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aphroditelovesu · 25 days ago

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⸻ The Lost Queen - XXI ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily. — genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,495. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp, @dostoevsskij, @meheheasasa, @jsprien213, @lammys-thinking. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 21

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in your room in the Persian Palace, amid the gilded excesses and fine fabrics of the city of Babylon.

You were in your old room. In the room of a life that seemed to have belonged to someone else.

The dull white ceiling was the first thing you saw, and for a moment, your heart stopped — as if everything you had lived had been just a feverish delirium. But when you sat up in bed, everything became even more confusing. The sheets were exactly as you remembered them: with that faint scent of aged lavender, the rough touch of cheap cotton under your hands. It was as if you had been ripped from Babylon and forced back into the past — but not just any past, but right where it all began. Your old life.

The room was the same. Every corner held a memory. The walls were painted in a pale, characterless tone, the pictures of your family, friends and your cat, the simple furniture, devoid of any luxury, just the essentials — the old, worn wooden dresser, the mirror with a small crack in the corner. Everything was there, as if time had frozen. But the strangest thing was that, although everything was exactly the same... It no longer felt like yours. It felt empty, soulless, almost suffocating. You realized, with a heaviness in your chest, that you had grown accustomed to the opulence of Babylon — the silk, the gold, the smells of incense, the distant sound of exotic music as night fell.

Now, surrounded by this cold simplicity, your old room seemed faded. Dull. Strange. But questioning the decor was the least of your problems. Not when your mind was spinning, confused and dizzy, trying to understand what had actually happened. You had been sent back — that much was clear — but why? Why now? Why like this?

Why would Aslan have brought you back? Right now, after everything you had lived, felt, lost and achieved?

For a moment, you wondered if it had all been just a long and incredibly vivid dream. But when you looked at yourself, you realized how impossible that was. Your slightly rounded belly — the weight of it, the subtle, almost timid movements you felt under your skin — were living proof that it couldn’t be an invention. You were still pregnant. Your body didn't lie. Your mind did.

And if it wasn't a dream... what was it? A trap? A mistake? Had you been just a toy in the hands of that creature: Aslan.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you got up from the bed. Your legs, once firm, wobbled. You leaned against the nearest piece of furniture, feeling your body exhausted, as if you had fought invisible battles for centuries. Everything hurt, inside and out. But there was no room for mourning. You were back.

This was what you always wanted... Wasn't it?

You tried to convince yourself of this, but the words sounded hollow even to you.

There was so much that needed to be understood, so much that needed to be done. But first of all... You needed a shower. You needed hot water, to wash away the sweat, the fatigue and who knows, with luck, some of the confusion that weighed on your shoulders.

As you looked in the mirror, a wave of nostalgia hit you. There you were, in your old kitten pajamas — the ones you remembered hiding at the bottom of a trunk in your old tent in the Macedonian camp. You remembered how you tried not to think about them, how you avoided them, because just seeing them made your eyes fill with tears.

And now they were there. As if they had never been touched by time, just a little tighter. Your body had changed — rounder, heavier, with the curves of someone who carries life inside them. But it wasn’t just your body. You had changed too.

You were no longer the person who once wore those pajamas and slept in that bed. And now, all that was left was to figure out what to do with them.

And with everything that was yet to come because, somehow, you knew it wasn't over.

The bathroom was exactly as you remembered it — a perfect reflection of the past you thought you had left behind forever. The white tiled walls, the simple details, the mirror with faint fingerprints, and that white light that had never been bright enough but now felt welcoming. Comforting. Familiar. And strange.

Everything was in its place. As if you had gone to sleep there the night before, as if none of this — Babylon, the Macedonian camp, Alexander, the linen robes, the gold, and the fear of the unknown — had ever happened. Your hair products, your skincare products neatly arranged on the shelf, your towels folded in the cabinet, and your toothbrush.

It was when you saw the toothbrush that you felt the tears rise to your eyes, burning unexpectedly.

It wasn’t that your teeth were dirty — no, you'd always managed — but it was the contrast that hit you like a punch in the gut. For a while, your "brush" had been a tree branch, carefully frayed at the end, like a relic from ancient times. And instead of toothpaste, you used what you had on hand: ash powder mixed with crushed crystals, and, on more "luxurious" occasions, activated charcoal. None of it was exactly pleasant, but you got used to it. You had to. It was either that or live with the bitter taste of poor hygiene, and that was a battle you refused to lose.

But now... Here were your real products. Your mint-flavored toothpaste, the deodorant that made you feel clean and fresh, the lavender-scented soap, and, oh — the shampoo that made your hair shine the way you liked it. The relief was almost absurd, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How could you miss such little things so much? Things you never really thought about.

Carefully, you removed the kitten pajamas, folding them slowly before placing them in the laundry basket.

Turning the shower knob, the hot water began to fall, filling the bathroom with the soft, steady sound you hadn't even realized you'd missed. As soon as you stepped in, you felt a shiver of pleasure as you felt the water run down your body. It was so different from the baths in wooden tubs, the clay bowls and damp cloths you used so often. The shower felt like an unparalleled luxury. The simple sensation of the hot water falling directly onto your shoulders, your back, your belly... it was like coming back to life.

You washed yourself calmly, almost in reverence. You washed your hair with your favorite products, massaging your scalp like you used to do before everything changed. You shaved your armpits carefully and, feeling bold, other parts too — like you used to do in the past, for pleasure, for comfort, for feeling in control of your own body.

It had been so long since your last bath like this and you decided to make the most of it.

Now, there was only the present. The water. And you. The rest would come later.

When you felt like you had spent enough time under the hot water, when your fingers were wrinkled and your skin was starting to become sensitive to the touch, you finally turned off the shower. The silence that followed seemed almost deafening, in contrast to the constant sound that had filled the room until seconds ago.

You grabbed a soft towel — the same one you always had, a little faded from time and use, but familiar — and wrapped yourself in it, calmly drying your face and then your body. Your movements were automatic, a reflection of the routine of a life that now seemed so distant. You walked out of the bathroom, the steam still dissipating around you, and started heading to your room, ready to change.

But you had not taken more than two steps down the hallway when you heard a sound — a loud, frightened sigh.

Your body reacted instantly, your muscles tensing, your heart racing. For a second, you thought it was a burglar or something else. You turned around quickly, already preparing to scream, but the air left your lungs in another kind of shock.

May.

Your best friend was there, standing in the middle of the hallway. Her light blue eyes wide, fixed on you as if she were seeing a ghost — and, in a way, she was. Her face, always so expressive and full of life, now showed absolute astonishment. Her mouth was half open, her hands slightly raised, as if she didn't know whether to run to you or run away.

You didn't even have time to blink when May crossed the short distance between you and wrapped you in a desperate, almost painful hug. A sob choked in your throat, and the tears came as if they were just waiting for that touch to free themselves. You hugged her back tightly, clinging to her like a safe haven, as if only then could you believe that you were truly home.

No words were spoken. For long seconds, you just pressed against each other, sharing the silence full of longing and pain. You felt her face pressed against your damp hair, felt her fingers digging lightly into your back, as if she feared you would disappear at any moment. Instinctively, you patted her back lightly, trying to calm her down, trying to calm yourself down.

May pulled away, but only enough to look you in the eyes. Hers were red, full of tears and a pain that made your chest hurt even more.

"Where have you been?! I... We've been worried sick for months, (Y/N)! Fuck, I was starting to believe you were dead!" Her voice broke at the end, and then the questions came, all at once. An emotional bombardment, an outburst. She needed answers, she needed to understand.

And you didn't blame her. How could you? If you were in her shoes, you would feel the same — the same desperation, the same anger, the same need to know.

"I... I don't know how to explain it to you." Your voice came out low, hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long time. And in a way, it hadn't. How could you explain the inexplicable? What words could describe that you had been sent two thousand years into the past, that you had met Alexander the Great, that you had become a queen, a wife... and now, a mother-to-be?

How could you tell someone this without sounding insane? Even for May, who had always been by your side, who knew you like no one else, it was too much. She would think you had gone crazy. And you wouldn't blame her for it. Before, you would have thought it was crazy yourself.

But it was May. Your best friend since forever. And you needed to tell her. You needed to get it all out. Share everything — the fear, the pain, the fleeting moments of happiness. Keeping it all to yourself would be too much of a burden.

May was still holding you, as if she was afraid you would disappear if she let go. Her eyes were trembling, but they were steady on yours, searching for something. Understanding, maybe. Or just the certainty that you were real.

"Start from the beginning." She asked, trying to smile but failing. Her face was a mirror of your confusion.

You nodded slowly and tightened the towel around your body, only then realizing how exposed you were. Vulnerable, not only physically, but in everything.

"Can I... Change first?" You murmured, trying to smile too. "I feel very exposed right now."

May hesitated, but let you go. Her arms crossed, her gaze still on you, as if she were prepared to follow you to the ends of the earth.

"I won’t let go of you," She said firmly, her eyes narrowed in defiance, as if daring you to try to run away.

You smiled. A small smile, but sincere.

"I don't expect anything different." You replied and walked into the bedroom, with her close behind you. She closed the door carefully, and you hurried to grab your clothes. May, to her credit, turned her face away when you let go of the towel.

You pulled on a pair of comfortable black sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Simple, comfortable clothes... But at the same time strange. You felt strange in them. After months of chitons, tunics, veils, jewelry, and embellished sandals, those clothes seemed so... Dull. Weightless. Meaningless.

And why did you miss the hands that dressed you so much, the necklaces that adorned you, the fine, hand-embroidered fabrics?

Because you are a Queen.

Or had been.

Your fingers instinctively touched your bare neck, and you felt strangely... Naked. Empty.

There you were, back in your old room, with your best friend. But you had never felt so out of place in your entire life.

May cleared her throat, bringing your attention back to the present.

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened? Why did you disappear?" Her voice was shaking, but there was determination there. And you knew it — the time had come.

It was time to tell her everything.

You told her everything.

From the moment you bought that old book, to the moment that man — Aslan — appeared in your life, like an impossible mirage, with his confusing words.

You told her about Babylon, about the hanging gardens you saw in the distance, the dry heat in the air and the clothes you never imagined wearing. You told her about Alexander — not the one from the books, or from movies and series, but the man behind the victories and the wars. The Alexander who looked at you as if you were his own world. You told her about the wedding, how he almost killed his friend because of you, about the few pleasant nights in his royal tent, about the fear and admiration that grew throughout the short but significant time you spent together.

You told her about Perdiccas, about the kiss, the kidnapping, the loneliness. About the pregnancy discovered in the midst of chaos. You told her about the sleepless nights, about the constant fear of losing the babies, about how each day was a struggle between the past and the desire to return home. You told her, with tears in your eyes, how you woke up suddenly, in your old room, in the pajamas you thought you had left behind, with the babies still moving in your belly.

You didn't spare anything. Not even the details that seemed too absurd to say out loud. But then again, everything was absurd.

And in the end, your voice came out in a tired whisper, as if each word had left you more exhausted:

"And I'm here now."

Silence.

May stared at you as if she was trying to see through you, as if she was searching in your eyes for the lie, the rational explanation, anything that made sense.

"You..." She began, but stopped, processing everything. "You're married to a conqueror who died over two thousand years ago and you're expecting not just one, but two babies from that man?"

Her voice sounded almost neutral, but her eyes said it all. They were wide, confused, almost desperate.

"(Y/N)..." Your name came out of her like a whine. "Were you drugged? Were you... Abused? None of this makes sense!"

You pressed your lips together, feeling the salty taste of tears that threatened to come back. Her words hurt, even if they were the result of concern. You didn't blame her. No rational human being would accept that story.

