Blood

For days you bobbed beneath the surface of consciousness, breaking through the waves rising to the top, looking around to observe your surroundings, your body still heavy as a stone before you crashed down into the abyss once more, tart liquid on your tongue. 

You emerged from the turbulent waves again, eyes sliding open, head turning sluggishly to the seat beside your bed. Each movement of your head against the pillow made nausea climb up through your throat.

The world spun as you were finally able to concentrate on the figure that sat rigidly beside your bed. Donned in a tight green dress sat Alicent, watching you unmoving, with her lips pursed into a tight line.

She sat so stiffly, you would not be surprised if a rod had been shoved inside of her. As though you were to blame. As though by some inexplicable reason, that she had been put out by the actions of her own son, who had been encouraged by her bitterness for years.

How dare she fucking look at you like that.

Fury burst through you as you struggled to pull yourself sitting, desperately dragging your body up from beneath the sheets, grunting. The pain in your side was raw as you heavily laid your back against the board of the bed. You sucked in greedy breaths, holding in whimpers of pain as your side was alight with pulses.

She watched you impassively, having not moved as she waited for you to pull yourself upright. She did not offer help, nor twitch at the sight of you struggling, or in pain. She was every inch an Ice Queen.

You looked at the tables beside your bed, they were empty. No cups to throw at the Green Queen, no blade to slit her throat with, no makeshift weapon to avenge your family.

You stared at her, begging to keep your grief at bay, and let your anger rise above it all. You needed to hold strong. You needed to be a dragon.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, head tilted as she spoke.

How were you feeling?

How were you feeling?

Her son murdered your brother in front of you, chased you about the skies tormenting him. For years she and her kin have made your families lives a living nightmare. Her son usurped the crown from your mother as she forced people to support him. She made the realm a more dangerous place for women, ensuring that you would never become heir to the throne.

How were you feeling? 

You watched silently as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, pulling and twisting, waiting for your response, though none came. The skin around her nails were raw and bloody as they twisted in her lap.

You wished she would bite through the bone next time. 

“I prayed to the Seven every night for your speedy recovery from certain death. You fell and Aemond caught you. The Prince brought you here, gaunt, pale, wet with rain and blood. The Maesters were sure you would not survive, but Prince Aemond insisted on saving you."

Saved you?

Saved you??

He was the reason you were in this godforsaken bed.

It was almost laughable. In fact, you did laugh, though the dryness of your throat caused your lungs to seize. A ragged cough forced itself from your lips as you doubled over in pain, clutching your side.

What had he done to you?

What was wrong with your side?

If he had saved you, why do you feel broken?

You sucked in an agonising breath as you leant back, pulling the white chemise up your side higher and higher from your body, slowly exposing your skin to the room. You grunted with every movement.

Around your ribs were thick bandages pulled taught against you. Blood stained the left of the creamy strips. Tentatively, you went to pull the bandages away from your skin, to look at what lay beneath.

“Aemond saved you.” She repeated, as though you hadn’t heard her.

You scoffed, but the rush of air caused your side to flare with pain. You sucked in a shallow breath, snapping your head to the woman at the side of your bed. 

Her face had not changed. Ever the martyr. Ever the goddamn self righteous woman of the Gods who could do no wrong. Who could never be held accountable for the domino affect of her actions.

You swore to yourself then and there, that once you were healed and ready, you would kill her. Present her eyes... No. Her head to your mother as a gift.

As you looked down at your side, large bruises peaked above the bandages, dark purples and reds blooming across your skin. You breathed shallowly, fingers resuming their pulling on the bandages, more discolouration becoming visible to your eyes.

“He saved you from the fall, a certain death if you were to hit the waves below you.”

Your fingers pulled at a bandage with dried blood away from your ribs, the strips resisting as they had stuck to the wound below. You held your breath as you pulled the bandage further away, feeling the scabs pull from your wound, a sharp stinging spreading across your side.

Beneath the bandages, your skin was deeply bruised. A large gash ran around the side of your ribs from your front, to your back. Its edges were jagged, as though a blade had been roughly pulled along your flesh, the tight skin snapping apart from the tension.

Through the ragged and torn flesh were lines of hastily done stitches, their dark thread holding the wound tightly shut together. Every movement pulled on them. And the wound was swollen and red, there was no sign of infection to be seen.

You sucked in a stuttering breath as you placed the bandages back against your side, slumping as you watched the woman in front of you ramble.

“The Seven heard our prayers and saved you from The Stranger. Princess Helaena has prayed for you too, as did the King. You are safe here. We have made sure that you have had the best medical treatment in all the realm.” 

You felt bile rise up in your mouth. You stared at her, unblinking until finally you spoke.

“My brother is dead.” Your voice cracked dryly.

Alicent stiffened in her seat, sitting up straighter as her hands came to a stop in her lap.

“I grieve-“

“Lucerys was murdered…” You cut her off. “By your son…A Kinslayer.” 

Every word twinged your side in pain.

You breathed heavily, the strumming pain curling around your lungs as you waited for her to respond. The Dowager Queen simply stared at you, waiting for you to talk again.

You both sat like this for some time, willing the other to talk as thoughts whirled through your mind. You gave in to the silence.

