#tw: mentions of fictional hanging | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 25 days ago

Text

╰┈➤ HALLOWEEN TRADITION

in which one you and reid match your outfits every year for halloween

tw: mention of shoo!ing, dea!h of an animal

contents: spencer reid x fem!reader, they're both obviously in love with each other, time skips

words: 7.5k

disclaimer: it's my first fanfiction written in english.

a year ago

“Oh, I already ordered. Caramel cappuccino, almond milk, double amount of vanilla syrup and cinnamon sprinkled on top, am I right?

“Your photographic memory is sometimes just terrifying”

“Thank you. By the way, are you still afraid to order this coffee in front of Rossi?”

“Yep. I always take regular macchiato. The last thing I need in work is his judgemental, Italian look…”

Meanwhile, as Reid let out a short laugh, you quickly took in your surroundings: the brick walls and oak tables, the decorative pumpkins by the entrance, and the menu hanging above the barista’s counter, adorned with (artificial) leaves. Just like every corner of this trashy coffee shop was trying to remind you about autumn.

One thing about you — you were an extreme autumn lover, who unfortunately was allergic to pumpkins, so you couldn’t fit the autumn white girl stereotype completely, by ordering a pumpkin spice latte. And you would rather die than wear a sweater. All of them were scratchy.

“So” started Reid, hitting a notebook cover with a pen. "I spent all of last evening and more than half of this morning writing down ideas for our Halloween costume this year. I made sure none of them were too similar to our last year's outfits or anything our friends have ever worn to make sure we’ll be the best-dressed people at the party”

“God, Reid, you really took it seriously this year” you raised your eyebrows, shocked and full of admiration at the same time. “And how many ideas did you find?”

“143”

“143?!” you repeated, assuming that he was just joking. Spencer was looking at you with a deadly serious face. “Are fucking crazy? How are we going to choose between 143 ideas? I can’t even choose what socks to wear in the morning…”

“144” he corrected. “When you were saying that I came with another one, Tyler and Marla from Fight Club…”

You had this tendency to forget the names of fictional characters (though, somehow, you could name every American serial killer who ever existed and everyone from your high school class. It was both funny and slightly terrifying that, in two cases, those names overlapped) so it took you a moment to realize who Reid was talking about.

“A guy with a red leather jacket? And this woman who was always smoking?”

“Their names are Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. I don't mean to sound rude, but you made me watch this movie and claimed it was one of your favorites, yet you don’t even remember the main characters' names?"

You shrugged your shoulders. You could say nothing in your defense, that was just the way you were. A subtle smile danced on your lips.

“When I started working with you” you meant the whole BAU “I couldn’t remember all of your names. About two months later I slowly started to recognize them because of how you were addressing each other but because everyone was calling Hotch by his surname I didn’t know his actual name for, like, years…”

Disbelief showed on Spencer’s face but then got replaced with amusement.

“Years?”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me because of my memory problem, mrs. I know the moon signs of everyone around me…”

He raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

“How could I dare, ms. I don’t remember my boss's name even though we’ve been working together for five years…”

“I couldn’t remember it back then! Shame on you, Reid. I shared my secret with you and you immediately started laughing…”

“And what did you want me to do? Make you an appointment with a neurologist?”

That's what our usual conversation looked like. Like a professional ping pong game. Year after a year, month after a month, day after a day you were just becoming better and better players.

Waitress came along your table, setting your orders on the table. You always had to smell your coffee first, cinnamon aroma ticked your nose.

“"Not that it means anything, but my memory problems have worsened since I met you." you said, taking the first sip of a coffee.

“What do you mean by that?“

“Well, I don’t have the need to remember anything when you remember literally everything that comes your way. You've spoiled me a bit in this regard."

Spencer smiled softly, with a little bit of pride, caused by your words.

“ Always at your service” he declared. Suddenly his back went straight, as he probably reminded himself about something. ”Did you call your brother today? It’s his birthday…

“ No way” you jumped on your seat and immediately started looking for your phone to check what day it was. 14 October. “God, Reid you’re right. I completely forgot…Have I already told you how much I love you?

You standed up, ready to leave the coffee, declaring that you’ll be back in a moment. People around were having their lunch. The whole place became too noisy for a birthday phone call with your older brother, who lived in a different state.

“Not today” He replied shortly.

“So, I’m telling you now, Spence. You’re the best friend I could ever imagine…”

As you were busy with dialing the right phone number and trying to wear your coat at the same time, you couldn’t see how his smile faded after the last sentence.

a week later

“It cost me like half of my salary” You said, tossing your dark hair back so it wouldn't accidentally catch fire while lighting the candle. A damn expensive candle, as you mentioned. “Another half goes for that little shit”

With a nod, you indicated the ginger cat that had already settled comfortably next to Spencer. He didn’t take his eyes off the laptop screen, checking something with a furrowed brow. With one hand, almost automatically, he gently scratched Mr. Cinnamon Roll behind the ear.

“It’s made only with fully natural ingredients. Vegan friendly. People with migraines friendly. Almost everyone friendly, except of your wallet” You continued your speech, agitated, recalling the guy in the store who refused to sell you a simple, cheap autumn candle, explaining its poor quality, and convinced you to buy the most expensive one he had.

Finally, the wick caught fire.

“So, you’ve got something?“

It was a late evening after work when you both felt exhausted, yet you decided to meet at your apartment to search online for essentials for your Halloween costumes. The idea of going as a couple from Fight Club had won.

You were supposed to be Marla, and he was to be Tyler. You weren’t a couple or anything like that, but for the past five years, it had been your tradition to wear matching outfits for the halloween party organized by your team. Usually, various other friends would join, and having more people allowed for a best costume contest, which you nearly won every year.

“Yeah, but you probably won't like that, considering that you’ve just confessed to spending your entire paycheck”

You set the candle down on the small coffee table in your living room and joined him on the couch, almost crushing Mr. Cinnamon Ball. He didn’t look offended by that — this cat would rather be crushed than leave Spencer’s side. Somehow, he loved him more than the hand that fed him.