"I wasn't drugged..." You said softly, staring at your own hands. "And as for abuse..." You bit your lip, hesitating. "Not in the true sense of the word."

May frowned, taking a step forward, as if she wanted to reach you and at the same time feared touching whatever it was you had become. You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your still damp hair, trying to anchor yourself to something.

"I'm telling the truth, May."

The silence settled once more, heavy, thick. May seemed to fight with all her might not to panic, not to yell at you. She crossed her arms, pacing back and forth, the words stuck in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears, and when she finally looked back at you, her expression was one of pain.

"So..." She whispered, trying to understand, trying to accept. "What are you going to do now? If this is real... What are you going to do, (Y/N)"

The question hung in the air like a sentence. You had no answer.

Maybe you never would.

May sat back down, the weight of the moment on her shoulders, and took your hands in hers, squeezing them tightly, as if to make sure you wouldn’t disappear again. Her soft, lightly tanned skin was warm, familiar — a comfort.

You felt the pang of longing. Longing for something you hadn’t known you needed until that moment.

"Do you have any idea what these past five months have been like?" Her voice was shaky, filled with pain. "I was worried like crazy... Your family was too. The police..." She shook her head, her eyes watering "dropped your case. They said that since so much time had passed... The chances of you being alive were slim."

Her lips trembled as she said it, and for a second she looked like a child trying to hold back tears. You could see how much she had suffered. How much she blamed herself, perhaps, for not having done more, for not having been able to find you.

And then the guilt came — devastating, suffocating. You knew it was irrational to blame yourself. You hadn't asked for this, you hadn't chosen to be taken from your life, from your reality. But you couldn’t help it. The guilt settled deep in your chest like a heavy stone.

The guilt of having disappeared.

The guilt of having left May, your family, everyone who loved you... In the dark, without answers, drowning in pain and uncertainty.

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat burn.

''May...'' Your voice was broken, small. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want anyone to go through this... I swear I tried... I tried to go back, I tried to find a way..."

But there was no way. Not until now.

May pulled you into a hug, her hands shaking as they held you tightly, as if they could hold time back, prevent something like that from happening again.

"I'm just glad you're alive..." She whispered against your shoulder. "That's all that matters now."

But was it really? You didn't know what mattered anymore. Because even though you were back... Part of you was still there. And maybe it would never stop being there.

Suddenly, you remembered something.

Curiosity had become a fire inside you, burning everything in its path. Had history changed? Had your presence in the past, with Alexander, with the entire empire, left any mark? Was there any record of you in the books now, in the articles? Was there any mention of Alexander's Queen?

You needed to know.

"May, do you have your phone with you?" You asked, a little anxious.

May pulled away a little, her hands still holding yours, her brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden change in your tone.

"Huh? I am, why?" She asked, quickly wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, even though you weren't. Not really.

"I just… I need to see something. Please."

It was irrational — or maybe not. You knew you shouldn't think about it now, with so much going on, with May finally having you back, with so many unanswered questions... But you needed to know.

"Okay... Okay." May mumbled, still not understanding, and pulled her phone out of the pocket of the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing. She handed it to you with a worried look.

You picked up the device, feeling your heart race in your chest, and opened the browser with trembling fingers. The screen shone like it was a window to a reality that shouldn’t exist.

You typed "Alexander the Great"”" into the search field, your stomach tightening, your breath held.

And then, holding the phone as if it were fragile, you started scrolling through the pages.

And you hoped to find... Something. Anything.

Your eyes scanned the headlines, passing by well-known biographies, mosaic portraits, battles, campaigns... Until something caught your eye. An article with a strange, almost absurd title jumped out of the screen like a punch in the gut:

"Alexander’s Lost Wife: New Document Reveals Unsolved Mystery"

Your heart nearly stopped. You clicked, your hands sweating, your breathing ragged. May was looking over your shoulder now, confused, not understanding why you were shaking. But you couldn’t explain it — not yet.

The article was from a reliable historical website, the kind that wouldn't publish something without a basis. The text was detailed, serious, with quotes from renowned archaeologists and historians. And there you were. Not just mentioned... But as part of the story, of the history.

"For centuries, the existence of an unknown wife of Alexander the Great was treated as legend — briefly mentioned in rare manuscripts and regarded as folklore. But recently, translated fragments of Greek and Persians records reveal the figure of a woman named (Y/N), described as a foreigner of unusual appearance, who is said to have won the heart of the Macedonian king and become his consort."

You felt pressure in your ears, as if the world around you were sinking in.

"The records tell of her mysterious disappearance during the height of the Persian campaign, and of Alexander's devastating response — he is said to have launched his fury, his revenge against his own generals, agaisnt the Persians, made impulsive decisions, and, according to recent theories, began his final march in poor health and broken spirit. Alexander died a few months later after his wife disappearance."

There was even a crude illustration, reimagined from ancient descriptions, of a woman with modern features, standing next to Alexander. Your name was in parentheses, as if it were a footnote, but you were there.

May put her hand over her mouth.

"What the fuck..." She whispered, her eyes wide. "This isn't a montage. This is from a real website. They... They're talking about you."

You looked at her, your mind a whirlwind of shock and confirmation, and whispered, almost soundlessly, "I... Changed everything."

And in that instant, there was no denying it anymore. History had been changed, the proof was there, even if it couldn't be felt.

The article continued to scroll. The words on the screen seemed to blur together as your eyes took in more than you expected — more than you wanted.

"Historians suggest that after the unexplained disappearance of (Y/N), Alexander the Great plunged into a state of intense rage and grief. There are records of chaotic orders and military campaigns that were not in the king’s original plans, including the siege and subsequent destruction of Babylon, one of the most prosperous and wealthy cities in the ancient world. It is estimated that thousands died or were enslaved."

You felt the phone slip a little from your hands, but forced yourself to hold on tight. Your chest tightened, as if a chain was wrapping around your heart.

"Furthermore, Persian and Greek sources suggest that the king, weakened by pain and battles, fell seriously ill, refusing care, fasting, and giving in to despair. His early death, at the age of 26, is now attributed, by some currents, to the direct consequence of the loss of his wife, whose identity was considered a mystery for more than two thousand years."

The pain cut deep, sharper than any blade.

You caused this.

Your departure — your return to your own time — wasn't just an escape from an impossible life. It was the spark that set everything on fire. You stared at May, who was still reading, in shock. The words wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

You were back.

But at the cost of thousands of lives. Of an entire city. Of an empire. Of Alexander.

You fell to your knees on the edge of the bed, the world spinning.

May knelt before you, hands on her knees, and asked in a low voice, as if afraid of the answer, "This all... This happened because of you?"

You didn't answer right away. How could you? How could you put into words that your return home, which seemed like a miracle, had cost you more than you could ever imagine?

You stared at your shaking hands and finally whispered:

"Yes."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Guilt enveloped you like a thick, suffocating fog, holding your breath, crushing your chest. But deep down… Deep down, you knew the truth.

It wasn't your fault.

You chose none of this. You didn't ask to be ripped from your time, thrown into the past, forced to adapt, to survive, to go through everything you went through. Aslan used you. He played with you as if you were a piece in a cruel game, a pawn sacrificed for a purpose you didn't even understand.

He was the one who took you from your life. He was the one who made you part of a world that wasn't yours. And he was the one who took you from there, ripping you away not only from the environment, the people, that you had grown accustomed to... But from everything you had built. He destroyed that. He caused all of this.

But the guilt... Still burned.

"I know it's not my fault..." Your voice came out hoarse, weak, as if it were someone else speaking, "But I feel this way. As if I had killed thousands... Destroyed everything I've touched."

May stared at you, still kneeling, tears streaming down her face, but without saying anything for a moment. And then, she squeezed your hands tightly, firmly. Her eyes, red, fixed on yours.

"No. You didn't destroy anything, (Y/N)." Her voice was firm, full of pain and fury. "The one who did this was this... This Aslan. That thing. You were used. You survived. And you're still here. You're not a goddess or whatever, you're not omnipotent. It wasn't you."

You closed your eyes, letting a tear fall silently. May sat next to you on the bed and hugged you tightly, holding you as if she could stop you from falling apart — as if her presence could glue the broken pieces inside you together.

But you knew you needed to fix this. You just didn't know how to do it yet.

— lady l: I know this chapter was more focused on Reader but it was necessary, but the next one will focus on Alexander and someone else :)) and yesss, I know that no one remembers May (not even I remembered to be honest) but since Reader is back, I thought it was right to bring her friend back too! lol

I hope you liked it and forgive me for any mistakes. I've been exhausted lately without my medication and a lot of things may have gone unnoticed but I ask that you please ignore it.

If you want to support me or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open! :)

As always, feedback is always welcome. See you in the next chapter! ❤️❤️

#yandere history #yandere historical characters #history #the lost queen #tlq #alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere au #long fic

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holybibly · 8 months ago

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For bunnies who, like me, can't stop thinking about stalker Yunho.

Yunho is a good boy, the most diligent of them all. He's always been this way, apart from a few innocent lies as a child or a few biscuits stolen from the jar when no one was watching. But he has never done anything bad enough to make him feel really guilty. Yunho is a good boy, the nicest of all. He loves his family, his job at the little bookshop on the corner, cosy romantic films, and the thick taste of hot chocolate that melts on his tongue. But there is something he loves more than all of that.

What Yunho loves most is your used panties, no matter how much he embarrassedly admits it.

"Oh, God..." The sound of his voice is low and husky, his mouth ajar as he presses it against your expensive silk panties, the rich, creamy fabric sliding down his nose and tickling the flushed skin of his cheeks with the exquisite French lace.

These are his favourites, although he is equally fond of the lovely peach ones with the little bow at the front that you wear most often. He can tell by the smell, not that he has looked up your skirt... yet. Yunho is too shy for that, and he's not sure he wouldn't get arrested if he tried to put his head up your skirt to see what kind of panties you're wearing on a given day, or if he put his face between your legs as how he always fantasises about and touching the wet, soft fabric with his tongue. Yunho is pretty sure he could easily identify them by the feel of them in his mouth; after all, he's sucked or licked them too many times not to know that.

But for now, he's quite content to enjoy the taste and the smell of your used panties, and to see you three times a week when you go to his bookshop to buy a new book or some stationery that you keep losing. And you don't need to know that Yunho keeps your pens and pencils in the top drawer of his bedside table. You like to suck on the tip of a pencil when you're concentrating; Yunho likes to suck on it when he's fucking his pillow, imagining it's your tiny, squelching with mucus pussy stretching so beautifully around his cock.

Right now, he's sitting comfortably on your bed, stroking his hard, leaking cock in lazy motions. He's pressing the sticky, slightly damp fabric of your panties, which you'd taken off this morning before going to work, to his face. Yunho rubs the soiled silk between his fingers, feeling the trace of your juices on his fingertips as he takes them into his mouth, sucking sweetly, savouring every hint of your taste. He'd give anything to get a real taste of you.

One of his favourite fantasies is one in which he worships your pussy with his tongue. He knows you'll love it too, judging by how often you highlight such scenes in those kinky novels you read at night. He's read them all; he knows exactly how to make you go crazy for it. Yunho is a diligent student; he's learnt his lesson to perfection.

Yunho imagines spreading your legs wide, burying his face in your pussy. He will treat you like a true princess and show you how much you deserve to be pleasured and worshipped. He will spread your labia with his fingers and stick his tongue as deep into your hole as he can until his nose rests on your clit and he can no longer breathe properly.