“I suppose you have informed the Queen that you have me as your prisoner?” You inquired dully. 

The Dowager Queen's perfectly manicured brows twitched above her eyes, lightly scrunching in the centre as she suddenly shifted in her seat.

Her fingers picked at her skin more openly.

Realisation dawned on you, as you leant your head back, looking down at her from your nose.

“They do not know I am alive,” You prodded, “Do they?”

The Hightower did not respond. 

There was your answer.

A huff of laughter jerked out of your mouth, side twinging. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as you began to laugh, the pain from your wound ignored as joy coursed through your veins. You wondered if anyone else in the Keep knew of your survival, except those trusted by Alicent to tend to you.

You laughed loudly at the predicament as the Dowager Queen sat rigidly in her seat, fingers clenching in her lap. Your laughter peeled across the room dryly, wisps and croaks following after. 

What a delight to know that Alicent truly had made a grave mistake. 

The door to your chambers opened as Ser Cristin Cole and Aemond walked into the room, watching as you laughed heartily, clutching your side in agony as you felt the stitches pull tightly in your wound, fresh blood soaking the bandages. 

You laughed louder at their entrance, their confusion evident on their faces as they came to stand beside Alicent, looking down at her, eyes searching for answers.

Aemond watched you intently, almost unsure of how to react.

Oh Gods, it just got better.

They think you've gone mad.

A cough worked its way up your throat as your laughter turned into a string of hacks, pain capturing your entire body. The bitter taste of blood pooled in your mouth as you coughed, hand coming to touch your lips delicately as you smiled through the pain.

“They do not know I am alive.” You laughed, hand pulling back to look at the spots of blood on them.

You leant heavily against the board as you looked at them all grinning, blood in your teeth. Aemond watched you curiously, eye patch once again gone, as he looked at your hand covered in blood.

You pushed your arms below you, pulling yourself up to sit higher against the wooden board behind you, as you shook your head gently at the woman in green, tutting her as you did. 

“You’re all going to die.” You beamed viciously, “You know this… Don’t you, Alicent?” You pushed out a grunting laugh again as your eyes skimmed to Aemond, watching him as you spoke again.

“They’re coming for you. All of you.” You mimicked Rhaenys warning. You slid your eyes back to Alicent who’s head sat higher on her neck. “Oh Alicent, I thought you were smarter than this.” You chastised her, “Mothers favourite son, and fathers favourite daughter?” 

You laughed again at the absurdity.

“You really should have told them that I was alive.” 

You looked pointedly out of the window across the room, sighing dreamily as you spoke, the room silent except for your voice, “I suppose they should be here very soon.”

Aemond shifted on his feet as he stepped forward, placing his seated mother behind him. Always the protective young man you thought, as your laughter turned into little huffs of giggles before you finally calmed yourself.

The bitter copper taste in your mouth made you run your tongue along your teeth to clear it.

“If you continue to allow the Queen and King Daemon to believe that both I… and my brother were slain, you will find the Keep burnt to ashes before the morrow. If you were clever, I would send a raven.” You mocked.

“We have tended to your wounds, brought you back from the brink of death, kept you safe he-“

“Safe? You have imprisoned me in my old chambers,” You looked about the room as you spoke, smiling through the pain, “Your demented son chased me and Prince Lucerys around the skies when we were messengers, and allowed my parents to believe that they lost two children at the hands of your Kinslayer son.” You hissed.

“I would have sent a raven by now, though I have no issues with dying in the Keep with you all.” You smiled, looking directly at Aemond, “At least I will get to hear you scream.”

Alicent pushed up from the seat beside your bed turning to Ser Criston Cole, before swiftly leaving your chambers, the dark haired knight trailing after her as you guessed they were to send a raven to the Queen.

“Send my regards to my mother!” You called out as Aemond stood stiffly beside your bed, looking down at you.

You stared up at him as you sat lazily against the board of the bed, fatigue slowly working its way through your body as your side began to throb viciously.

You sighed as you looked at him, his demeanour confused you.

The silver haired man looked tired, large bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. Most likely due to celebrating his murder and capture of his obsession.

The One-Eyed Prince went to turn away from you, but you stopped him.

“Aemond wait.” You called out to him, false desperation in your tone as he halted to turn and look at you, eye searching your form before it paused on your bandages.

You swallowed thickly, looking down into your lap before looking back at him, pulling your face tightly together as you faked a sob. The tall man twitched forward towards you as you pulled your hands up to your face, hiding your sneer.

You dropped your hands back to your lap, looking at the man before you. Nothing but violent rage curled through you as you looked at him. Images of your brother dying, flashed behind your eyes. 

You sniffed. 

“You saved me.” You spoke quietly, looking him in the eye.

Aemond shifted on his feet as he looked at you, saying nothing. 

You sniffed again, wringing your hands in your lap before touching your side gently, “Thank you.” 

He still said nothing.

Simply observed you.

Come on you bastard.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. You watched his form relax, the tension moving slightly from his shoulders.

Men.

They are so easy to manipulate. How dull they all are. You simply bat your eyes, put a little bit of stupidity in your tone and flash them your cunt, and they will do anything you say.

Anything.

"Thank you, uncle." You sniffled as you gave him a sad smile.