Sitting so close to your friend, your head nearly touched his shoulder, but neither of you minded.You had known each other for four years. You met regularly to watch movies or just to chat, and more than once, you had fallen asleep with your head resting on his arm, that was way more comfortable than any pillow. The rest of your team sometimes joked about your close relationship, but in your opinion, it was only because you were almost the same age! And maybe a bit because you felt the most comfortable in his presence, you understood each other the best, and he made you laugh the most…

For God's sake, why did you start thinking about that at that moment? When you were so close to each other and his gentle scent was slowly enveloping you...

Okay, you’ve thought of him as more than just a friend once or twice. Like that time he stayed over at your place, and you didn’t want him to sleep on the uncomfortable couch, so you shared your bed. You felt so good waking up next to him and regretted that it was just a one-time experience…

You realized he must have said something to you, but you were too lost in thought to hear it.

Instead of repeating himself, Reid pushed the laptop closer to you. On the screen was a website featuring an auction for….the original red leather jacket from Fight Club! You almost screamed. If you had won her over, the victory would have to be yours...

Your enthusiasm faded like a blown-out candle when you saw the final bid amount.

“What the fuck? That's more than the total of our annual salaries…”

"Actually, it’s twenty thousand less than..."

You both fell silent in disappointment. Then, a very silly idea came to your mind.

“Reid” you started slowly.

“"Oh no, I know this tone. You're either about to say something extremely absurd or something inappropriate, and I don’t know which one scares me more."

"But listen. We'll wait for the auction to end and for someone to buy that jacket. Then we’ll talk to Garcia and convince her to track down the buyer. We'll go, knock on the door, and when they open it..."

"We’ll politely ask to borrow it?"

"No, sweet boy, we’ll show our badges and say the auction was illegal, and we need to confiscate the jacket."

Spencer burst out laughing.

"Your ideas are brilliant. But how are you going to explain this to Hotch afterward?"

“He won’t find out”

“He find out”

“Okay, you’re right. He’ll probably find out”

A silence full of smiles fell between you.

Spencer closed the auction page and started browsing something else when you let out a laugh at your own thoughts.

“Okay, I have another idea that won’t cost either of us our jobs,” you said, capturing his attention. He tore his gaze away from the laptop and focused completely on you and your trembling lips, which hinted that you weren’t going to say anything serious “The beginning of the plan sounds the same but instead of showing our badges, you’ll give him a blowjob… “

“Fuck you!” he shouted, unable to stop himself from laughing. At the sight of his expression, a wave of laughter hit you so hard that Mr. Cinnamon Roll jumped off the couch and ran away from his sick owner. “I’m not giving any random guy a blowjob in exchange for a jacket. In exchange for the original diaries of Einstein, well, I wouldn’t say no; I would think about it, but not for a jacket!”

“But it’s the jacket from Fight Club, Spence. Brad Pitt was wearing it” you encouraged him, amused. "Besides, how do you know some guy will buy it? It could be a woman.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and was ready to continue arguing on the topic, but suddenly it seemed as if he changed his mind. His expression grew more serious.

"Actually, it doesn't change much, but that's not the point. What worries me more is that I've lost my touch. Maybe you'd want to replace me in this? The buyer might not be satisfied."

He said it in a tone as if he were talking about a truly serious, real transaction, which only amused you even more. Also pretending to be serious, you patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, Spence. I'm sure you'll manage just fine.'"

"Really? What makes you think that?"

You considered making a joke, but then you realized what you were talking about while studying him. After a whole day at work, he looked... surprisingly... attractive? With slightly tousled hair and two buttons of his shirt undone…

"‘Nothing,” you replied. For the first time in his presence, you felt slightly embarrassed to continue the topic. Your closeness on the couch didn’t help at all, and you regretted scaring off Mr. Cinnamon.

“No, something makes you think that”

The tension between you escalated to the point where you weren't sure if he was still joking. You realized that in this silence, every change in your breathing would be audible, so you tried to control it.

What makes you think that? Spencer just seemed that way. I mean, you often talked about your relationships, and you assumed that his potential partner would lack nothing.

Embarrassed, you wanted to say something when he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Jesus, we were talking about blowing somebody for a jacket. Why did you get so scared?

You hit him on the arm so hard that he let out a groan.

"I didn't get scared! You just suddenly became so weird that I didn't know if you were joking or what”

"‘Of course I was joking. Why would I ask you that seriously?” he asked, and you noticed that he also carried a hint of embarrassment.

"I have no idea. Maybe you wanted to know my opinion or something” You desperately tried to return to the atmosphere that had existed between you just a moment ago, one that felt more friendly.

Spencer swallowed hard. It was clear he also preferred to drop the topic.

“I don’t know why you would have any opinion on that, but let’s get back to what we were talking about before you switched into perverted weirdo mode...’"

After his words, you had to hide your face in the sleeve of his shirt, unable to contain your laughter. He seemed surprised by your reaction.

“ What? What did I say this time?”

“Perverted weirdo” you blurted it out, almost choking on your words.” You called me a perverted weirdo…”

“Well, considering your recent ambiguous comments…”

“I'm going to tell Emily about this. Hey girl, you know how Spencer called me last time? A perverted weirdo…Oh no, I got your shirt dirty with my makeup… “

Spencer looked at the sleeve of his shirt and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing."

"No," you shook your head, trying to rub the stain off his shirt with your fingers, but of course it didn’t work. "I spilled coffee on your pants last time. Take it off; I'll wash it today."

"It's late; you’re not going to deal with washing my shirt right now. Let's get back to looking for our costumes."

You agreed and once again found comfort leaning on his shoulder. He still held the laptop on his lap, and whenever you wanted to type on the keyboard, you had to rest your elbows on his body, on the lower part of his stomach. Why were you even paying attention to that? You shaked your head and leaned over the laptop when you found the perfect shoes for Marla's costume.