He would let you use yourself as a toy if you wanted him to; he would let you grab his hair and rub your cunt all over his face until you came in his mouth. He would also want you to ride his face while he fucks you with his tongue; he would love to do this as long as you give him permission to learn how to make you cum so that he can do it when you ask him to. It doesn't matter if he cum or not, but he knows he will; he just needs to get close enough to you to do it, not to mention that he has thought about being your boyfriend. He'll go out with you, he'll buy you cake and hot chocolate, he'll love your cat, he'll look after the flowers on your window, he'll give you kisses and spend time with you when you're depressed, and he'll screw you at any time of the day, whether he's busy or not. And he's tough; you can bite or bruise or dig your nails into his back or beat him; he can take anything and much, much worse if it's for you.

His tongue sticks out to lather your panties with his saliva, barely thinking, his grip on his cock tightening as he jerks himself faster and harder, as if you were the one jerking him off, wrapping your tiny palm around his heavy, hot length so you can sit on it afterwards. Wouldn't that be the ultimate prize? He'd have no problem getting his tongue inside you and sucking your clit for hours on end, but actually fucking you would be a whole other realm of pleasure that he has no idea even exists. You would look so beautiful with your tiny, plump pussy stretched around his cock, and he could be so gentle with you, fucking you like it was your first time—and he really hopes it is because virgins are all dirty; they are the most kinky little desperate bitches who dream of a hard big cock, and Yunho will give you that; he will give you everything. But he can also be rough with you; he can fuck your brain; he can make you squirt over and over and over again. He can even play with you and take you without your consent, the way you have dreamed of it while you were finger-fucking yourself and reading about it in your book. He knows your desire to have him tear you apart, and who is he to deny you that?

He can dream many things. He can dream long enough so that he doesn't realise what he's doing until it's too late, until he feels himself coming and he has nothing to hold on to to hide his presence from your gaze. Nothing but the panties in his hand, which he has no choice but to press against his cock and watch as his cum shakes out in strands so thick they begin to seep through the fabric.

Yunho looks down at your ruined panties wrapped around his cock, all wet and sticky, and thinks about how one day he's going to cum on your pussy just like that, make it dirty, make it his.

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #yunho x reader #jeong yunho x reader

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unconventional-lawnchair · 4 months ago

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Cat and Mouse

Dark!Dad!Barty Crouch Jr. x Mom!Reader

Wc: ~4k

Summary: The reader can never truly get away Barty, no matter how hard she tries. He'll always find his family.

CW: Dark!Possessive!Barty, AFAB!Reader, reader has a young daughter, themes of control and manipulation, being stalked, break in, a brief moment where the reader thinks her daughter is in danger, Invasion of personal space and autonomy

AN: Heavily inspired by this fic, 1000% recommend

Your daughter's giggles were always your favorite sound, especially so early in the morning. You could swear by it, it was better than any alarm clock.

Today was no exception. As you crawled out of your bed and got to your feet. You couldn't help but smile, wrapping yourself up in your silk robe and slipping on your slippers, following after the lovely sound to your daughters room. You put your hand on the doorknob and leaned down to bring your ear closer, smiling brighter as you heard her giggles persist.

“Is that funny?” You heard a deep voice coo. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Suddenly, the bright sun of the morning chasing away all the dangers of the night felt like a fool’s tale. The shining walls and work you'd done to get here meant nothing. The summer heat that chased away the night chill did nothing to warm you as the feelings of dread overtook you.

You opened the door, trying to school your expression. Your eyes locked on your daughter who turned and smiled wide at you. “Momma! Momma, Daddy's home!”

She always looked so happy. Whenever he would come back, whenever he would find you, your daughter would look at you with those big delighted eyes. The same ones she shared with the man in front of her. You couldn't help but notice a bit of a breeze crawl up your back, not from the stare of the monster before you, but as you turned to discover, your hall window was open..

You don't know what was more terrifying, the fact he was able to get past your wards or the fact he was able to do it without waking you.

“Yeah, princess. Daddy's home.” Barty gushed to his little girl, finally getting you to turn and face him. His eyes were already locked on yours. His eyes said it all, he was challenging you, to say anything, to deny him, to push him over the edge. You had grown familiar with Barty’s looks.

In Hogwarts, he would use them to keep your quiet, remind you not to let people see you get too close to him, to keep you obedient and complacent in the web he meticulously crafted just for you. The web he still had you trapped in all these years later- you struggled, that's all you could do.

Because what could a muggleborn witch like you do to protect yourself from falling in love with a Crouch? To fall victim to his endless worship of you, just to turn around and scorn your blood in front of the people he craved to impress. It was for your protection, he guaranteed, that Voldemort would make an exception of you. That he knew your soul was destined for him and he would make it clear to everyone else that it was true.

“Darling, I'm just going to speak to mommy for a moment, alright?”

Your daughter pouted, holding up her tea cup and he laughed, waving his wand to show her the same thing you assumed he must have been showing her to make her giggle. His bloody magic. The magic you begged him not to expose her to. It wasn't safe, not for you. Certainly not for your daughter, a stain on his family tree.

When he finished he gave her a kiss to her temple, and ruffled her hair. Standing up and walking across the room to you. Quickly, you turned and grabbed your wand from your pocket. Muttering a quick spell on the window as you passed, on your way to the kitchen.

It was the same routine, everytime he found you. Fix whatever damages had been caused, close the blinds, he would dismiss your daughter so you two could talk. You knew Barty could never bring himself to hurt you, in no world would he let any harm come to you or his little girl, but that didn't mean you didn't fear his anger.

You learned what testing his limits could mean. When the war began and you found out you were pregnant, Barty was ecstatic. He bought a home in the Hogwarts highlands, he used you as his get away. He would fight in a war against who you were and come home to dote on you like you were some god. It worked, at first, you were so blinded by love you didn't stop to think about what he was doing.

It was the friends you had closed out that brought you back to reality. Sirius showed up when he knew Barty would be gone, begging you to see reason. He promised you he and Remus would be there when you came to your senses. It took a few days but eventually you packed a bag. When Barty came home you begged him to leave with you, to either join your friend's side of the war or leave it completely with you.

But Barty, he had a way about him. A way that made you foggy minded and willing to forget yourself for hours. When you woke up in his bed, alone again the next morning, you knew it was time.

You'd spent months on end trying to keep away from him. But no matter where you went, he always found you.

Your daughter's giggles echoed in your mind as you moved through the motions, trying to calm down. The warmth of the morning now felt suffocating, as if the very air had turned against you. Barty’s presence had that effect- stealing the light, replacing it with a cold dread that settled deep in your bones.

In the kitchen, you set your wand down on the counter, your hand shaking slightly. You didn’t bother with tea or the pretense of normalcy. There was no use in trying to act like this was just another visit. He always saw through that.

The sound of his footsteps was deliberate, slow and measured as he entered the kitchen behind you. You didn’t need to turn to know he was watching you, that smug sense of control radiating from him like a dark cloud.

“You’re getting better at hiding,” Barty said casually, leaning against the doorframe as if he belonged there, as if he hadn’t just broken into your home and stolen another morning of peace. “I almost didn’t find you this time.”

You tightened your grip on the counter but didn’t respond. Any words you said now would only fan the flames.

“Still,” He continued, his voice calm but with an edge that made your skin crawl, “you should know better by now. There’s no point in running. Not from me.”

“What do you want, Crouch?” You snapped, your voice sharp but low, desperate to keep your daughter blissfully unaware in her room. Your jaw tightened as your heart raced, every muscle in your body screaming at you to act, to escape, but you knew better.

“Ouch,” Barty murmured, the word drawn out like a mockery of your tone. He gave a low, familiar chuckle that made your skin crawl. “No ‘hello’? No ‘it’s good to see you’? Have I fallen so far in your affections, my love?”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you in a smooth stride. Your body stiffened as his hand slid over your arm, slow and deliberate, the other curling around your waist. Even as you resisted, he pulled you firmly back into his chest.

You felt his breath against your neck, warm and slow, the press of his nose grazing your skin as he inhaled deeply. “Still wearing that perfume I like,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though you were lovers reunited instead of prey cornered by a predator.

“Let go of me,” You hissed, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn’t. Instead, he hummed softly, almost contentedly, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know,” He began, his voice silkier now, “I always miss this when you’re gone. The way you fit so perfectly here-” his hand pressed against your waist, possessive, “-like you were made for me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch his cold, calculating eyes. “Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” You shot back, forcing as much venom into your words as you could muster. “That this is love? That what you’ve done to me- to us- is anything but a twisted game now?”

Barty’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your waist just enough to remind you of his strength. The smile on his lips faded, replaced by something darker, something far more dangerous.

“Careful,” He warned, his voice dropping to a whisper, a quiet menace laced in his tone. “You’re upset. I’ll forgive it this time, but don’t mistake my patience for weakness. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to lose you now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay still. Reacting would only make things worse. He thrived on control, on watching you squirm under the weight of his presence. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction- not now.

“What do you want?” You asked again, your voice calmer this time, though the ice in your tone was unmistakable.

He tilted his head, a flash of amusement returning to his features. “You. Her. Us. Isn’t that obvious by now?”

“There is no us, Barty,” You said through clenched teeth, daring to step out of his grasp. This time, he let you, though his gaze never left you, sharp and predatory.

“You keep saying that,” He mused, leaning casually against the counter as if he belonged there. Watching as you stayed a foot or so away. As if he was unsatisfied with the distance, he reached forward and pulled you back to him.. “And yet, here we are. You, me, and our perfect little girl.” His smile returned, sinister and self-assured. “I hate fighting with you. You know what?” He mumbled, pressing lazy kisses up from your neck to your cheek. With all your fight you couldn't bring yourself to attempt to push him away again.

Because despite everything, he was still the man you loved more then life sometimes. The only person you'd ever care more for now- was the very person tying you to him.

It was the same game every time. Barty would find you, tearing through the fragile walls of peace you’d built, leaving only fragments of the life you’d tried to carve out without him. He’d remind you of who he was- not just with his suffocating eyes or possessive touches, but with the way he’d command your space, your air, your very existence. He loved you the way a bonfire devours kindling, bright and all-consuming, but he swore you were the creatures he warmed by his flames.

In truth, Barty was a forest fire. Unrelenting, destructive, impossible to escape. He touched every tree but left none standing. He created a cage of danger, an inescapable labyrinth of fear and passion that kept you tethered to him. And you- trapped between wanting to run and wanting to stay- played right into his hands every time.

The moment you found a new place to call home, he would be there, clawing his way back into your life as if he had every right to. He’d paw at you like a man starved, eyes ravenous, hands desperate to feel every inch of you again. He’d spoil your daughter rotten, making her laugh and smile in ways that made you both grateful and bitter all at once. And then, when he’d gotten what he wanted, he’d leave.

Every time. He’d leave.

To fight a war against the very thing he swore to love.

And yet, it wasn’t the war that broke you. It was the time in between- the stolen mornings, the whispered promises, the moments where you allowed yourself to believe he could change.

Because between the fights, between the harsh hands and the soft touches, you would melt. You would dissolve into the girl you once were, blinded by the love you still harbored for the boy he used to be. The boy who worshipped you with a ferocity that made you feel invincible. The boy who told you he would destroy anyone who dared to harm you, even as he slowly became the very thing you feared.

And somehow, in the fleeting moments of quiet, you still loved him.

The realization burned like a curse, hotter and sharper than any spell. Because even now, as you stood in the kitchen with his shadow still lingering in on the counter you clung to- as he continued to trial his lazy kisses across your skin, your heart betrayed you. It clung to the memory of his laugh, his touch, the way he’d hold you like you were his whole world.