The Prince took two steps towards you, still towering over you as he watched. You looked into your lap, twiddling your fingers together as he stood beside you.

Look innocent, and sweet.

Quite the performance you made as you reached a hand shyly to grasp at his that was by his side.

And he let you.

You reached for that hand and held it as though you were a maiden, shy and unsure. You pushed down your disgust and the way your skin crawled at the contact of your brothers murderer.

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles softly as you gazed up at him, before you brought his hand towards your face. You felt him stiffen slightly, hesitant, and so you put the act on harder.

You almost dropped his hand, uttering a gentle whisper of 'sorry'. His hand squeezed yours gently, keeping it in your grip. He was reassuring you.

You had him.

Hook, line and sinker.

Letting your lips pull into a mournful smile, you looked down at his hand before you brought it up to your lips. You had to use every ounce of energy within you to not bite his fucking fingers off.

Those rough fingers. The ones that had been inside you. That had touched you. That have held blades and swords, and books and wine. The same ones that had taken life, touched your lips as you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to them, shyly looking up at the Prince.

It was every mans wet dream.

He leant into your touch, his eye blinking. He seemed almost shocked.

Good.

You rubbed your cheek against his hand, looking at him with your sweetest doe eyes. Something you had learnt from your father. He said the eyes carry a thousand words that your lips cannot.

As you leant your face into his hand that was still clutched in yours, you smiled sadly at him. Pathetically. Like a bird with a broken wing, singing a sad song to its captive.

And as you watched his shoulders sag, and the tension leave his brow, and his lips relax from the god awful purse he always wore when angry, you let yourself smile.

A soft smile, just a hint.

A sort of smile you give to someone you might pity.

And you did pity him.

What a stupid fucking man.

You opened your mouth, closing it again for show as if in thought on how to thank him next. Perhaps he was thinking you may ask him to bed you. He could certainly crawl into bed with you, and you would certainly bite off his cock.

What an exhilarating thought.

You opened your mouth again and spoke in the most sickly sweet manner that you could muster.

"Thank you, uncle. For saving me. For saving my life."

You paused for effect.

“Now that I live... I will get to watch you die screaming.” 

You smiled cruelly at him. Hand still holding his gently against you.

And then tension was back in his shoulders and face, and the spell you had cast was broken as the older Prince seemed to come to his senses, his one eye locked on yours as silence captured the room.

“You really should have killed me, uncle.” 

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut

[supergirlmayhem]

look like the innocent flower (but be the serpent under't)

When Lord James Olsen's body is discovered in the river near Thorul Estate, the local constabulary dismisses it as an unfortunate accident. His influential family, unsatisfied with this conclusion, hires private detectives Kara Danvers and J'onn Jones to investigate. Baron Lex Luthor, newly anointed and exuding a veneer of charm and intelligence, hides his own sinister motives beneath his polished exterior. Meanwhile, his enigmatic sister Lena, a brilliant botanist with a passion for medicinal plants, becomes a source of fascination and conflict for Kara. As they delve into the investigation, they must navigate the labyrinthine world of Victorian aristocracy, where secrets are buried deeper than the roots of the Luthor family tree. In a world where trust is a luxury and deception is the norm, the detectives must tread carefully to unearth the truth and survive a treacherous game of power and lies. The first installment of the Victorian Murder Mystery AU that no one asked for.

Check out this new work added to the 2024 collection by @tinyvariations and accompanying artwork by @itsyouknowmeart HERE.

[sorceresssundries]

Hi, this might be a stupid question but I wondered why your last fic was called The Serpent?

NOT a stupid question at all!!

Oh my god, thank you so much for asking me! I love yapping about my fics.

Ok, so

There is a quote that Lady Macbeth says to Macbeth which is - 'Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't'. She wants him to veil his dark intent with innocence, which I feel suits a darker version of Gale. Is Gale an innocent flower? Or is he really a serpent, using it as a shield?

The classic religious imagery of the Serpent and the forbidden fruit. Durge is his temptress, holding out the crown for him to take if he's ambitious enough to grab it.

I liked the idea that 'The Serpent' could refer to either Gale or Durge, or both - depending on your interpretation.

<3

[bis-art]

Art for fanfic

«but be the serpent under't»

by thistle thorn

[starrierknight]

𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞

“I have little left in myself―I must have you. The world may laugh―may call me absurd, selfish―but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

MASTERLIST | 𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | AO3

wc— 4.1k

pairing— yandere!gn!reader x defected!getou

cws/tags— dead dove: do not eat, yandere/darling dynamic, erotomania, satosugu implied, kidnapping, mentioned drugging, restraints (ropes — shibari), death threats, bodily harm threats, m!nudity, gaslighting/manipulation, (brief) knife + blood, manhandling (hair pulling), pet names: “(my) darling”, dialogue-heavy

As he gradually unfurled his eyes, the surrounding world materialised through a dreamlike mist, and his senses stirred to life. Dispelling the remnants of slumber with a series of blinks, he discovered himself within a room bathed in the gentle embrace of candlelight, where the very atmosphere seemed to shimmer and stretch with drowsiness.