In that position, you couldn't see Spencer, but you felt he was almost completely still. After a moment, however, he slowly reached for your hair, gently brushing it with his fingers as if checking its texture.

"We don't need to buy you a wig, right? Your hair will do just fine."

You murmured in agreement as he continued to play with your hair, probably unaware of how much he was distracting you. You had been staring at the picture of the shoes for five minutes and couldn’t remember what you wanted to check. Ah, the size!

"Reid, we have a problem," you said. "They don't have my size. I checked to see if a larger size would be available, since I could stuff them somehow, but the smallest is a 10!"

"Your shoe size is 7; in such large ones, you'll either look ridiculous or kill yourself before even arriving to the party…Do they have to be those specific ones? Maybe you can find some others..."

"They have to be those! They're identical to the ones Helena Bonham Carter wore."

Spencer sighed thoughtfully. His breath tickled the back of your head, which distracted you slightly once again. Anyway, this one time, you came up with a solution faster than his brilliant mind…

You turned your head toward him — after he stroked your hair you were very, very close to each other. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes, filling the area with the scent of cinnamon that had lingered for a while. When your face unexpectedly came just in front of him, he looked at you with a surprise and a gaze that he had never given you before. It was as if he were trying to stop himself from doing something, while at the same time, a voice in his ear incessantly urged him to go ahead.

You looked away to avoid doing something foolish. You could feel warmth on your neck and cheeks. Finally, you remembered what you wanted to ask.

"Spence, what’s your shoe size?"

5 years ago

It all started when the rest of your team found out about Penelope and Morgan's Halloween tradition. Every year, the two of them held a movie marathon of the scariest films they could find, watching them until sunrise.

"Why didn’t you invite any of us? I love watching horror movies with friends!" Prentiss exclaimed indignantly.

You were on board a private jet. You had been working with this team for only a few days — in fact, this was your first trip with them to work in the field.

The prospect of solving the case had you feeling stressed, and you were also wondering if you would find common ground with your team. You lagged slightly behind, pretending to read a book while actually listening to all the conversations around you. You wanted to get to know everyone better. Someone sat down beside you, leaning in to read the title of your book.

"Rebecca. Have you gotten to the part where it turns out Maxim killed his wife?"

You looked shocked at the second youngest member of the team. You had a serious problem with remembering names, so you only knew his last name. Reid was a tall man with longer hair, dressed in a vest with a shirt peeking out from underneath. Until now, you hadn't formed much of an opinion about him, but that was about to change — he had just spoiled the ending of the book for you.

“No, I haven’t gotten to this part! “

An older man in a black suit chuckled quietly to himself.

"Guys, listen up," said the brunette with bangs, wearing a tight red shirt. "It just came out that Morgan and Penelope have their own secret Halloween tradition."

The woman mentioned was present only on the laptop screen. She was working with you remotely and seemed really nice to you.

"Sweetheart, we weren't trying to hide anything from you; it just happened that we didn’t mention it..."

"That’s exactly what hiding is," Reid added, giving you an apologetic look for spoiling the book.

"What do you say to all of us getting together this Halloween? The whole team?" asked a muscular man dressed in gray, sitting across from Prentiss with his elbow casually resting on the table. "With a special invitation for you, newbie."

Saying this, he winked at you. You were surprised, but still smiled. Are there better circumstances for getting to know your team than a party? Everyone around you approached this idea.

a week later

You stared at your phone in fear after just ending the call. JJ said something came up and she wouldn’t be able to make it to the party. You knew her best out of the whole team and had hoped that with her there, you would feel more at ease. Most importantly, you were supposed to wear matching outfits. You realized your breath had quickened slightly. You weren't sure if anyone else besides you planned to dress up. After all, they were mostly older than you — maybe they weren't into that anymore?

Back in high school, you were the only one who showed up in costume, and you felt embarrassed the whole evening walking around in a zombie farmer outfit while all the other girls wore mini skirts and beautiful, subtle makeup. You didn’t want to go through that again, but making this costume had taken you a lot of time. Recently, you and JJ had been enchanted by the animated movie Corpse Bride, and you planned to dress up as the title character and her rival, Victoria. Since you loved dressing up for Halloween, you chose the more challenging costume. You bought a cheap white dress that you styled to look more tattered. You applied pale blue makeup and heavily contoured your cheekbones. You even managed to get a veil.

In fifteen minutes, you were supposed to be at Morgan's house. If you removed the makeup, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. You contemplated what to do. Ultimately, you decided it would be a shame to waste your hard work, and soon you found yourself in the car, heading to the address you were given. As you parked, you felt stress start to take control of you.

You needed to sit in silence for a moment, so you turned off the engine and stared at the empty sidewalk in front of you. Morgan lived in a large house in a quiet neighborhood, where all the homes were spaced far enough apart to host small gatherings without bothering anyone.

Suddenly, someone appeared by the driver's window. You screamed in surprise, your thoughts racing back to all the cases when women were killed in their own cars.

You quickly realized that it wasn't another UNSUB. That one wouldn’t have screamed alongside you.

“Damn it, Reid, you scared me!”

“You scared me too” he managed to say, placing a hand on his chest. He glanced toward the house. "Weird that Morgan hasn't come out to help yet."

“Maybe the music is too loud and he didn’t hear. There are quite a few cars. Did they invite that many people?” you wondered as you got out of the car.

Reid glanced at your costume. He wasn’t dressed up at all, just wearing a plain dark gray blazer and a shirt.

"Is that some fashion trend, or are you dressed as a zombie bride?"

“Neither, actually,” you replied, feeling stressed about being the only one in costume. “It’s from the cartoon Corpse Bride.”

“I haven’t seen it,” he admitted as you both headed toward the entrance of the house.

“It’s a great animation,” you recommended. “You should check it out. Although, from what I’ve noticed, you prefer reading more.”

“Not entirely. I like movies too, but I rarely choose cartoons,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you replied.