Your heart ached with a contradiction you couldn’t reconcile, the tangled knot of love and fear twisting tighter with every lazy kiss Barty trailed along your neck. His lips were soft, familiar, stirring a warmth you hated yourself for feeling. Even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to fight, to remind him that he had no place here, your body betrayed you, frozen under the weight of his presence.

He whispered something, too low for you to hear, his breath brushing against your ear. It didn’t matter what he said; the words were always the same. Sweet nothings designed to make you forget the darkness he carried, the danger he brought into your life.

Your hands gripped the counter tighter, your knuckles white as you tried to ground yourself. But his voice, his touch, the intoxicating familiarity of him- it was suffocating.

“I miss this,” Barty murmured, his tone deceptively gentle as his hand slid from your waist to rest against your hip. “I miss you.”

You closed your eyes, willing the tears threatening to spill to stay where they were. He didn’t deserve them. Not anymore.

“You don’t get to say that,” You whispered, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “You don’t get to miss me, Barty. Not after everything you’ve done.”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above your skin. “Everything I’ve done,” he repeated slowly, as if the words themselves amused him. “Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. For that perfect little girl you gave me- thank you.” He breathed, low and condescending, even as you felt his lips curl into that familiar sweet smile. “Thank you for her.”

“Fuck you.” You hissed, tears finally slipping past your eyes. “You don't get to thank me. How dare you-”

"Momma? Daddy?"

The small voice cut through the tension like a spell, making both of you freeze. Your daughter stood in the doorway, clutching her stuffed owl, her eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of worry.

Barty turned first, his entire demeanor softening in an instant. The dangerous glint in his eyes disappeared, replaced by warmth and affection so convincing it made your stomach churn.

"Hey, princess," he cooed, crouching to her level. "What are you doing out here? Didn't I tell you to keep practicing your tea party skills?"

Ophelia tilted her head, looking between the two of you. "You were shouting," she said simply, her tiny voice laced with innocence. "Are you and Mommy mad?"

Your throat tightened, and you struggled to find the words, but Barty was faster.

"Of course not, darling," he said, his tone dripping with sweetness as he reached out to her. She took his hand without hesitation, allowing him to pull her closer. "Mommy and I were just talking about grown-up things. Boring, silly stuff, nothing to worry about."

You wanted to scream. To contradict him.

You hated it. How well he treated her, how much of a father he could be. You knew it had to be some form of healing for him, wanting to give his daughter the father he never had. But it didn’t make it any easier for you to watch. It didn’t make it easier to stomach how easily he could shift from the storm that haunted your nights to the warm, doting father who seemed so perfect in her eyes.

"Mommy?" Ophelia’s voice pulled you back to the present, her wide, curious eyes locked on yours. She had Barty’s eyes, that same piercing gaze that could see straight through you. It was both beautiful and heart breaking, knowing what those eyes had seen before they became hers.

You forced yourself to smile, though it felt as fragile as glass- quickly brushing away your tears in hopes she didn't see them. "No, sweetheart," You cooed, your voice soft but tight. "Mommy and Daddy aren’t mad. Daddy’s just being… silly, as usual."

She giggled, the sound like bells in the tense air. Barty gave her a conspiratorial wink, as if the two of them shared some secret that didn’t include you. It made your skin crawl but your heart throb all the same. This wasn't fair.

"See, angel? Everythings alright.” Barty scooped her up effortlessly, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. His expression softened further, the love in his eyes so genuine it made your heart ache. “Mommy just worries too much sometimes,” He teased with a gentle laugh, brushing a stray curl out of Ophelia’s face. “But you don’t need to worry, do you? Daddy’s here to take care of everything.”

Ophelia rested her head against his shoulder, her small fingers clutching his collar. “Promise?” She asked softly, her innocent trust making your chest tighten.

“I promise,” He replied, his voice warm and soothing. His eyes flicked back to you, the unspoken challenge still lingering beneath his tenderness. “Daddy always keeps his promises, doesn’t he?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and turned away, busying yourself with the kettle on the counter. Anything to avoid the sight of them together, to ignore the knot of guilt and helplessness that twisted tighter in your chest with every word.

“Daddy,” Ophelia murmured, her voice muffled as she nuzzled into his neck. “Will you stay this time?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers trembling as you gripped the edge of the counter. You dared to glance over your shoulder, catching the way Barty’s expression softened further. For a fleeting moment, there was no malice in his eyes- only love, raw and unfiltered.

“For as long as I can, my little star,” He said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She beamed at him, her giggles filling the room again as he twirled her around, the tension momentarily forgotten. But as you watched, the weight of reality settled heavily on your shoulders. This was the game he always played- pulling you in, wrapping you in the warmth of a family you desperately wanted to protect, only to remind you of how fragile it all was.

“Ophelia,” You called, your voice gentle and thick. “Are you hungry, baby?”

Ophelia perked up at the sound of your voice, turning her head just enough to look at you over Barty’s shoulder. “Yes, Mommy!” She chirped, her stuffed owl clutched tightly in one hand. “Can we have pancakes? The ones with the happy faces?”

You forced a smile, nodding as you stepped toward the pantry. “Of course, sweetheart. Go wash your hands first, okay? And don’t forget to set up your tea party things for later.”

She wriggled out of Barty’s arms with the unbridled energy only a child could have, her little feet padding across the floor as she darted out of the kitchen. Her laughter echoed down the hall, leaving a momentary warmth in its wake that quickly dissipated as you felt Barty’s gaze settle on you again.

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you busied yourself with gathering the ingredients for pancakes, focusing on the mundane task like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

“She’s growing up so fast,” Barty murmured, his tone soft but pointed. “Every time I see her, she’s more like you. Stubborn, sharp, and so full of life.”

You bristled at his words but didn’t respond, your hands steady as you set a mixing bowl on the counter.

“But she has my eyes,” He continued, stepping closer, his voice lowering to that dangerous, familiar drawl. “Doesn’t she?”

You slammed the whisk down a little harder than intended, finally turning to face him. “What do you want, Barty?” you demanded a final time, your voice low and sharp. “You’ve played the loving father card. You’ve made your presence known. What’s next? What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

He tilted his head, studying you with that infuriating smirk that never quite reached his eyes. “Accomplish?” he echoed, as though the very word amused him. “Oh, love, this isn’t about accomplishing anything. This is about being where I belong. With my family.”

“This isn’t your family,” You shot back, the venom in your voice unmistakable. “You don’t get to waltz in and pretend you belong here, not after everything you’ve done.”

His expression darkened, the playful edge to his smirk hardening into something colder. Then, slowly, he smiled. That same boyish charming smile you always thought to be true. He stepped behind you, running his palms down your arms with a low sigh. “I really do hate fighting you, star.”

His hands slid down your arms, his touch deceptively gentle, but his grip firm enough to remind you of the power he held. You froze as Barty leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"I hate it," he murmured, his voice soft, yet laced with something darker. "I hate how stubborn you are, how you make me work so hard to remind you of what we have."

You gritted your teeth, refusing to look at him, to meet those piercing eyes that could always see straight through you. “What we had,” you corrected coldly, though your voice trembled.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You can say that as much as you want,” he said, his fingers trailing down your sides to your waist, holding you in place. “But we both know it’s not true. We still have it. You feel it every time I’m near, don’t you? Just like I do.”

“Let go of me,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of his presence. You hated how weak you sounded, how easily he unraveled you.

But Barty didn’t let go. Instead, he turned you to face him, his hands settling on your hips as his stormy eyes bore into yours. "You’ve given me the best gift, love,” he said, his tone softening as his gaze flicked toward the hallway where Ophelia had disappeared. “Her. You. You’re my everything. Both of you. And you know that.”

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as his words pierced through your defenses. “You don’t get to say that,” you choked out. “You don’t get to act like you’re some devoted father when you’re-” Your voice cracked, and you bit down hard on your lip, desperate to hold yourself together. “You’re the reason I had to run. The reason she’s in danger.”

“In danger?” Barty repeated, his voice sharp now, his hands tightening on your hips. “You think I’d ever let anything happen to either of you? Do you really believe I’d let anyone touch my family?”

“You’ve already put us in danger,” you shot back, your anger flaring despite the tears threatening to fall. “Your choices, your loyalty to him- you’ve made us targets, Barty. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer. “Everything I’ve done has been for you,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “For us. I took that mark to protect you. I fought for a place in his world so he wouldn’t touch you or her. Do you know what I’ve sacrificed to keep you safe?”

“You don’t get to use that as an excuse,” you hissed, tears streaming freely now. “You don’t get to justify everything you’ve done by pretending it was for me. You made your choices, Barty. You chose him over me. Over us.”

His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears even as his grip felt possessive, inescapable. “I chose you,” he insisted, his voice trembling with a rare vulnerability. “Every single time, I chose you. And I’d do it again, star. I’d do anything for you.”

“Then let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Let me live my life. Let me protect her.”

“I can’t do that,” He said, shaking his head as his forehead pressed against yours. “You’re mine. Both of you. And I won’t let you take her- or yourself- away from me again.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the space between you, suffocating and undeniable. You hated how your heart ached at the raw desperation in his voice, how a part of you wanted to believe him, to give in like you always did.

“You always do this,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “You make me forget how much I hate you.”

He smiled faintly, his lips brushing against your temple in a touch so tender it made your chest ache. “That’s because you don’t hate me, love. You never have. And you never will.”

You wanted to scream, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch as your tears soaked into his shirt. “This isn’t fair,” you choked out, your voice muffled against him.

“No,” he agreed, his arms wrapping around you as if to shield you from the very chaos he’d brought into your life. “But I’ll make it right, star. I’ll prove to you that this is where you’re meant to be. Where we’re meant to be.”

And as much as you wanted to fight, as much as you wanted to push him away and reclaim the life you’d fought so hard to build, a part of you- the part that had always belonged to him- knew he was right.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how hard you fought, Barty Crouch Jr. would always find his way back to you.

And you would always let him in.

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cinellieroll · 2 months ago

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☆ more random obey me headcanons !

characters: the demon brothers! <3

small note: i am back. and i will disappear once more after this..also i apologize for the VERYYY LATE upload. i am not dead and i wont die until om fandom comes back to life i tell ya 😤😤

cw: none! :p

☆ lucifer:

- occasionaly has thoughts of getting a german shepherd but cerberus would get EXTREMELY PISSED if he did. also another reason why he refuses to let satan keep cats in the house. cerberus will gobble them up in less than a millisecond.

- has a pretty high libido (as if it isn't already obvious in the game..) he really enjoys taking out his stress on you everytime he gets the chance. buckle up buttercup ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

- one if his biggest secrets is keeping like a few albums of him and his brothers back when they still lived in the celestial realm. he keeps em hidden realll good

- sometimes asks levi or mammon to help him with his D.D.D

- "mammon, help me with this." "levi, why is my screen stuck like this?" "lucifer you paused the video-"

- he likes silk pajamas :3 he also can't STAND sweatpants for some reason.

- once a week, he dedicates atleast an hour or two grooming his own wings and his horns. there's a lot of occasions where he transforms in his demon form for parties and such.

- reads newspaper while taking a shit. guys dont argue with me on this its real.

- he has cold lips but his kisses are always very passionate with you!

- very well mannered everytime he's on the dining table and eating. y'all will never catch him spill a single food on the table or his clothes.

☆ mammon:

- eats with his hands sometimes when he's alone. and if someone ever finds out his excuse is always "so what? sometimes eating food with your hands is a better way to savor the taste." and i completely agree with him

- cleans his jewelry a lot. he wants them dazzling that people will do a double take when they see his mega awesome drip. like "haha yeah yall cant beat me on this baby" type shit

- cooks the BEST beef curry. the level of spice is perfect-o and beel always pesters him to make it.