Stiffness and lethargy clung to him, as though his body grappled with the lingering tendrils of profound sleep. Testing the resilience of muscles long dormant, he flexed his fingers and toes, only to find the red ropes biting uncomfortably into his flesh in response to his resistance.

Lifting his weighty head, his befuddled mind grappled with the unfamiliarity of his surroundings. There you were. There he was.

His lips received a tentative lick as he inhaled deeply, his eyes darting around the candlelit chamber. "Why am I here?"

A kind smile played across your lips. "You're safe here, Suguru."

His heart jolted painfully within his chest, and he lurched forward, a groan escaping him as his vision swam and blurred. The rush of blood and adrenaline surged through his veins, his features oscillating between confusion, anger, and a palpable spike of fear. With each heaving breath, the red ropes flexed against his skin, binding the robust muscles beneath.

Despite the overwhelming circumstances, conviction etched into his gaze, he remained unconvinced.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t say that. You know me so well—better than most, even. You’re in safe hands.”

Aware that his best chance lay in maintaining the conversation, distracting you while plotting an escape, he marshalled his thoughts. Familiar with binds of this nature, he was confident in his ability to slip free. After all, he reasoned, you wanted him here.

He stared at you, eyes narrowed, before a snort escaped him, followed by a chuckle. "...You kidnapped me, and claim that I'm safe? Are you serious?"

You hummed, tilting your head with an air of casual interest as you observed him from a chair opposite where he knelt. "You're with me. The safest place in the whole, wide world. Aren't you happy?"

Your gaze traversed him appreciatively, a profound adoration oozing from your every pore. Heat flushed your cheeks at the sight alone. There he was, entirely exposed to you, kneeling with the softest, most exquisite red ropes cradling his skin. The ropes artfully secured his wrists to his ankles behind him. You had waited for this moment, to witness his vulnerability, understanding that he was safer and more loved than ever before. His sculpted form, bathed in candlelight, revealed every ridge and contour you cherished. How effortlessly easy it was to love him in that moment. 

Suguru's discomfort was palpable, evident in the tight set of his jaw and the furrowed brow as he caught wind of your appraisal.

He responded with a raised eyebrow, adopting a teasing tone laced with sarcasm. "Ah, yes," he remarked, eyes rolling. "Who wouldn't feel safe being tied up—naked? You're a real piece of work."

His smirk lingered, a subtle defiance in his expression as he couldn't shake off his wariness.

Your laughter, filled with good-natured amusement, washed over the room as you waved away his scepticism. "You're so funny! Really, you're funny!" you chuckled.

While you seemed genuinely amused, Suguru's suspicions persisted. The whole situation was too dubious for his liking, and he prepared to express his scepticism in a less than pleasant manner, wetting his lips.

"And you're just insane, aren't you?" he retorted plainly.

Your laughter continued, seemingly unfazed. "Don't say that, I'm so nice! If I were a real sicko, then I would've hurt you in your sleep. But I didn't do that, y'know? I'm not a freak."

Despite your assurances, Suguru remained unconvinced. His frown deepened as he observed your behaviour, finding it too peculiar for comfort. Your abnormal kindness only heightened his sense of unease.

Anger seeped into his tone. "Why the fuck am I here?"

Leaning forward, you invaded his personal space, wide-eyed and curious. "Are you okay? D'you have some sort of impairment? I just said I'm here to keep you safe," you giggled.

His tension escalated at your proximity, a mix of irritation and trepidation evident in his eyes. Suguru was not an idiot, not a monkey. How dare you suggest that? The sinking feeling in his gut intensified as the mystery behind your intentions deepened, leaving Suguru with more questions than answers.

Suguru strained against the unyielding ropes, attempting to create distance between himself and your unsettling proximity. The bindings, however, held steadfast, allowing minimal room for movement and posing the constant threat of an uncontrolled fall. The prospect of losing consciousness in your presence once more churned his stomach, creating a visceral sense of unease.

His gaze fixed intensely on your face, scepticism etched into his features. "...You're serious. You mean it, don't you?"

Your warm smile persisted as you reached out, intending a gentle gesture by tucking a lock of his smooth, dark hair behind his ear. He recoiled instinctively, as if your touch carried a searing heat. His eyes darted around the chamber with rapid intensity, registering the plastered walls adorned with talismans, scrolls, and wards—a meticulous effort to contain him, he realised, preventing the use of his Cursed Technique for escape. A sinking feeling settled in his chest.

"You’ve really thought this over," he murmured, a realisation dawning.

"Something wrong?" you whispered. "You seem a little on edge."

Your hands gracefully extended towards the intricate red ropes, their vibrant hue contrasting against the subdued ambiance of the room. Fingers curled with a practised grace, tenderly encircling the fibres before commencing a deliberate dance of tugging and tightening. The room held its breath as you skillfully secured the knots, the subtle tension mirrored in Suguru's wince as the ropes embraced the smooth, plush softness of his chest and thighs.

A ballet of sensations unfolded—the tactile precision of your movements, the hushed whispers of the ropes tightening. As your eyes traversed Suguru's form, every contour was noted, each nuance absorbed. A knowing smile played upon your lips, a hint of amusement at the palpable vulnerability now etched on Suguru's face.