A very short girl you'd never seen before opened the door. She seemed slightly tipsy, confirming your suspicions that people from outside the team had also been invited.

"Oh, you dressed up! How cute!" she said, delighted to see you both, even though she didn’t know you. "Wait, I think I even know who you are. Emily and Victor from Corpse Bride?"

She pointed at the two of you, at your dress and his gray blazer. You exchanged glances, realizing she must have mistaken his usual clothes for a costume.

"No, we’re not…" Reid began to explain.

"Actually, I was supposed to match costumes with JJ…"

But she wasn’t listening. She let you in and shouted through the whole house,

"Look at their matching outfits!"

Everyone gathered around to see you, and you endured the whistles and applause with growing embarrassment.

Penelope appeared right beside you, placing her hands on your shoulders and inspecting your makeup closely. "Oh, sweetheart, you really went all out. This must have taken you ages."

"Which is more than I can say for you," joked Prentiss, holding a beer bottle and pointing it at Reid. "You decided to keep it a secret for a better effect, I assume?"

Reid tried once more to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but you stopped him with a nudge. He looked at you, puzzled.

"Let’s go get a drink," you suggested.

Not waiting for a response, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

"I’m not going to be the only one in costume, so you’re going to stick with me and pretend we planned this all along."

He let out a surprised laugh, thinking you were joking at first.

"Wait, seriously? So… I’m Victor now?"

"Yes, you’re Victor, and you accidentally proposed to me. By the way, I’m dead."

"Okay," he blinked, processing the information. "I definitely need to watch that movie."

You spent almost the entire evening sticking close to each other. Without you by his side, Spencer looked like he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. And without Spencer next to you, you felt a bit awkward.

A few hours later, the two of you were sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking non-alcoholic cocktails and talking about… psychology. Not exactly a party topic, but somehow that’s where your conversation about favorite sodas had ended up.

“Next year, we have to do this again. I mean, plan a costume together. On purpose this time."

Spencer nodded.

"I think I even have an idea."

And that was how your tradition began.

now

He said Halloween is for kids.

Starting from the beginning, everyone always asks how you met Travis. Well, your story has some potential for a romantic comedy — if only you were a bit more attractive and funnier to make it more watchable on screen. And maybe if there were some breathtaking plot twist. But real life has little in common with a romantic comedy, and you didn’t meet under any crazy circumstances. You only had potential. It happened during your rehabilitation.

Perhaps we need to go back a bit further. Six months ago, Emily passed away, and you weren’t even there for the funeral because, in the rescue attempt to free her from Doyle’s hands, you were shot. Seriously wounded. You spent two weeks in a coma. That might not seem like a long time, but when you woke up, it felt like years had passed. Everyone around you seemed so distant, changed, almost as if you’d suddenly appeared in an entirely different reality.

The following weeks were even more blurred, like rain hitting fiercely against the window with such frequency that the droplets slowly merged into a single cohesive stream. You weren't accepting visitors while in the hospital; something was wrong with you. Perhaps it was due to the grief and shock from Emily's passing, along with the trauma. You didn't want to return to that job; you were too afraid of the risks. Of dying yourself or losing someone from your team and having to relive it all over again. Fortunately, you quickly received an offer for a transfer. An office job, terribly boring, but there was something in that monotony that filled you with a sense of safety. You hated it, but you were afraid to engage in anything else.

Before you took the job, you had to go through rehabilitation. It was led by Travis, eleven years older than you, which stunned your older brother when you introduced them. “You’re dating a guy older than me?” he asked, shocked. They didn’t hit it off, but you didn’t worry too much about that. Everything in your life had changed, and being in a relationship with an older, more mature guy made you feel more stable. And since so many things had changed, why not go all in? You moved in with him. Just as you were starting to climb out of the pit, another tragedy struck. Mr. Cinnamon Roll was diagnosed with stomach cancer and passed away despite treatment.

Since that moment, you almost stopped talking to your old team. You still loved them — they were like family to you, but whenever faced with life's struggles, you felt that burning need for isolation. On the day Mr. Cinnamon Roll died, you received a message from Spencer, asking how you were doing and suggesting a meeting. You stared at your phone for hours, and ultimately replied to him only the next morning with a brief, "Sorry, I didn't notice you wrote." He responded just as briefly. He was also suffering due to the circumstances and probably didn't have the energy to chase after his friend who openly refused to give him any attention.

You pushed him away because you weren’t ready to confront what you were feeling. Something had happened between you during that Halloween party, shortly before Emily's death. After that, you acted as if nothing had occurred, but both of you knew that you needed to talk about what to do with your relationship. But before you had the chance, there was Doyle, your accident, then Travis, and it seemed that everything that had ever been between you was lost. A new agent, Ashley, joined the BAU. You knew her — you were around the same age, and sometimes you caught yourself wondering if something might blossom between her and Reid.

You thought that if you accepted the loss of your previous life, it would be easier to move on. It was the opposite. Day by day, you felt more and more depressed, empty inside. This morning, you went into a café to buy coffee. While waiting for your order, you looked at the tiny pumpkins on the counter and realized it was Halloween—the holiday you used to love so much. This moved you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of life within you. You felt like you wanted to do something. Dress up as a character from a cheap horror movie, have a few drinks. Maybe even go trick-or-treating, hiding behind a mask like kids do. You did that with Spencer two years ago, but no one wanted to give that tall guy any candy.

You shared this idea with Travis.

And he said that Halloween is for kids.

a year ago

“How the fuck I’m suppose to walk in these….”

As soon as you saw him in a black dress that reached mid-thigh (it should have been longer, but you bought it when you still assumed you would be the one wearing it), a short fur coat of the same color, and sunglasses, you nearly choked on your laughter. And when he added black heeled ankle boots and started cursing their practicality, you fell onto the couch, unable to stand on your legs any longer.

Mr. Cinnamon Roll watched his antics with curiosity.

“Run away, little one,” Spencer advised him. “Those heels are so sharp I might accidentally kill you.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I wear shoes with higher heels every day.”