- during family photos, he's always the one doing silly poses. he does hand stands, he has his ass out on display, he's ON THE FLOOR

- always man spreading in class. like you can literally see him chewing on his pen from across the room with his legs sprawled out

- you know that empty feeling you get after watching a movie? double that and give it to mammon. man takes it HARD especially if it was a sad movie that he watched. he'll feel empty for a gooooddd while

- always breaks his earphones, so when d.d.d airpods came out he got really happy and bought like 6 pairs (he ended up breaking all of them too)

- blasts music like crazy when he works out and lucifer absolutely HATES his music style and thinks it's unsanitary and inappropriate. like ok whatever you old fucking hag

- doesn't close the bathroom door after he uses it LIKE BITCH CLOSE THAT SHIT RN

- follows all of his fan accounts on devilgram ugh my boy <33

☆ leviathan:

- there's just like random times where he'll suddenly remember all of his past cringe phases. and it like appears on the most random times it's actually pissing him off

- always fantasized about creating character designs for simeon ever since he found out he was the creator of TSL

- he has a bad habit of HOLDING IN HIS PISS. yes he holds them in. he developed this habit ever since he got addicted to gaming. luckily for him he's a demon but boy if he was human he would've gotten kidney problems by now.

- levi would never ever admit it but he enjoyed getting spun around by mammon when they were still kids. like mammon grabs his arms then just spins him around and stuff

- sleeps with his headphones on and now he can't sleep without it. he's just like me jujujuju

- he really likes alex g :3

- sometimes he wishes he was a magical pop star girl performing for people on stage because they always look so happy when he watches them

- loves being the little spoon so much. sometimes it's awkward with him when he's the big spoon because he's either trembling or really stiff like a log

- he enjoys kissing your cheeks the most because he's convinced he'll melt if he tries kissing you on the lips

- has a hidden album on his phone of stolen shots of you doing the most random shit ever. eating, sleeping, showering..💀

☆ satan:

- even when it's freezing cold, his feet are always peeking out of his blanket. can't sleep without his bare feet hanging out.

- doesn't need reading glasses but insists on buying them because he thinks it fits the detective aesthetic. unfortunately he loses them a lot and no one knows why

- besides lucifer, satan is very sleek and neat when putting on neck ties

- had a phase where he absolutely despised coffee and tea because he found out lucifer enjoyed it. deep down he knew he enjoyed them too and it'd be one of the reasons for his constant rampages..

- started enjoying lofi music ever since levi introduced him to it.

- out of all the brothers, satan feels the most comfortable crying in front of mammon the most. (can i get some big brother mammon appreciation out here? 😔)

- he's the type to practice his lines in front of the mirror before asking you out on the date! he just wants everything to be perfect for you and yes sometimes he messes up but it's your fault for being too pretty

- worked as a librarian once as a part time job and lemme tell you..sales went high as fuck after that and the manager even BEGGED him to stay for longer. (which he did, as long as he got to have free books :p)

- tried the "which of the seven brothers are you?" quiz and got lucifer.

- is very skilled with the piano and even made a few pieces that reminded him of you <3

☆ asmodeus:

- really enjoys ear piercings and even got one himself!

- owns a clothing brand in the human world and even tried making you the co-owner. it's a really big success and he uses the money to buy you gifts

- can't go a day without kissing you atleast once! he feels like his lips would dry if doesn't get to even leave a peck on you

- does that back arch thing in his room when he's bored 👀

- bought so many makeup products once to the point lucifer banned makeup in HOL for like a month 💀 asmo held a grudge for a while because he was lowkey kinda conscious of his appearance when he'd go outside. especially when he's in front of you! ;((

- second most followed user on devilgram! (top one is diavolo lol)

- if he had to choose a favorite makeup brand from the human world it's either the ones with the cute packaging (ex: flower knows, too faced) or the high end brands like dior

- changes bed sheets like twice a week because it's either he can't stand the feeling anymore or found a new inspo on devilgram

- says he's not easily influenced on buying new things like mammon or levi but the moment he sees something go viral he's already purchasing 10 of them. (and posts it on his feed to gain those likes)

- crop dusts every now and then

☆ beelzebub:

- finds those gross ass thirst trappers who sexualizes food nasty asf and is a big donutdaddy hater

- wins awards from eating competitions a lot and always ALWAYS spoils you and belphie first

- always the viewer in situations where one of the brothers fight w eachother. mans always there for some reason so lucifer always approaches him first when smth happens lol

- sometimes he goes overboard with body sprays

- he likes hand made accessories/jewelry. belphie was the one who made his choker on his everyday outfit and cherishes it everyday

- he thinks tongue piercings are cool but never went out of his way to get one

- buys burger merch or any food merch in general lol

- he was never really the type to care about his own appearance and only did the bare minimum to make himself look presentable. but sometimes he does feel insecure when people get too intimidated by him, especially when it's you.

- "mc, you're not afraid of me right? i won't hurt you. i promise"

- majority of the time he's the one who fixes belphie's bed and cleans his side of the room so lucifer won't get mad at him

☆ belphegor:

- has no shame in stealing pillows from furniture shops and always gets away with it

- unintentionally says the most sassy remarks ever and stares at you when you call him out for it

- being the youngest, he doesn't really need to go shopping for his own necessities because one of the brothers already buys it for him before he can even step out of the house

- when you'd go back to the human world, he'd always gaze up at the stars and wonder how you're doing and if you're getting enough sleep

- always constipated like idk he just seems like the type to only shit once a week lmfao

- one time (or two..or three) he accidentally used a different toothbrush that belonged to one of the brothers because he was half asleep

- hates the feeling of jewelry on him because he thinks it's just in the way. especially hates earrings because it's a nuisance when he sleeps.

- HORRIBLE driver and can't drive for shit. crashed mammon's car once because he fell asleep. and his in defense was because traffic was so long smh

- he can't live without his cardigans. always wears long sleeved shirts unless it's summer season in the devildom and settles for loose shirts. he also has a habit of pulling his sleeves that it nearly covers his whole hand

- very calming singing voice. back when he was still in the celestial realm, a bunch of angel kids would approach him at night, telling him to sing lullabies for them to help them sleep <3

note: had to repost :P ALSO TY FOR 73 FOLLOWERS! hiphiphorey

#obey me #obey me shall we date #om! swd #obey me headcanons #leviathan obey me #obey me crack #om! leviathan #obey me lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me #om! satan #om! belphegor #om! beelzebub #om! asmodeus #obey me nightbringer

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shilohsylvanian · 2 years ago

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Time for camping 🏕 💕

#calico critters #sylvanian families #toys #toy collector #shilohscollection #toy community #toy photography #cats #silk cats #camping #camping set #seaside camping #golightly silk cats

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mayullla · 1 year ago

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Title: Creature's Infatuation

Character(s): Doppelganger (Unnamed character/original work) Summary: The servants didn't know that their abusive noble was switched for a monster that looked like him. You forced to marry him knew tho, that he created everything to have you in his arms. Tags/Warnings: Yandere!monster, fem!reader, yandere!monster x noble!reader, general yandere themes, manipulation, brainwashing, blackmail, forced feminization, noncon pet play, forced intimacy, imprisonment, tentacles, 1.2k words

Author's Note: This is an old one-shot of mine that I didn't post for a long time inspired the yandere viscount so it is similar to it.

You didn't know how dangerous monsters could be… that some could turn into humans and blend into the crowd and you would be none the wiser.

If you were wiser… if you knew what would happen to you… you would hesitate even just a little, even just a second to help anyone who you saw in need. Maybe then you would not be locked up in this horrible mansion after selling yourself to pay off your noble aristocratic family debt.

You were nothing but a slave to him, with his affection and sick love, he kept you by his side. Nobody could know what happened here when everything was covered by thick curtains and dimmed lights. The servants here were nothing more than puppets. Their minds, which this monster had eaten just a little bit, placed itself, done just to get ever so closer to you and keep you locked here. He manipulated their thoughts while letting them think that they were still human.

You glared at the mansion, you glared at him who had caused you this suffering. Yet for the sake of something precious, you would give up that aristocratic pride, swallowing it down as you begged him to spare your family from their downfall. You said that you would give him anything he wants.

And all he wanted was you.

He told you that he would give you everything when he only did the opposite. What he said was nothing more than food that was taken away from you the moment you rebelled over the fantasies he had in his head.

He made you wear many costumes, dresses, and outfits, each and every one an arrow to your pride as he held your waist from the back dreamily looking at the mirror of you and him, telling you his disgusting and vile thoughts he was imagining when he first saw those clothes, how he imagined them on you.

The dresses that you usually wore were taken away the first day you signed the contract that you would be forever his. "Boring and lackluster," he told you. He would dress you with finer fabrics and silks that would make him excited to see, unlike the “dull and humble” dresses that you wore. It was unbefitting for you, he told you the first day, but you did see them later locked in a chest. Why he kept them, you didn't even want to know, not after you realized how perverted he was.

Gems and pearls of all kinds of accessories were also sewn into your new clothes. You were sure they would make a duchess or even a princess green with envy. He had gotten you almost all the latest trends that he fancied, which was almost all except the ones where much was covered.

Maid clothes that were more flamboyant, more revealing with a shorter shirt too short to even be appropriate. He had a particular fondness for lacy details, the more delicate the better.

Sometimes he would make you wear dog ears or cat ears, making you wear a collar as he cooed condescendingly, stroking your hair as he ordered you to get down and put your chin on his knee or forced you to sit on his lap.

Sometimes having you wear costumed shoes with heels too high to walk on. Barely able to walk on them, he would carry you, dreaming of how this was how a prince would carry his pretty princess. You wanted nothing more than to rip them off your feet, but with thick buckles and locks, it was practically impossible to take them off unless you chopped your feet.

To him, you became his pet, maid, princess, and whatever else perverted thing he managed to think up. Everything that happened in the mansion would never go out. The maids and servants didn't seem to care much about you, nor did they ever realize that the noble they served and some adored was a monster.

That the person they once thought to be him was long gone, rotting in some ditch as the monster took on his role just to make a situation that fits.

All they cared about was that their master had changed for the better, so in love with his wife that he shopped for all the violent acts he had done in the past. Not understanding that this was all wrong. Not knowing that he had control over their minds, that in reality, they were nothing more than lifeless husks made to believe that they were alive and that whatever he was doing to you was nothing more than normal.

From how he would lock you in a room as punishment, or how he would force you to feed him on his lap with overly revealing attire unfit for a noblewoman as he continued to be so fond of you.

Some days he would ask you if you loved him, loved him as much as he does to the point of obsession. The hurt in his eyes as he held you tighter asking what you wanted that would make you happy, "Why don't you love me as much as I do?" He would ask, as you watched tentacles move around the desk writing papers that were related to work. Tentacles that were connected to his back.

He pulled you closer to him, arms holding your waist tight, already forced to sit on his lap against your chest to touch his, which forced you to look up at him, unable to look anywhere else. Even if you were able to, it would be a bad decision to do so when he got angry.

Just as much as he loved dressing you up, you also have watched him morph many times, into something or someone else to make whatever fantasy even more real. The doors locked so that no one could come in, the windows shut so that no one could see through, and the lights but only from the flickering candle. "Do you want me to look like your lover? Would you love me more if I looked like him?" He asked, pulling your thigh closer to him, as you watched him morph, becoming nothing more than black goop to the man who you once loved.

The soft smile on his lips and the brightness of his eyes made you think that he finally loved you. It fluttered your heart but also sent shivers down your spine, as you knew that this wasn't your crush.