Meanwhile, Suguru's scrutinising gaze became a discerning observer, meticulously analysing every facet of your being. His senses heightened, capturing the delicate interplay of scents, the nuanced details of your features, and the subtle shifts in your demeanour. Despite the unconventional circumstances, a flicker of hope ignited within him. 

There was a recognition that you, despite the enigmatic scenario, did not exude immediate menace. A strategic gambit formed in his mind; he needed to keep the conversational threads flowing, a subtle dance to buy himself precious time to untangle the intricacies of the mystery that surrounded him, ropes and gazes interwoven.

"On edge? On edge? You're the one who kidnapped me! Do I have a reason to feel comfortable?" he retorted, sharp anger colouring his tone.

You furrowed your brows, a hurt expression crossing your face. Leaning away, you huffed, "But you're with me, Suguru."

"I know I'm with you, that's the problem!" Suguru tensed, a futile attempt to move away met with the unyielding grip of the ropes digging into his skin.

The mere sound of your voice addressing him by his name stirred a slight fluster within him. A disconcerting silence hung in the air, and he leaned back, a forced attempt at relaxation. His body, weary and aching, rebelled against him, his vision of you swaying in and out of focus. The realisation struck—he must have been drugged. The thought made him cringe, his heart racing as he contemplated escape. But would getting closer to you bring more harm than good?

"Who are you?" he whispered weakly.

You chuckled, shaking your head with a grin, playfully wagging a finger at him. “Oh, you’re good. You’re good, Suguru. You nearly fooled me, but I know you.”

He eyed you warily, raising a curious eyebrow. “We haven’t met.”

Laughter escaped you once more. “Oh, c’mon! The joke’s getting old now.”

“I have no idea who you are,” Suguru asserted. The puzzle of your identity loomed, and he remained trapped in a web of confusion and suspicion.

A disconcerting smile played on your lips as you leaned forward, rolling up the sleeve of your non-dominant arm, tinged with a disturbing nonchalance. "Ah, let me refresh your memory then. I might’ve made your dose too high, but I know you don’t mind…"

You thrust your wrist forward, revealing the words etched onto your skin—'My one and only.'

Suguru's heart pounded. The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer. Those sacred words, inseparable from the memories of another time, adorned your arm. Dread seeped into his veins, realising those words were an intimate connection to a past he couldn't fathom. Not with you. What right did you have to intertwine yourself with words, a person, a past that was never yours?

Your fond smile intensified as you observed his reaction. "You’re remembering now, aren’t you?"

Memories surged through Suguru's mind, but not the ones you had in mind—mercifully so.

“I think back to that afternoon. I have done, ever since you left Jujutsu Tech,” you continued, your tone laced with nostalgia. “I used to be so jealous of you and Satoru-kun calling each other that, y’know? I was still just some underclassman… But you always saw me.”

Horror painted Suguru's expression as he watched you trace the letters of the shoddy stick-and-poke tattoo. His bound hands trembled in futile resistance, the urge to summon a Cursed Spirit to end you becoming an agonising itch. How dare you intertwine Satoru's name with your own, inserting yourself into a past that was never yours to claim.

Your fingers, with a deliberate and measured elegance, curled and glided across each meticulously tied knot in the ropes. The vibrant, carefully chosen hues of the bindings seemed to complement the subdued atmosphere, creating a visual tapestry of constraint that both fascinated and enthralled. There was an artistry to the knots, but the masterpiece was your love before you.

As your fingers traced the lines of the knots, there was a sense of admiration for the handiwork that bound him. The tactile exploration became a silent celebration of the beauty in restraint, appreciating how each knot of limitation and vulnerability. The beauty of the constraints was not lost on you, and there was a certain satisfaction in witnessing how the ropes embraced him, both restricting and revealing in equal measure.

“That afternoon when you took me to your room and we did these for each other… And you promised me, then and there, that I was your ‘one and only’. Your real one and only—not just saying it to keep Satoru-kun happy. That you said it to him, but thought of me… You always were such a romantic.”

“Let me go.”

“I’m not done reminiscing yet!” you chirped. “And don’t ask me that again, okay? We have so much to catch up on, but we have all the time in the world now. Lucky us.”

"Let me go!" Suguru's yell echoed through the chamber.

In an instant, you closed the distance, your presence overwhelming as you gripped his chin with a frantic intensity. Wide, frantic eyes locked onto his, you muttered dangerously, "Didn't I just tell you not to ask me that?"

His body stiffened, fear coursing through him. Despite your smaller frame, you now exuded an intimidating aura that sent his heart into overdrive. Your hand on his chin quickened his pulse, the blood rushing to his face.

"Let me go, you freak!”

You clutched his jaw, your nails digging into his skin. "Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare be so ungrateful, okay? I'm keeping you safe from a world that wants you dead. You need me. You can't leave me," you spat.

Pain surged through him as your nails bit into his skin, a trickle of blood escaping. Your face hovered inches from his, your eyes mirroring the intensity of his own.

"B-but I don't need you..." he whispered softly, his trembling lips barely audible.

You responded with a cheerful laugh. "Oh, you do! You do, you do, you do!"

"I-I don't," he gasped, his attempts to pull away proving futile against your unyielding grip. "I don't want you."