“Your spine will thank you for it in ten years.”

“Alright, mom.”

The deadly shoes landed on the floor. You were planning to leave in an hour and a half, once you finished perfecting your costumes. Until then, Spencer had no intention of risking his life by parading around in them. He lay down on the couch next to you, the dress ungracefully riding up.

“Now it’s your turn to change,” he said, pointing to the Tyler Durden costume lying on the table. “And mine to laugh.”

“First, I wanted to do makeup.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Are you kidding? What kind of Marla Singer would it be without a bold smokey eye?”

“Fine by you,” he muttered, looking at the watch on his wrist. “One hour and thirty-three minutes. Will we make it?”

“Relax. Remember, for a better impression, we need to be a little late.”

You disappeared for a moment into your bathroom, only to return with a makeup bag in hand. You had bought a new eyeshadow palette specifically for this occasion. Tilting your head to the side, you looked at your friend, wondering in which position you would be most comfortable working on him.

“Okay, lean against the couch,” you instructed, feeling like a professional makeup artist. “And don’t look at me like I’m a mad scientist trying to perform some dangerous operation on you.”

“From my perspective, that’s exactly what it looks like. A mad scientist and a dangerous operation. Just don’t accidentally poke me in the eye.”

“God, Reid, I’m not going to do this with a knife…”

You stood in front of the couch, facing him. Following your instruction, he rested his head, but as soon as you tried to apply the first product on his eyelid, you felt that you weren’t doing it precisely. You sighed.

“It’s uncomfortable for me to work this way. I have a better idea. Lie down.”

Reid looked at you with raised eyebrows but obediently lay down on the couch. You sat on a free spot next to him, leaning over his face. You were glad he closed his eyes. It would be awkward to be this close and still have to endure his sharp gaze. Your hair brushed against his neck. A gentle smile appeared on his face as soon as the brush touched his skin.

“This is quite nice,” he said.

You didn’t respond, focused on turning him into a doppelgänger for Marla Singer. You would sooner die of embarrassment than admit it out loud, but you deliberately prolonged the entire process. You felt as if you were working on a painting. Additionally, you enjoyed the awareness of having him beneath you, so defenseless and completely unaware, that you wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

You would simply press your lips together to see what would happen. There was a possibility he would push you away, but even considering that, you were ready to do it. You didn’t even try to push those thoughts away. They had completely dominated your mind, and you were just observing them from the sidelines, wondering where they came from. Throughout your years of friendship, you had never experienced them. Or rather, you had experienced them so rarely that you didn’t consider them significant. After all, everyone sometimes feels like kissing their friend. The problem was that for quite some time, the only thing you had been thinking about was his lips on yours.

Spencer opened one eye. You felt as if he had caught you doing something wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

You brushed aside the one strand of his hair that had strayed onto his forehead.

“About one of my friends.”

“You look worried. Can I ask why thinking about this person makes you feel that way?”

You let out a quiet laugh. You wondered if he knew you were talking about him. He should have.

“I doubt you want to hear about it,” you replied evasively. However, after a moment, you broke down and added something more. “Do you ever feel like you want to do something stupid so badly that you feel like you're physically shaking, even though you know it’s wrong?”

He frowned slightly. You accidentally applied too much eyeshadow, licking the tip of your finger to wipe away the excess product from his skin.

“Can you give a specific example of such behavior?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Kissing a friend, for example.”

He smiled gently.

“Well, in that case, yes. All the time.”

You exhaled through your nose, feeling a painful tightness in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening to you.

“Done,” you said, abruptly rising from the couch. “I need to change. We don’t have much time.”

“There’s still an hour and eighteen…”

You grabbed your costume from the table and hid in the bathroom, not hearing the end of his sentence.

one hour and eighteen minutes later

Usually, nighttime drives had a calming effect on you, but this time it was completely the opposite. You were in a small space with Spencer, with whom you had just had… let’s call it a complicated conversation. You felt every part of your body tense.

You hated yourself. You hated that you didn’t understand what you were feeling. You hated that you didn’t know what you wanted. You felt like banging your head against the steering wheel. Maybe the sound of the horn would bring you back to your senses.

Reid just stayed silent, inscrutable.

“I’m afraid we’ll be right on time,” he said after clearing his throat. “And you wanted to be a little late.”

“So what should I do now, drive around the city for the next ten minutes?” you asked, slightly irritably.

He shrugged stiffly.

“Or stop and wait. It’s a much more environmentally friendly option.”

In the end, you pulled up outside Morgan’s house, where the annual Halloween party was set to take place for the fifth year in a row. You sighed with nostalgia and turned off the engine. You might have been in the middle of an emotional crisis, but you still intended to win that contest. And that meant waiting out those ten minutes.

You adjusted the sleeves of your red leather jacket.

“Remember when we dressed up as Harry and Voldemort?” you asked suddenly. That had been your first intentional costume pairing.

Spencer let out a short laugh.

“For the next two days, I couldn’t wash off all that white paint,” he muttered, reaching into the black purse you had lent him. Spencer had been outraged that mini dresses had no pockets, leaving him with nowhere to keep his things. You frowned when you noticed he had taken out his wallet. From it, he pulled out a photo taken on that memorable day, showing the two of you standing in front of the fireplace at Morgan’s cabin. You had your arms around each other, Voldemort and Harry Potter.

“You carry our photo in your wallet?” you asked, touched, admiring the picture with delight.

Slightly embarrassed, he nodded.

“And not just ours,” he reached into his wallet again, this time pulling out a photo of Mr. Cinnamon Roll curled up on your lap. You leaned closer to Spencer to get a better look, almost forgetting about your earlier conversation.

You extended your hand, but instead of taking the photo, you just grabbed his hand. He squeezed it tightly and briefly kissed the back of it.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he announced, letting go of your hand. “We can go inside now…”

He trailed off as you suddenly grabbed a piece of his fur and pulled him as close as possible. You felt as if someone stronger had taken control of your body and finally did what you had wanted to do for a long time. You were kissing him.