He was desperate for your love, yet at the same time, he was sadistic, forcing you to love him. There were days when he threatened you to stay by his side, unless you wanted to go out of the room or mansion naked, or face something worse. Your only choice was to stay there or hold his arm like a love-sick wife who loved him just as much as he loved her.

You felt gross, so vile, by this monster parading as a human and also forcing you to love him. But he didn't care, as long as he could see that you loved him and were by his side, playing by whatever whims he had in the bedroom or office. You were the person he had fallen in love with when he sneaked into the town of humans. You were kinder than anyone he had met. He had fallen in love with you that day and would do anything to keep you with him. He would even kill and take over the body of a noble just to get closer to you.

So long as you belonged to him.

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scribblestatic · 17 days ago

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In celebration of me finally starting to put Spider Yuan on AO3, have another installment uwu

Prev Masterpost Next

---

Considering the methods of cultivating a humanoid body was proving pretty difficult, especially when the being in question could only, for reasons unknown, associate such a body with weakness.

Fewer eyes, fewer limbs, less imposing.

But at the same time, he does wish to talk to people of various races. He wishes to travel a little, too. As much as he's enjoyed his time at home, he wants to stretch his legs a little, perhaps leave more of the duties to the other spiders for a while. Zhuzi seems to be taking up the mantle even more, especially since she updated him on events in the nearby human village.

Besides, he could somewhat play around with what his humanoid form would be like, right? It wasn't as though he had to directly mimic the appearance of a human. As long as he could fit into doors and had thumbs when necessary, that would probably be best.

He doesn't have to make a body like he'd had before...

...?

When did he have a humanoid body before?

Eh, it didn't really matter.

Having decided that he would walk among humans and demons at least a little bit, he began cultivating a humanoid form.

Of course, he quite likes his current body. There's a very nice feeling that comes with being a large spider, able to build intricate webs that are difficult for the common beast, human, or demon to break down. He wouldn't be replacing it. Rather, it would be like...having another suit. Yes.

He's simply building another outfit aside from the one he always wears.

He's sure demons can do the same thing. Huli jing are quite notorious for it, aren't they? Fox spirits, whether a spiritual beast or a demon, can become beautiful people, but can also be in their fox form, can't they? He'd just do something similar.

Though, he does like having eight eyes. If he arranges the eyes on the face a little... And having more than four limbs is ideal. He could attach the remaining four there and there... His silk could come from over there...yes. And how should he shift from one form to the other? Hmm...

It's a thorough designing process that takes up a lot of his time, so he doesn't mind it so much when Fan Zhenzhen, Ruoxing, and their family visit less and less. He instead is able to throw himself into the process without minding what is going on around him, cultivating and gaining strength. He'll need a lot of it for the transformation, he knows instinctively.

It's in this focused state that he finds himself being interrupted by a pale girl.

And by pale, he means really pale. Pale white. Like, as in paper.

Her pale, almost porcelain-looking skin is curtained by fluffy grey hair. She wears straight-cut bangs that were above her round eyebrows—ah, are those disguised eyes, actually?—and her wide, cat-like eyes were a pale, cloudy blue color, the kind from the sky on a rainy day. Although some of her hair is done up in two little balls, the rest fluffs down her neck. Two thick strands, though, bend up and partially over her bangs from the whorl of her hair, like little spider legs.

Her cheeks are dusted with rounded pink circles, as though they were painted on rather than natural. Adding to her rather inhuman appearance are her clearly long, elf-like ears, though they point out more to the sides than upward. Aside from her face, she wears a poqun, her top made with dark green threads and the skirt pale green.

It takes him a moment to process who this is.

"...Zhuzi."

"Yes, Dage." Her voice is flat despite the small smile on her face.

"When did you cultivate a human form?"

"About seven years ago."

"Hmm... I...ah, don't recall this time passing."

"You've been very focused on cultivating, Dage. When I asked how you were moving, you said you were...'in the zone'. Doing something called 'autopilot'."

What was autopilot? Like, he understood what it meant the instant he heard the word, but as to where it came from, he was unsure.

"Then, how much time has passed?"

"About 20 years."

Eh?

Twenty years passed just like that?

When he thinks about it further, he starts processing what he's been doing. He vaguely remembers a few things, the more he ponders, like exchanging stories, meeting demons and humans. He's eaten a few offenders who didn't have better manners, giving him little boosts in his cultivation.

His mind wasn't empty at all during this time. In fact, he was working harder than ever, building, manufacturing, further developing his plots of land, cementing his territory...

He barely realized he'd done all of that, though only now he recognizes that, yes, this time has indeed passed and life has gone on.

"Excuse me for interrupting you. I wasn't sure how much longer you would be on, as you said, 'autopilot'. I felt this would be something of importance," Zhuzi murmurs. She puts her hand to her chin, and Shen Yuan notices the segments in her fingers, her skin actually a spider's exoskeleton.

"Mm. What is of importance?"

"It seems that Fan Zhenzhen has become bedridden."

When Fan Zhenzhen met the Great Spider, she was in her mid-20s. Her son was born not too long after meeting him.

With the successful birth of her son and the growing prosperity of Xiaoshan Village (小山村 - Xiǎo Shāncūn - Little Mountain Village), she quickly became a prominent figure. Because her stories produced the most beneficial results, others came to her for advice on what to tell the God of the Woods.

Having told him several stories, she found he appreciated both the real and dramatized, but not so dramatic that it was ridiculous. Moreover, whether he liked the story or not, he would always critique it, from how it was told to how he views the characters. This advice and further practice on storytelling grew their prowess and critical thinking. She found that the things that made sense to the spider were not always common to humans, however, for a great being such as himself, surely his logic was sound.

And so, the girls of the village began receiving more education. Although apprenticeships were initially only for boys, families and teachers began allowing girls to participate more frequently. Although some remained in the home to take care of the family, others were becoming tradeswomen, and boys who were less educationally gifted had room to take up more space in the home.

It was strange. Not very natural. Certainly not Confucian...or, perhaps, more Confucian than the way they'd been living before. Although girls were taught to stay home, to be filial to their parents, and to not be jealous if their husband had more wives, did he not have the Silver Rule? If boys couldn't handle living the same way as their fellows, then surely, someone's status had to change.

It was through this theory that Fan Zhenzhen eventually acquired the title of Village Elder, making her the new leader once the previous one passed. After all, her logic was backed by Lulin Zhizhu, who provided for them and protected them. How could she be wrong?

Once her son reached his teenage years, he became infatuated with Han Miyun, her daughter-in-law. Although she could never appreciate spiders the way she does, she understood. Fear was another form of respect, in a way.

Though, she would likely have to conquer her overly fearful constitution one way or another. After all, Ruoxing was quite close to their god, the one who blessed and protected him. He was to be the next Village Head upon her inability to continue her role, something he agreed to do.

In her 50s, she met her first grandchild. She watched, later on, as this same grandchild left the village for a cultivation sect, her spiritual veins strong and full of vigor. Even though she could not come visit often, she continued to send letters in her increasingly neat and orderly handwriting, talking about the upper realm of mortals with great infatuation.

Those years ago, when she'd been starving and growing cold, Fan Zhenzhen had never once thought a child or grandchild of hers would reach such heights. To be able to see it with her own eyes was such a great blessing, more than she could've ever asked for.

It was because she learned some of these strange events of a world more fantastical than the one she lived in that, when a spider came down the mountain in a human-like form, greeting them with a blank expression, she took it in stride. She ignored the unnatural smoothness of her skin and the segments showing the bends of her joints. She ignored how her god's little assistant was adapting, changing her mannerisms to be more comfortable for those who couldn't handle the splendor of a spider's power.

Instead, as she grew older and less able to make the trek to see her god up close, she relied on Mishu-zhang (秘书长 - mìshū zhǎng - secretary general) to relay her messages, inquiries, and stories. Judging by how she would swiftly return within a day or two, it seemed her god held no grudge against her for not coming to visit like she used to.

Now, in her 70s, her body has grown weary. Perhaps she overworked herself in her younger years, but her knees creaked when she moved. Her back curled inward and she ran out of breath faster. She'd been quite fit, but she felt herself deteriorating somehow.

One day, when she found moving from her bed to be too strenuous, she realized what this likely was.

Peace.

Peace and desire.

Her son was quite alright, wasn't he? He'd grown up well. He was strong, and he had several children with a lovely woman.

Their village was safe, protected from beast, human, and demon alike. Their wisdom, grown over decades alongside their fields, was fruitful and multiplying. New ideas came from the minds of all developing children, with room to practice and test the validity of their inventions and intuition.

Fan Zhenzhen had worked hard. She was seeing the results of her hard work, and my, how wonderful it was.

But she was watching it alone.

In her peace, she found she wanted one thing, and the one thing was something her god likely couldn't grant her. Not that she would blame him, no. After all, it was something she could grant herself.

What she wanted was to be by her husband's side. To tell him, in the afterlife, that they had a son. That their son found love. That their love has blossomed into a plentiful tree that will carry the evidence of their bond for generations to come.

She wanted her Gao Cheng (高成 - Gāo Chéng).

However, simply wasting away wasn't her style.

So, even from her bed, she continued to give directions. She fulfilled her duties, passing more of them over to her son as the seasons rolled onwards. Winter, spring, summer, fall...she watched the seasons pass through her window as Han Miyun ensured her comfort.

One day, they bring her outside using a wheeled chair, some new invention by a mystery developer. Though her legs had grown too weak to carry her any longer, she was still able to breathe in the cool, dewy air.

Growing old like this was such a luxury. And, soon, perhaps after another winter or two, she'd be able to relay her long journey with the one man she loved romantically in all her life.

There isn't much time.

He can feel it, when he pays attention.

Like a light is flickering in the corner of his eyes.

He has to hurry.

He bought her some time, sending the wheelchair design to get her out of her house and prevent her from growing too used to the fugue state of being bedridden.

Though having time outside may have given some oxygen to her flame, it was still going to go out.

Such was the case of mortals. Lest they cultivated, they they had no chance to extend their lives. Their souls would return to the cycle.

She's leaving soon.

He doesn't...

He doesn't want her to leave alone.

If he can speak to her one last time.

Just one last time—

He needs this, he realizes.

He needs to see her again.

When did she become so important to him?

When did he become okay with them growing apart?

Was he ever okay with it?

Or did he just retreat into himself so it hurt less?

Why did the thought of leaving her behind hurt so much...ah.

Wasn't she the one leaving him behind? Why did he think it...

Ah. Wrong face.

Wrong person.

They look so much alike when he thinks about it.

Fan Zhenzhen, and the girl he sometimes sees when he's knitting or sewing.

...

One last time.

Please, just one last time.

Let him do it right.

Zhuzi waits by the entrance of the cave with her hands tucked into her sleeves. The other spiders cannot be too close. The swirling and spiking of qi is too much for them. Even Zhuzi is sweating, keeping her mind afloat despite the raging energy inside.

However, she knows this feeling well. She, too, rushed to cultivate a humanoid form.

When Dage could not attend the human wedding, he had been upset.

He never expressed it outwardly, but she could feel it. The days leading up to it, he had murmured about attendance, only to talk himself out of it each time. He was a large and strong spider. The humans wouldn't be able to handle him at such an occasion.

So, she attended, as closely as she could. But even that was quite distant.

She saw the food they ate, the festivities, the gleaming lights and dances...

She was interested. Surely Dage was also interested. But he was busy, and she, less so.

He was so busy, perhaps because he made himself busy. He threw himself into being occupied, so much so that he receded into himself in cultivation.