Your shrieking laugh filled the room, a wild grin on your face. "There's not a thing in this world I wouldn't do for you! Nothing I wouldn't do! Who else can say that?"

His cheeks flushed red, embarrassment washing over him, buried as best he could. The warmth of your fingers on his chin contradicted the intensity of your words.

"You’re delusional," he whispered back, looking away from your gaze. He couldn't shake the feeling that you were spiralling into a realm of insanity that both terrified and repulsed him.

Your giggle resonated through the chamber, your expression softening as you gently brushed your free hand through Suguru's hair. The strands glided effortlessly between your fingertips, each one a delight. The coolness of the strands against your warm skin added a subtle contrast, intensifying the experience. There was a soothing rhythm to the motion, as if you were weaving through a secret, intimate tapestry as the strands gently cascaded through your grasp, making it shimmer.

"Oh, my darling. Says the pretty man who thinks he has a chance of killing all the non-sorcerers. You wanna talk about delusion? Let's talk about you."

The sensation of your fingers weaving through his hair nearly overwhelmed him. Your words and touch held an intimate quality that unsettled him. He stared at your hand, trapped and unable to escape the touch that both repelled and intrigued him.

"I'm not delusional," he insisted, his gaze fixed on your hand.

"Oh, but aren't you? You want to go out there, facing the world without me! You think you can handle them by yourself, and look where it's gotten you!" you chuckled breathlessly.

Annoyance flashed in his narrowed eyes. "Don't patronise me," he snapped. A small gasp escaped him, surprised by the admission that followed. "I hate you."

You staggered to your feet, frustration evident as you cried out, "Hate me? What right do you have to hate me? If I didn't care for you, why would I do this? I'm not like those sickos! Those freaks, those fucking perverts!"

Suguru remained still, his eyes widening as you vented your frustration. His fists clenched in the ropes, a silent expression of the urge to fight you for daring to raise your voice. Yet, he couldn't deny the impact of your words, hitting him in a way that left him defenceless.

"You—you do care for me, don't you?" he asked softly. It sounded like a plea, a desperate hope that you would deny the undeniable.

"You gave me no choice! I’m not a bad person! You were going to ruin yourself—kill yourself—over some dream of yours!" you screamed, the intensity of your words reverberating through the chamber. "You sent me a sign, that declaration of war—your Night Parade of a Hundred Demons! You needed me! I let you have your fun for years, watching you from the sidelines and ‘taking care’ of anyone who would’ve ended you! I made sure you were happy! I let you be happy, but I won’t let you kill yourself!"

As you paced, the candle flames danced in rhythm with your steps, casting erratic shadows on the walls. Your back turned to him, you tilted your head up, your gaze scanning the wards and talismans that adorned the room. "But you’re safe now. Thanks to me…"

Wheeling around to face him, you shook your head. "I just want you to live your best life. It’s… brave, what I do for you. It’s not easy, okay? Sometimes, it makes me sick. I’m brave."

Suguru remained silent, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. The complexity of your actions unfolded before him, revealing a side of you he hadn't fathomed. The blend of concern and obsession wrapped around your words left him grappling with the truth—however twisted it might be. The realisation that you saw yourself as a guardian, however misguided, made his heart throb.

Once again, a deliberate focus settled upon the intricate knots of the ropes as you meticulously checked and ensured the security of each binding. Your fingers, now with heightened sensitivity, traced the path of the knots, delicately brushing against the warmth of his skin. It ensured the practical security of the restraints, affirming the efficacy of each knot, while also introducing an unexpected element of intimacy. Your hands shook. 

"You're demented. Completely, utterly, demented," his voice murmured, a frustrated undercurrent weaving through his words as his gaze bore into you.

"I'm in love.”

"Demented," he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief at the apparent incongruity of your words and actions.

Insisting on your perspective, you countered, "Love! Love! Everything I do is for love, for you! Darling, why don't you see that?" 

Your fingers clutched the ropes tightly, knuckles turning pale with the force of your grip. He winced.

“I never asked you for this! I didn’t ask for some demented half-wit to love me! I don’t want your love, I want to kill every one of those monkeys—which you are stopping me from doing!” he exclaimed, frustration boiling over.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” you sighed, rubbing your temples in exasperation.

“Don’t you dare act like for one single minute that you could understand my dream, my vision, let alone care about my happiness. You don’t give a shit about what I want, you just want me as your pet,” he accused, his eyes narrowing with resentment.

“No, that’s not true-” you began, attempting to defend yourself.

“You’ve never cared for me! You could’ve proven your devotion and joined my family, our cause, and you didn’t! You’ve festered in silence, and I hope you rot where you stand,” he ranted, anger fueling his words.

“I love you! You need someone to tell you that your idea of happiness is some dull illusion! You wonder why I didn’t join that cult of yours? Who the hell d’you think was keeping them alive all this time, while you played House? Me. Who bailed them out and took care of the Jujutsu authorities? Me. I love you, Suguru, God fucking knows that I do—but you can’t sit there and tell me that I didn’t care! That I’m not more devoted to you than them all combined!”

“If you cared, you would have joined us.”

An indignant laugh escaped you, your eyes ablaze with a wild and dangerous intensity in the flickering candlelight. “Joined? And be surrounded by those idiots who think they know a thing about you? Deluded enough to think that they’re doing you any favours, by leading you to certain death? Don’t you see, Suguru?”