At first, he froze as if spellbound, completely surrendering to the pressure of your lips. You pulled back a little, unsure if you should continue.

“Why did you stop?” he asked softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

He laughed right into your mouth and resumed the kiss in a hungry way.

“I wanted to do it earlier,” you admitted after a moment. His eyes were shining, and yours probably were too. “When I was putting on your makeup. You had your eyes closed, and it was all I could think about.”

His hand rested on your neck, his thumb gently drawing circles on your sensitive skin. You had your arms around his neck, entwined like strands of hair in a braid.

“Good thing you didn’t,” he said. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I’d venture to guess we wouldn’t have even made it to this party.”

“Don’t get too bold with your assumptions. I wouldn’t let such good costumes go to waste…”

He kissed you one more time, pulling you close by the chin. Okay, he was right. If you’d done this earlier, you’d probably still be at your apartment, entirely wrapped up in each other. In fact, you’d lost all interest in going to that part

You spent a good few minutes smiling at each other, foreheads touching. You felt the need to talk to him — to make sure this wasn’t just a release of the tension that had been building between you recently, but something more. Before you knew it, though, you were walking arm-in-arm toward Morgan’s house.

“This year, you’ve outdone yourselves,” he commented as he finally came out of his shock at seeing Spencer in heels. He, too, was in costume. For the past four years, it was almost impossible to find anyone there without one. You could say you were the ones who started the trend.

Without letting go of his hand, you encouraged him to spin around in a circle. All evening, you wondered if people noticed that something had changed between you or if they just assumed it was all part of the act. His hand almost never leaving your waist, your conversations with faces close together, the prolonged disappearance in the bathroom under the pretense of fixing his makeup.

“Have you thought about what we’ll dress up as next year?” he asked, pinning you against the upstairs wall, his hand slipped under the fabric of your loose shirt.

You looked into his eyes thoughtfully.

“I liked the idea of Mia and Vincent from Pulp Fiction.”

“Mia and Vincent. White shirts and fake blood. Don’t you think it’s a bit too simple? We should raise the bar each year.”

You rolled your eyes.

“So, what is your suggestion?”

now

You lay in bed next to the sleeping Travis, staring at his bare back.

Every day, he started with a run around six in the morning, so he didn’t let you drag him anywhere in the evening, despite it being Friday. You tried to fall asleep, but you knew it was useless. You’d always been a night owl. Besides, it was Halloween—your favorite holiday, and for the first time in years, you were spending it with your head on the pillow at 10 p.m.

You sighed and quietly, so as not to wake him, went to the living room to watch some show on TV and maybe have some ice cream. Sitting on the couch, you constantly felt the urge to reach out and pet Mr. Cinnamon Roll, who used to keep watch by your side. Each time, it ended with you touching the cold leather of the couch instead. You buried your face in your hands, stretching the skin on your cheeks.

You couldn’t live in this emptiness any longer.

It happened so suddenly. One moment, you were curled up on the couch, and the next, you were slipping back into the bedroom to grab one of Travis’s plain white shirts from the closet. Just regular black jeans. The only thing missing was fake blood, but you decided you’d just be a more polite version of Mia.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest as you drove. Doubts crept in, and the absurdity of your behavior caught up with you. It was highly likely that your previous team had stopped organizing those events due to circumstances. And even if they were still happening, why would you feel invited? You had limited your contact with them, almost cutting it off in recent months.

Your breath was painful as you pressed your hand against your side, where a scar from a gunshot wound marked your skin. The red light of the traffic signal turned into the flashing lights of an ambulance. You were inside, bleeding, the whole world blurring around you.

You tried to calm yourself so as not to accidentally cause an accident. However, that tragic feeling didn’t leave you even when you found yourself there again. For the fifth year in a row, on Halloween night, at Morgan’s doorstep.

Derek opened the door for you, wearing a plain t-shirt. No music was coming from inside, and no cars were gathering around. He blinked in surprise at the sight of you.

You greeted him sadly, ready to throw out some excuse, though none came to mind. You had shown up unannounced, unwelcome, when he was probably spending the evening at home working or resting. A flush of embarrassment covered your cheeks.

Before either of you could say anything more, Penelope appeared behind him. She wore a headband adorned with little pumpkin decorations.

“Morgan, we have a serious problem with picking a movie because Hotch…”

She stopped, stunned by your presence. But a moment later, she shouted your name and swept you into her embrace.

“Oh, why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming!”

Over her shoulder, you could see Derek’s gentle smile.

“We went back to basics, and instead of throwing a party, we’re just watching movies,” he explained, eyeing you closely. “But costumes are always welcome. You’re not even the only one who thought to dress up.”

Both of them pulled you into the living room, where the rest of the team was arguing about which movie to watch. As all eyes turned to you, you felt like someone had forcefully shoved you onto a stage and blinded you with a spotlight aimed directly at you. Lost, you didn’t know what to say.

Then your gaze landed on that one person sitting alone in an armchair. Dressed in an identical white shirt and a black blazer draped over the arm of the chair.

You managed to smile at your Vincent.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds

125 notes · View notes

6lostgirl6 · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere Alphabet - Billy Loomis

TW: toxic relationship, stalking, hints of physical abuse, kidnapping, mentions of murder, threats of self-harm in order to escape (not detailed), isolation as punishment.

A/N: Please inform me if I did not tag something correctly. Please know the difference between fictional and reality. While fictional, these types of relationships are extremely toxic, especially in real-life. If your relationship is showcasing these toxic behaviors, please seek help from someone to get out safely. Reblogs are heavily appreciated!!