She knew of the very few humans and demons that made a comfortable warmth flow from his body. When they spent more time away, the warmth became less frequent. ...What was that feeling? Why was the warmth going away?

Perhaps she rushed to make a humanoid form, to discover what this feeling was, but it worked out in the end. She tamed her roiling qi and formed something reasonable enough. And, after watching humans and their habits, she clothed herself despite not needing to, and she walked down from Dage's sacred webs.

The human woman that produced the most warmth from him looked different now. Her hair had turned from black to grey, and she had wrinkles in her soft, easy-to-puncture skin (she wasn't sure she would ever get used to their lack of exoskeleton). Her steps were less sure, but her stance and countenance was firm as ever.

Whenever she returned from a visit to the human village and told the story to Dage, despite being on 'autopilot', the warmth would flow through and out of him once more, if just for a little while.

But the warm, sun-like lady was dying. Once she died, Zhuzi wouldn't be able to tell Dage anymore stories about her. That's why she interrupted his 'autopilot'.

And just like her, he, too, began to rush.

However, unlike her, he'd been cultivating quietly for 20 years. It took him less time to solidify his new, secondary exoskeleton.

The rampant energy sucks inward...and then releases in a calm wave. A mere breeze, smelling like fresh silk and dewdrops.

And then, she heard skittering.

A great presence, more imposing than ever before, was clicking its way toward the cave's entrance at great speed.

However, before it could rush out, Zhuzi stepped in front of it, spreading her arms out to the sides to block its way.

Thankfully, it...he stopped.

"...Dage."

He stares at her for a moment. Then, like returning to consciousness, his body relaxes as his joints uncoil.

"Ah, Zhuzi."

"Dage, where are you going?"

"Mm? I'm heading down to see Fan Zhenzhen. It's been much too long since I saw her last. And Ruoxing, too. How much longer do I need to wait for them to visit? Aiyah, it's like they've forgotten me. Though, I know they haven't. So, I will go to see them."

"Mm. I understand. But Dage, you cannot go unclothed."

"Unclothed? ...Ah. Right. Yes, humans do wear clothes, don't they?"

He gets up off of his hands, the limbs on his back receding into his body. His legs, bent much like a mosquito's...or perhaps a dog's...straightened somewhat as he stood on them, his long feet ending in two blackened, fuzzy toes. Long black hair flowed down his body like a river, even covering his face. However, he seemed to be able to see just fine.

As he lifted his head further, she could see why.

"I suppose I should make some, then."

#spider shen yuan #svsss #svsss au #dp writes #static writes #au post 4 #he made a humanoid form in the end #heavy emphasis on “humanoid”#cause bro don't really look human #zhuzi and shen yuan speak casually with each other uwu

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casualhedonists · 1 year ago

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✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism (lmk if i forgot anything!) murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here

chapter: 1/? (chapter 2 here)

MASTERLIST

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

A/N: this is what happens when i let my brain loose to do whatever tf it wants (title is from attention by doja cat as is the general theme)

Show you how to touch it Hold it like it's precious It don't need your lovin' It just needs attention

You were getting tired of this charade.

Snow was courting you, or so it would seem. In truth, it was all for show. He was seen with you on his arm at public events, just enough to make it look like you were together. Marriage was probably further down the line, but Snow was in no rush for that to happen. For now, he was pleased with the positive attention he received for appearing like a reliable, loving, doting partner.

“There’s a science behind it,” Cordelia, Snow’s preferred public relations manager - and one of the Capitol’s best - had told you in a meeting between the three of you, discussing strategy, coordinating events, and how best to make the relationship seem authentic. “The more the public see you as grounded, committed, and warm, the more respect they hold for you. The more open they are to your ideas, and any changes you make as president.”

You’d concealed your smirk well enough for it to go unnoticed upon hearing that.

Snow was a lot of things, but he was never warm. The name itself decreed it. He was cold, calculating, sharp witted, manipulative. Power hungry.

You were fine with the arrangement at first. It suited your thirst for power; despite coming from one of the richest families in the capital, Snow’s power was of a different breed. You wanted in, and so when your social circles crossed over and the proposition was made, you’d risen to the occasion.

The reality was this: it was a good arrangement. Coriolanus was adored and admired by any outsider with a pair of eyes, and you got anything you wanted. You got to live in the manor house Coriolanus occupied, eating good food while being waited on hand and foot. You got to network with powerful people in the highest of society. Even if you wanted someone executed, it would be carried out in turn, without question. Name it, and it was yours. Snow was a generous host and ally to you.

It was everything you wanted.

Almost.

Somehow, despite it all, all the custom gowns shipped in from the expensive designers, the buffet spreads and the silk sheets, the way that people had begun to stare in respect as soon as you walked into a room, there was just one thing that itched at you, one thing you knew wasn’t part of the plan.

It was Snow.

Somewhere, between the light kisses in front of expectant eyes, the gentle hand on yours at dinner, that was hurriedly removed once you were behind closed doors again, you’d grown a gnawing, incessant want towards the man that had given you almost everything you could ever hope for.

Eight months, this had been going on. Eight months since Snow suggested this business proposal. Sex was never a part of the deal. And of course, you couldn’t sleep with anyone you pleased; that would be catastrophic for both of your reputations. And so it had been eight months since anybody had touched you other than yourself, biting your pillow so nobody could hear Snow’s name on your lips as you gripped the sheets. Even if you wanted to sleep with other people, you couldn’t. Truth is though, you’d developed rather expensive taste. A taste for only him. Even if you had the choice, nobody else would do.

You wondered if he ever thought of you while he touched himself. That thought slipped into your head every so often, when your hand was between your thighs. Then it became a more frequent occurrence. Then it became a nightly one, and by then, you were pretty sure you’d started going crazy.

You weren’t a romantic - this arrangement would never have worked if you were. You were like him; power hungry, relentless, impatient. And most of all, when you wanted something, you got it. And you wanted to seduce Coriolanus Snow.

So you’d started leaving breadcrumbs. Put an extra glint in your eyes when you glanced over at him, in public, first, and then in private more and more. You’d thrown out dozens of your more conservative dresses, keeping only the shortest ones that hugged your hips and dropped tantalisingly low on the neckline. Started wearing them more around the house, pretending to drop things just so you could bend down in front of him.

You estimated this act would last for a good week or two before Snow folded.

You were wrong.

If anything, it seemed to render Snow even more indifferent to you than he’d been before you started playing your little games. And each time he ignored you, glanced unimpressed at your outfit then looked away, or full-on walked right past you out the room, you started to simmer even more.

A normal girl in a normal situation would take a hint, cut her losses. But you were no normal girl, and this was no ordinary situation.

You had to be in the same boat, surely. Snow was still just a man, after all. A man with similarly limited options, and you knew he must’ve at least found you a little attractive, else he wouldn’t have chosen you to parade around on his arm in public, in pretty dresses and expensive jewellery.

Snow’s indifference only fuelled your fire. Sure, an ordinary girl would just give up. But eight months of this torture and you were at your breaking point. Besides, it was either him, or nobody. You weren’t giving up. Not in this lifetime.

So you got more obvious. Started taking breakfast in your nightgown each morning instead of getting dressed, sitting opposite Coriolanus with several feet of the mahogany table between you, biting into grapes from the fruit bowl and letting the juice trail down your chin, wiping it off then sucking your fingers clean, humming with your digits in your mouth, glancing at him with full-blown bedroom eyes when he’d look over at you from behind his paper.

It was no use. Nearly a month had passed and he’d barely even looked at you for more than a second at a time. Your conversations were short, lacklustre and strictly business related. You’d even tried playing on his heartstrings, asking about his day and work and his family. You were lucky if you got more than blunt, one-worded answers every time.

You’d exhausted yourself with all these failed attempts, until one Thursday night you heard footsteps walking past your bedroom door. This wasn’t abnormal - Snow kept extensive household staff - except for the sound of these were different. You recognised the faint clicking of heels against the hardwood, a sound you heard all the time at galas and balls, but never in these halls, when an event was nowhere on the radar. And this was one such night.

Your curiosity led you off your bed and to the door, gently opening it to glance outside. Whoever it was had turned the corner, the clicking fading down the hallway. You carefully closed the door behind you and began to follow the sound. A chill ran up the backs of your legs as you walked; it was getting slightly colder as winter closed in, and your bedroom attire wasn’t exactly fit for the weather, given that you picked out the laciest, most impractical slips to sleep in, ready for your performance the next morning at breakfast.

You paced down the corridor, winding past the door to each room, a study, a small library (the larger one was downstairs), Snow’s office, and then finally, at the end, the door to Snow’s bedroom.

Oh.

This room was always enigmatic to you, as you’d never been inside. Your obsession with Snow had led you to wonder, day in and day out, what lay behind that door. The color of his bedsheets, what sat on his dresser, the contents of his closet, what aftershave he wore that had caused you to develop a practically pavlovian reaction anytime he got close to you.

You paused, a few feet away from the door, fearing Snow’s response if you crossed that line, if he were to walk out and find you hovering between his office and his room, clearly attempting to eavesdrop.

You heard shifting, then voices inside as you focused all your attention onto listening, trying hard to pick up on the conversation. You took another tentative step forward, practicing in your head what you would say if he stepped outside. I just wanted to ask what you wanted me to wear on Monday’s gala, I was thinking the white dress with the gold detailing. It wasn’t too late in the evening for that to be a viable excuse, if you could make it sound convincing enough.

But as you got closer you noticed something. There was a soft light spilling out from behind the door, which was in fact, just slightly ajar.

Snow usually kept the door locked at all times, you knew that from testing the handle - admittedly more than a few times - when he had been out of the house, and you were certain he wouldn’t be home for hours. This was something different. This felt dangerous, like walking a tightrope that was about to get cut, but the thrill of adrenaline pushed you forward.

You’d stopped hearing voices by then. You snuck ever closer, ears starting to ring as you found yourself drawn to the open door, taking silent steps towards it until there was no going back, and your body was practically flush to it. Holding your breath, you peeked through, pushing it ever so gently, praying that it wouldn’t creak. You had to crane your neck slightly to see any movement in the room, but it didn’t take long to see it, and when you did, you certainly didn’t feel cold anymore. Any curious whims on the color of his furniture and walls were long pushed to the side, because you couldn’t have focused on anything else in the room if you tried.

Snow was sat on a deep red velvet ottoman at the foot of his bed, shirt buttons undone and pushed behind him, leaving you with a full view of his chest. Your eyes panned down to see his usually pristine dress pants rolled carelessly down, pooling around his ankles. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in a similarly rushed manner. One hand was behind him, propping himself up, and the other was tightly gripping a handful of blonde hair, belonging to a girl that knelt at his feet in nothing but black underwear and stiletto heels - the culprit of the footsteps - moving her head up and down as Snow roughly guided her, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes firmly shut, breathing roughly. A few strands of damp blonde hair had fallen to his temples, just enough to make him look disheveled, yet somehow still regal, like a greek god.

You stood there, frozen. A million emotions battling for dominance in your head, anger, panic, fear, raging jealousy. Desire.

That was the one that stuck with you in the moment. It was a good thing Snow’s eyes were closed and the girl’s back was facing you, because your feet were firmly planted on the ground, watching this scene unfold, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere even if you tried. Watching as Snow’s breathing got heavier, as his grip on the girl’s hair got tighter and more forceful. Watching as her one arm gripped his thigh, and the other moved to where her mouth was, out of your eyeshot, and the obscenity of this was made somehow worse by the fact that you couldn’t see exactly what was happening.

Firstly, because it allowed your brain to fill in the blanks as Snow hissed through his teeth and dropped his head back. Secondly, because from this angle, you couldn’t see the girl’s face, and you were able to picture yourself in her place, wet mouth wrapped around him, being the cause of his undoing.