“See? I know, I see—I know and see the truth and I lead my family past the lies! Behind every Jujutsu Higher-Up is a monkey that sinks their teeth in, blinding them with money and status and forcing their hands, convincing us that we should be serving the less evolved. I saved my family—I could still save you! Just let me go.”

You groaned, attempting to interject, but he pressed on.

“Everywhere you go, the lies are spread! Society is poisoned by the monkeys—even the air we breathe stinks of their foulness. Where is the hope for the children? The monkeys are organised—they spread their propaganda everywhere—that the strong owe the weak. That the weak should somehow be protected; rewarded for their inferiority. I can’t stand by and let every sorcerer be brainwashed into believing they should be protecting these—these animals!”

“Then where are they?” you said in an eerily calm voice.

"Everywhere. The monkeys, they-"

"Your family, Suguru. Where are they?"

In a moment charged with tension, you loomed over him, your gaze piercing the depths of his inky black eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, your touch took on a deceptive gentleness as you brushed some strands of hair away from his temple. The intimate contact of your fingertips against his flesh elicited a wince.

An affronted laugh escaped Suguru's lips. "They're in my heart."

You scoffed at his response. "Your heart? And is your heart gonna save you? Answer me this: how long d'you think you've been in this room?" you murmured, your voice carrying a mix of authority and curiosity.

Suguru set his jaw, narrowing his eyes at you, then sighed. Your fingers continued their exploration through his hair, lightly pressing against his scalp but firmly maintaining control.

"Where are they, Suguru? Why haven't they found you? Ah, no. No need to answer me there, darling, because I'll tell you the truth. You're alone in this world. You’re vulnerable."

"I have a family," he insisted.

In response, your temper flared, and your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, lifting and tugging upwards. Suguru gasped, pain flaring at his scalp and shooting down the lengths of his spine to the tips of his fingers. His body instinctively responded, straightening in an attempt to create slack and nullify the pain, but your hand persisted, maintaining its upward pull. His eyes scrunched shut, and he panted, a pained moan escaping as the physical manifestation of his isolation played out in the relentless grasp of your fingers. 

“I know your heart, Suguru. I’ve seen it, held it, kissed it. I know what it wants. You’re just like me, y’know that? We both want the same thing. Understanding. Security. Acceptance. Love—unconditional love.”

“You can’t give me that,” he breathed out, glaring at you.

Your nails scraped against his scalp, wrenching him forward by the hair and letting him fall to the floor. His body, once held upright, yielded to the inexorable pull of gravity. It was a less-than-graceful collapse, like a marionette whose strings had been severed.

Time seemed to stretch as he tilted forward, a cascade of hair obscuring his face like a veil. The atmosphere thickened with the sound of his breath, measured and strained, the only audible acknowledgement of the impending impact. There was a profound thud, resonating through the room, as his face met the cool surface. The impact rippled through his body, a shockwave, and he lay there for a moment, motionless.

Slowly, reluctantly, he stirred and let out a loud, muffled groan. 

You huffed out a laugh. “I’ve tried, Suguru, I really tried. I just… Sometimes, I wonder if you’re the same boy I fell in love with—who loved me—all those years ago in school.”

You smiled wryly, shaking your head as you lifted the arm of your non-dominant hand and traced your fingertips over the tattoo—’My one and only.’ The amateur ink work, done with a single needle and makeshift equipment, had aged poorly, leaving behind a blurred and uneven mess on the skin. 

The black ink, once sharp and defined, had spread over the years, creating a smudged and faded appearance. The letters, originally intended to convey a message of permanence, now looked distorted and indistinct. The lines bled into each other, forming a jumbled mass of ink that barely resembled the original words.

Your gaze lingered on Suguru, bound and vulnerable on the floor. There was a dark satisfaction in the way he squirmed, his eyes hidden by his fallen hair, the tight binding of the rope that connected to his ankles. A mischievous smile played on your lips as you recalled the undeniable truth: he was worth every challenge, and the two of you were an unstoppable force when united. Bound by fate, by the stars.

A dreamy exhale escaped your lips, a mixture of contentment and desire. As your eyes traced the contours of his form, appreciating the sight before you, a thought crossed your mind. The imagery of him, bound and displayed, conjured the amusing image of a feast—like a meal expertly trussed with butcher's twine. A chuckle echoed through your thoughts, and you couldn't help but picture him with an apple in his mouth. 

Ah, but all in good time. Gags could come later.

Your gaze, however, couldn't help but fixate on his arms, particularly his left forearm. It was a canvas that should have bore those words—’My one and only’—a distinctive mark that proved he was yours, that you were his. But in this vulnerable state, the ink was conspicuously absent.

An insidious flame flickered and danced with an unsettling intensity, gnawing at the edges of your better nature and searing hot on your skin. 

Hot on your knife.

a/n: teehee love to a couple of moots who helped w/ this <3. this is my first time writing yandere or anything of this nature sooooooo. ya I hope it’s okie :3 P.S. this is not a moral guidebook!!!!! do not be like the reader insert!!!!!!!!

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

[midnightstargazer]

Ask game author's choice! 💥

thanks @turanga4!