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Similarly to the movie, Billy would play the role of a perfect boyfriend. Sweet and protective, you would never expect just how dark his intentions for you truly are. He's more reserved when it comes to his affection in public, yet it switches off when someone bothers you or wants your attention. His grip on your hands tightens and stare hardens. In private, he would be a lot more touchy. very touchy.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He is willing to be very messy, even more so when he starts killing people as Ghostface. In the beginning of the relationship, he wouldn't hesitate to spill some blood during fights with other guys to protect you. Now, as Ghostface, he's willing to gut them and hang them with their intestines.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Once taken, billy would be extremely controlling and would treat you the same as before just more intense since he can finally display his hidden desires. Yes, when he kidnapped you, he mock you when you started crying and begging him to let you go.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He's very touchy. He'll continue to make you treat him like your boyfriend still after your kidnapping and constantly make you tell him how much you love him. If you genuinely still love him, then it will be easier on you.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It is very rare that Billy will open up to you. He doesn't regret kidnapping you and he would do it a million times if it meant he could keep you at his side. However, there are times where he will crack. In a fit of rage, he would screaming and demanding why you continue to be scared of him.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It depends on his mood. If he's in a good mood, he loves the chase, it sets off his basic instincts of making you submit. On the other hand, if he was in a bad mood, he would be pissed and might leave a couple bruises on you if you refuse him.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Initially, it's a game to Billy. Having to fight against you and make you submit absolutely thrills him. Chasing you down as Ghostface as you try to escape his attempted kidnapping makes his heart race. However, after a while, he will get bored of it and want you to submit completely.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Your kidnapping and he went completely all out. You didn't know he was ghostface, the one that killed off your friends and he would give you a call. Calling you as he would with any of his victims, he toyed with you for a while, threatening that he was going to take you, tie you to his bed, and never let you go. After breaking into your house and chasing you throughout the rooms, he would pin you down and reveal himself, your boyfriend as the town's serial killer. He would knock you out and take you to your new home.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Billy would never kill you, not unless you severely screw up by successfully escaping and trying to get him arrested. His love for you would dissappear. If that's not the case, he wants to have a future where you both live together forever until death separates you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He is extremely jealous and it was more common before your abduction. He wouldnt lash out against you if it wasn't your fault. If someone was harassing you or bothering you, Billy wouldn't hesitate in killing them in the most brutal way, a message for anyone that you were off-limits. He's not against picking fights with others wanting your attention. He's very confrontational.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Before kidnapping you, he's the same loving boyfriend that takes care of you, holding your hand or waist in public and confronting those that bother you. Wonderful listener and he shows innocent hints of his obsession with you. The constant need to touch you and keep you close.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He's not above stalking you as a way of getting to know you. The type of guy that stares at you in class and gives you a charming smile when your gaze locks with your own. He'll approach your friends and ask about you. After getting to know you more, he would be more forward and actually approach you, flirting with you and asking for your number. He's totally never stalked your house.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

According to everyone else, he's seen as unapproachable. Sure, he's not mean but people tend to shy away from him, mostly if they're not part of his friend group, which includes Stu. However, when it comes to you, he's the sweetest person you've ever met.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation. If you're fighting against him and you scream "I wish I never met you" or "leave me alone!" He will obey your wishes and isolate you in a dark room until you were begging for his attention. Worst he's done is kept you locked in a room for a few days.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He's not heartless, but he would take away some of your rights. You weren't allowed access to the phone or internet, go outside and you had to obey everything he said. He simply wants to protect you, why would you want to disobey him? He knows what's best for you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Billy has a short temper that he tries to keep in check. Yet, there are times where he will snap if you continued to cry and cry despite his many attempts to soothe you. Previously mentioned, he would mock you and call you ungrateful for acting like he was a terrible boyfriend.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He would never be able to move on. If you died, he would simply wish he could join you but his pride would never allow him. He would continue living life extremely depressed and his short temper becomes even shorter. If you left and successfully escape, he would simply try to find you as quick as he can and punish you when you both returned home. However, if you successfully got the police involved, he's going to kill you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Fuck no, you're stuck with him.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

I would say childhood would be the cause of this side to him. His father's affair, his mother leaving, it simply caused him to spiral. He craves having stability and being in control since he lacked it during that stressful situation. Since he's met you, he felt like he had both.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He would be really upset and confused, genuinely. During the first few weeks of you crying and isolating, he was more understanding and tried giving you some space. However, he would get a little pissed and demand you talk to him and tell him why you're crying so much.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He doesn't like hurting you and there have been a few occasions where he grabbed your arms too roughly when he was pissed at you. Seeing you hurt, especially because of him, he would be more pissed at himself for not being in control.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

It is very hard to discover any weaknesses in Billy, however you will come to find out that you are his weakness. If you threaten to harm yourself, he would become very scared and try to calm you down, giving you the upper-hand.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

In short, yes he absolutely would. The worst he would do is during the time he kidnaps you. Dressed as ghostface, he wouldn't limit himself from tossing you around and knocking you down and out. After that, the worst he does is make threats that he wouldn't actually make into reality. It's just a way to keep you in line.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Before kidnapping you, he would do anything to have you fall for him. Everything he does isn't pretend, but he does hold back his true desires when trying to court you. He'll hold back his obsessive need for you in order to make you feel like you're safe with him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He will pine after you for months, around half a year. Courting you will placate him for a while, however holding back his yandere urges will take a toll on him. He'll abduct you not even a year later.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes, he would.

Spam Liking = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @strrvnge @rottent33th @slaasherslut

2K notes · View notes

bubuslutty · 2 months ago

Text

million dollar man

ooc negan smith x afab reader (organised crime au)

suggestive (mdni please or i'll eat you)

1.8k words

no apocalypse, no walkers, haven't watched TWD yet, all I know is from fanfics so OOC Negan <3

tags: sorry for any mistakes, i was too excited to write + share this. no warnings or tw needed + mention of alcohol consumption. also worth to mention that the only driving force into me writing this is my thirst and hunger for this fictional character. I dream every day of sucking him dry and making a seat out of his lap.

a small gift for my bae @reveluving <3

You came to Negan's empire to purchase weapons and materials for a mission. It was meant to be a quick trip with the leader of your small team, Rick. He was carrying a duffel bag filled to the brim with bills while you only carried a piece of paper - a list - in your hand.