Come to think of it, there was another reason you were glad you couldn’t see her face, and it was purely for her sake. Because if you could’ve seen her, you would’ve had no excuse not to kill the bitch then and there.

You could hear, though. You could hear her soft moans and the lewd wetness of her mouth as her head moved even faster, before Snow took full control as his hips started to jerk, holding her head in place. There was a fire in the pit of your stomach and your lips were parted, staring. Knowing that if even for a second, Snow opened his eyes just for a glance, he’d see you immediately. You’d be hanged, probably. Or worse. And yet you didn’t run; you couldn’t. Nothing on God’s earth could’ve caused your feet to turn you around and leave the room. It was like you were suspended in some dream-like state, hearing going fuzzy, head spinning.

Then Snow started groaning, breath hitching in his throat as he got closer to the edge, you could hear it. Your brain began melting, and you didn’t have time to think through what would happen after he was finished and he saw you. If you were going to be hanged for this, it would be worth it, you thought, as his hips started to jerk even faster and his groans turned into strained whispers. Fuck and that’s it and good girl, and finally, as his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and he came into her mouth with a strangled cry, you heard a name.

Yours.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth #ugh i haven't written in so long and this is my first time writing for this fandom go easy on me pls

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gold-onthe-inside · 3 months ago

Text

corrective maintenance

a reactive maintenance strategy employed to restore a system, machine, or software to its optimal working condition after a failure or malfunction has occurred.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader what? the much demanded sequel to greylist; your complicated and suppressed feelings for spencer result in an argument, the blowback of which leads to a fight with penelope. content warnings: a little more background to reader given (neglected childhood, not many friends) word count: 2.1k a/n: finally put this thing together, reader and i will both have eye strain by the time we're 60

It’s just past a quarter to 11 when you trudge back to the apartment, the painkiller Spencer had given you just barely dulling the ache in your head. You close the door with your back, slipping out of your heels, the keys clattering in the clay bowl, pink with white cat-eyes. “How was your night?” came Penelope’s voice, floating over with a cup of coffee, wearing a red silk robe.

“Don’t get me fucking started,” you muttered, finding the energy to peel your coat off and Penelope hid a giddy grin as she sipped her coffee.

“You stayed at his place, huh?” she asked and you glared at her.

“Yeah, because you didn’t have the decency to go to your boyfriend’s place. We have rules about this stuff, Penelope,” you said, exhausted. You didn’t want to get into another fight, not when it felt like a construction crew was working in your frontal lobe.

“Did you at least have fun?” Penelope asked, her voice hopeful, and you scoffed, remembering the last half of your argument with Spencer.

"Just cause I don't have the same weird co-dependency that you lot seem to have with each other doesn't make me lonely," you said, your head still hurting from the hangover, rummaging through your purse for a painkiller but all you found was a couple Altoids, and you hear the pop of a tablet beside you, Spencer standing there, holding out a Tylenol for you.

“Then explain why I was the only one you had to drink with last night,” he said, not unkindly, but he’s probing into areas you’re uncomfortable with. You barely talk about it with Penelope, and you live with the woman.

“Only because Penelope was busy,” you retorted, almost not taking the pill out of sheer spite, but your head hurt too much for you go through with it. You popped the tablet, fully aware that Spencer’s still watching you as you chase it with water.

“And if you didn’t have Penelope?” he asked softly and you look at him angrily. God, why was it so easy for him to get under your skin? “Face it, you’d have been drinking alone, because Penelope’s the only friend you have.”

“And what were you doing, Mr Friendly?” you snapped back. “Since we’re all about facing facts, you had nothing better to do on a Friday night than answer Penelope’s call?”

His face blanched, and if you’d been in a better state of mind, you’d have played it off with a joke, lightened the tension. You wouldn’t have pushed him so far. “Because I’m willing to bet the only reason Penelope called you is because you reliably wouldn’t have plans,” you continued, a sharp edge to your voice. “Derek, who’s always got a date, and Emily who’s always doing something new, and Hotch who’s got a kid at home, and JJ who has her family. So don’t tell me about how lonely I am, Dr Reid, before you take a long, hard look in the mirror.” You let out a breath, running out of steam, looking at Spencer’s hurt expression, his angular face all drooping. You almost apologise. Almost.

“At least I’m not a coward about it,” he said quietly. “At least I keep trying. You’d rather make people not like you than realise they wouldn’t like you after getting to know you. Because what happens when Penelope wakes up one day and leaves you?” When. Not if. The sting is too much, the lump in your throat choking you.

“I have to go home,” you said instead, and he doesn’t stop you this time, in your black dress with the cut-out waist, wrapped up in a coat.

“What?” Penelope demanded, almost a shriek as you finished telling her the story. “That’s… Oh my God, you two are cruel, why would you say that to him? Why did he say that to you?”

You rub your face, tired and sad, your eyes half-closing of their own volition. “I was just… My head hurt and he was trying to be nice, but it just… it was too much, Pen, and then he started reading into it, because fucking profilers and—”

“So you shut him down,” Penelope groaned, sinking her head into her hand, saying your name with such disappointment. “So much for hoping you two would finally get along.”

“I don’t understand your insistence on making us get along,” you said, pouring yourself a cup of coffee and Penelope scoffed.

“Because you’re both perfect for each other,” she cried, as if it was obvious. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t see it—”

“When have you ever been right in saying I can’t do something?” you ask, but she steamrolled over you.

“You’re both insanely smart, you have the same sense of humour, you both devour books, you banter, it’s a made-for-Christmas rom-com,” Penelope insisted, watching you look at her skeptically. “You’ve never even given him a shot,” she said softly. “He… He’s not like every other guy, you know that.”

“He hasn’t even asked for a shot—”

“He dropped everything on a Friday night—”

“Because you demanded it of him—”

“Because he likes you!” Penelope cried hotly, standing up from her seat at the kitchen table. “This whole argument, where you were so mean to him, was all because he was trying to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of—” you cried out only for Penelope to interrupt with, “Bullshit!” You stared at her outburst, uncharacteristic of the cheery woman.

“Everyone wants to be taken care of,” she told you. “You wanna act like you’re so above it all because deep down, Spencer’s right. You’re scared. And I wish you weren’t because you’re so wonderful and smart and kind and one day you’re gonna push everyone who cares away because it’s exhausting. It’s exhausting to have to keep peeling layers away.” Penelope paused, catching her breath, looking at you, waiting for it to sink in. And it doesn’t.

“Then stop trying,” you said, as if it was that simple. The coffee was too bitter for you, and you leave your half-full mug to go shower, leaving Penelope stunned in the kitchen.

You stay in your cubicle all day, resigning yourself to your code, your pride keeping you from Penelope’s lair. You’d even left early, rather than your usual lazy commute to work in her car. Spencer’s not like Morgan, he doesn’t stick out from the rest of your co-workers, all computer nerds working on other projects, so you don’t see him approach you.

“For the last time, Jerry, I’m not reviewing your code for—” You looked up, pausing at Spencer’s hopeful face sticking up over your walls. “Oh. You.”

“Not the worst reaction I’ve had,” Spencer admitted and you let out a dry huff.

“I’ll break out into a rash for you next time,” you replied and he pursed his lips.

“How’s Penelope doing?” he asked, rather than playing along with your inane game.

“What do you mean?”

“Morgan said she took a sick day, which she hasn’t done since 2009, and I tried calling her but she wouldn’t pick up,” Spencer said and you frowned. “Is she okay?”

“I— She was fine last night,” you said lamely, your stomach bottoming out, and Spencer could read your expression of guilt far too easily for your comfort. “Don’t do that. Don’t profile me,” you snapped at him, standing up and grabbing your coat.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted, starting to head out and dialling Penelope’s number while Spencer chased you.

“Can I at least know what happened?” he asked, hazel eyes on you with as much concern as they had last night. You tutted, hitting her voicemail and enter the elevator to head out, Spencer following you inside.

“You happened,” you muttered, pocketing your cell.

“What?”

“You happened,” you repeat, heated and angry, mostly at yourself. “You just had to pick a fight with me—”

“Hey, I was being nice to you—”

“And so I was pissed off when I got home—”

“And you unloaded it on her,” he filled in before putting on the receiving end of your glare. “You keep doing that, you’re gonna desensitise me to that look,” he pointed out and you sighed.

“Fine, yeah, I did, happy?” you asked bitterly and Spencer looked at you slumped back against the elevator, and he pushed the stop button, essentially trapping you both inside.

“No, and neither are you, and you never will be if you keep acting like this,” Spencer told her.

“I’m getting a little sick of being lectured to, Professor,” you snap at him and he frowns at you.

“And I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you,” he replied. “I don’t know what I did, but for some reason, you’re acting like a killer T-cell. So intent on protecting yourself that you’re destroying every relationship you have.”

“Oh please, the last thing I want is pity from you,” you scoff, stepping away from him.

“There it is, see?” he insisted. “It’s like a reflexive response, to push everyone away if they get too close. If you’re always alone, then no one can hurt you, right?”

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" you demanded.

“No, not when you’re just waiting for me to give up so you can be right,” he replied. “It’s classic avoidant attachment—”

“God, just stop!” you yelled at him. “Stop, stop trying to worm your way into my head!”

“That’s the thing, I’m not!” he insisted loudly, stepping closer to you and you back up against the wall. “You act like all I want from you is some intellectual spar, some— But I’m trying here! I’m standing in front of you right now, with nowhere to go, asking you to talk to me, actually talk to me.”

"About what?" you asked.

"Anything!" Spencer replied, his voice echoing. "You always have some smart-ass remark to throw at me, to just shut me up. So tell me what's going on, tell me why that's easier than just talking."

You look at him, speechless. His hand comes to his face, pushing his hair off his face as he looks away. “God, I sound like a crazy person,” he said, as though the realisation took him back. His hand fell to his side, and he turned to leave. “Just… Just go see Penelope before I make it worse, okay? I’m sorry,” he said, looking at you. “You’re just so confusing, and you have this way of pushing my buttons, and— God, I’m gonna shut up now.” He stepped forward to turn the elevator back on, pressing the buttons that kept him facing away from you.

You stayed by the wall, looking at him. "I'm not used to it," you said softly. "I don't... have people like you guys do."

Spencer paused, before turning back to you. "Penelope said you never talk about your childhood."

"There's not much to talk about," you said, scuffing the floor with your sneakers as the elevator went to the lobby. "My parents both worked long hours. Weren't really around. Didn't have a lot of friends growing up. And I got into tech, but when you're the only woman in the class..."

"It's not very welcoming is it?" he filled in the blanks, and when the door chimed, you found yourself not wanting to go. He stepped out, holding the lift open for you. "So how did you end up an FBI agent?"

"Get to do a lot more interesting work here than at Apple," you replied.

He lets out a sigh of recognition. “I felt the same way when I joined.” He smiles at you softly, gesturing for you to keep talking.

"I just... I dunno, I'm not wired for this stuff," you continued, stepping out of the elevator. "Friends, relationships... Coding's a lot easier."

“I can get that,” he nodded. “It’s easier, less complicated.” He let out a sigh, taking a step closer to you and you looked up. “I’m not gonna let you push me around anymore,” he added and you blinked at him.

“I figured.”

When he moved away, the relief you felt confused you. “Go talk to Penelope,” he told you. “I’m sorry I’m not great at this stuff, and that we fight a lot, and I’m always in the way but— but I want to get better.” He turned quickly, leaving you standing in the lobby, unsure of what just happened.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x analyst!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #my fics

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