Fanfiction Ask Game

So, I'm going to take this opportunity to talk about Look Like the Innocent Flower, which takes place at Hogwarts during Deathly Hallows, from Daphne Greengrass's perspective.

She's sort of a blank slate character, and this fic takes advantage of that. Basically, it was an exercise in trying to imagine a Slytherin from Harry's generation who fully embodies their House's values (except anti-Muggle-born prejudice), and is against Voldemort from day 1. I kept it as canon compliant as possible, so she's not camping out in the Room of Requirement with the D.A. - but she's spying for them, preparing healing potions, and scheming against the Carrows while taking advantage of the fact that they would never suspect her.

She's also a legilimens. There's a whole story behind that, which basically comes down to:

Daphne is listed as Queenie Greengrass on the Original Forty list.

Queenie Goldstein from Fantastic Beasts was a legilimens.

A legilimens would make a fantastic spy.

Huh, what if...?

In the end, she leaves with the other Slytherins during the evacuation. Her first priority is to get her little sister, Astoria, to safety. But once that's done, she plans on returning to fight (presumably, she ends up part of the crowd that comes back with Professor Slughorn at the end).

The title comes from Shakespeare's Macbeth: "Look like th' innocent flower, but be the serpent under't"

[adj444]

MACBETH BLANKS (& answers)

YES I'M AT IT AGAIN i made these a week or two ago and i just sat down and did them all blind & got all but like 2 things right... THESE WORK!!!! YIPPEEEE essential macbeth quotes from me to you. here these are as a quizlet too <-

LADY MACBETH:

Look like the ________ ______ but be the _______ _______

____ me here & ____ me from the crown to the toe ___-____ of ______ _______

Come to my woman's ______ and take my ____ for ____

All the ______ of ______ will not _______ this ______ ____

(irt. MACBETH) Yet I do ____ thy ______; It is too ____ of the ____ __ _____ ________

MACBETH:

This ____________ soliciting cannot be ___, cannot be ____

If good, why do I _____ to that __________, whose ______ _____ doth _____ my ____ and make my ______ _____ _____ at my ____ against the use of _______?

Two ______ are told, as _____ ________ to the ________ act of the ________ _____

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere ____ if it were ____ _______

I have no ____ to _____ the sides of my ______; only ________ ________

Stars, ____ ____ _____, let ______ not see my _____ & ____ _______

Is this a ______ which I see before me, the ______ ______ my ____?

Art thou but a ______ of the ____, a _____ ________, proceeding from the ____-________ _____?

_____ ____ must hide what the _____ _____ doth know

To be ____ is nothing but to be ______ ____

Better be with the ____, whom we, to gain our _____, have ____ to _____, than on the _______ of the mind to ___ in ________ _______

Full of _________ is __ ____

I have ______ ____ of _______

Life's but a _______ ______... it is a ____ told by __ _____, full of _____ and ____, signifying _______

(irt DUNCAN) Here lay Duncan, his ______ ____ _____ with his ______ _____

BANQUO:

There's _________ __ ______; Their _______ are ___ ___

MACDUFF:

(irt. MACBETH) Lest our ___ _____ sit ______ than our ___

(irt. SCOTLAND) Each new morn new _____ ____, new _______ ___; new _______ ______ ______ on the ____

MALCOLM:

(irt. SCOTLAND) It _____, it ______, and each day a new ____ is _____ to ___ ______

(irt. MACBETH) This ______, whose sole ____ ________ our _______

(irt. MACBETH) The cruel ministers of this ____ _______ and his _____-____ _____

LADY MACBETH:

Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under't

(irt MACBETH) Yet I do fear thy nature; It is too full of the milk of human kindness

Unsex me here & fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty

Come to my woman's breasts and take my milk for gall

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand

MACBETH:

This supernatural soliciting cannot be ill, cannot be good

If good, why do I yield to that suggestion, whose horrid image doth unfix my hair and make my seated heart knock at my ribs against the use of nature?

Two truths are told, as happy prologues to the swelling act of the imperial theme

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well if it were done quickly

I have no spurs to prick the sides of my intent; only vaulting ambition

Stars, hide your fires, let heaven not see my black & deep desires

Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?

Art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

False face must hide what the false heart doth know

To be thus is nothing but to be safely thus

Better be with the dead, whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, than on the torture of the mind to lie in restless ecstacy

Full of scorpions is my mind

I have supped full of horrors

Life's but a walking shadow... it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

(irt. DUNCAN) Here lay Duncan, his silver skin laced with his golden blood

BANQUO:

There's husbandry in heaven; Their candles are all out

MACDUFF:

Lest our old robes sit easier than our new

(irt. SCOTLAND) Each new morn new widows howl, new orphans cry; new sorrows strike heaven on the face

MALCOLM:

(irt. SCOTLAND) It weeps, it bleeds, and each day a new gash is added to her wounds

(irt. MACBETH) This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues

(irt. MACBETH) The cruel ministers of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen

[starry-stan-blog]

bingqiu | 3 795 words | rated T | hurt/comfort

hope y’all enjoy it !!

[sharklovingcriminals]

yo this sure as fuck looks like th'innocent flower, ain't no way it's the serpent under't