Getting inside the million-dollar villa took multiple security checks and your phones being confiscated along with any weapons you had on your person. It took a long time to follow one of the henchmen through multiple corridors and ridiculously massive stairs, to some sort of office. It was empty, and the two of you had to sit and wait in silence. Rick, placed the duffel on the floor as he sat with his back straight, looking at the office, scanning the collection of books and random objects. The place was spotless, the floor and windows shining.

You on the other hand started tapping your fingertips on your naked thighs, staring at your shoes and the clean floors. You really wanted to get back to your place so you can continue planning the mission. These trips were not your favourites, you were only here because Rick found your presence useful. He said once that he trusts you, not like he trusts his other guys any less, but that he found your presence calming. You were really good at reading people's moods and feelings, you also had good social skills. You spoke multiple languages, which is really helpful in this line of work. Rick has struggled many times in communicating with random crime gangs because of their heavy accent, or just because the leader refused to speak English and decided to only speak through an interpreter.

You were also quick on your feet and pretty, that, Rick found, helps too.

That's why you were wearing a tiny black dress, neck and legs exposed to the clean air of the office. Over it, you had on a black leather jacket with a pair of black boots. It wasn't much but it was enough. You also never really resented Rick for using your appearance to his advantage in these sort of meetings and arms purchases. It was purely business and you understand the benefit of using human nature against your enemies.

The door opened behind you two, and none of you looked back but simply stood up to greet today's seller. Rick stuck his hand out when the seller made his way to the desk and you lifted your head to see who you had to deal with it when you froze.

You really didn't mean to freeze like that, eyes wide and feeling your body already heating up in embarrassment. It was stupid, the dumbest thing in the world. Out of all assholes in the world, it had to be this one.

Negan's lips slowly formed a smirk as he brought one hand to run through his greying beard, "Huh,"

Rick's hand was still in the air, Negan gave him one glance, raising a brow then down at his hand, turning around and making his way to his desk, leaving Rick hanging.

You glanced at Rick and saw how he glared at the man before he sat back down, wiping his hand on his jeans. You sat back down, pulling down at your dress to cover another centimetre of skin of your thighs.

Negan made a show of sitting down in his seat, unbuttoning his suit jacket and waving his finger and a henchman came over with a bottle of golden liquid and glass. You couldn't tell what it was, but knew it must be expensive.

"You drink?" Negan lifted his eyes while pouring himself a glass.

You were about to answer when he grinned, "I know you don't. I'm asking him."

Rick whipped his head to look at you, then back at Negan, "No."

"Hm, what's your name anyway? First time buying from us?" Negan asked after taking a sip.

"Ri-" "I actually don't care, show me the money and I'll see what that can get you." Negan said and you didn't know whether to burst out laughing or scream in embarrassment or horror. It was awfully hard to focus when the object of many inappropriate daydreams was right in front of you. Especially since this was the first time you're seeing him under natural sunlight rather than artificial neon colours.

Rick hates being disrespected, and you could tell he was fuming even when he was wearing a poker face. So you leaned down and grabbed the duffel, a henchman appeared next to you, you glanced at Negan and handed the man the bag. "Everything we need is here." You said, holding the piece of paper up. Negan nodded at the man, who took the piece of paper from your hands and left.

As soon as you sat down Negan got up, slowly walking around his desk and standing in front of you two, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk, "How's work?" He asked, pinning you under his heavy gaze.

"I don't work there anymore." You quickly say, tucking your hands between your thighs, feeling a little uncomfortable, not necessarily because of Negan, but because Rick didn't know you two knew each other and would definitely have some questions when you leave.

"Hm, shame, you were phenomenal at it." He hums, shamelessly dragging his eyes down your body, stopping at where you tucked your hands between your naked thighs.

Rick looks bewildered and a bit disgusted as he looks at you and Negan, "You knew each other." He stated. Not questioned, stated, because it was without a doubt 100% true.

"He was a regular at my old job." You say noting the way Negan's big veiny hands hold the edge of the desk a little tighter and his eyes get that look he gets when he's tipsy and feels good, or in this case, horny.

"Wrong, baby. I was your regular."

What the fuck.

An onslaught of memories come rushing back from your time working at the strip club, it was just meant to be a temporary job, to hide in plain sight, but ended up lasting longer than you bargained for when Negan - you didn't know he was Negan back then, he never gave you his name - randomly came in and captured your attention and gave you a lot of money.

The phantom memories of his rough yet gentle hands on your skin made you shiver. You still remember how he smelled like, you remember the feel of his hair between your fingers and remember the rumble of his voice against your back and his warm breath on your neck. You also remember the coolness of his silver rings on your flesh, and the weight of his arms around your shoulders, but also how ridiculously tall and big he was, everywhere. Well, probably, you never saw him naked, it was a boundary that you never ever crossed. It was also the club's rules anyway. You were a dancer, not a sex worker. Maybe in another universe you would've let him fuck you in his pitch black £100k Mercedes with your legs on his shoulders.

"I need a drink." Your mouth says before you can even register it, and you realise your hand is around your neck, thirsty. Shit.

You snatch your hand away from your neck, Rick will definitely have a lot to say when you leave, you were being so unprofessional. Well, as much as a criminal about to purchase materials to kidnap the daughter of an oil tycoon for £50 million.

Negan chuckles and another one of his henchmen appears next to you out of thin air, seriously how do they move without making any noises-

You were about to give up keeping composure and scream when it wasn't one of his random henchmen but his fucking driver- What was his name again? Dylan? Daniel?

"Thank you, Daryl."

Oh yeah.

And Daryl was the one who accompanied every time Negan had time to come to the club, he never really spoke, just sat down and watched. It was unnerving at times, how you would be perched on Negan's lap like a pretty bird, thumbing at his tie while his hands are running up and down your legs, snapping the band of your teeny tiny shorts, making you squeal mid-sentence, just to chuckle and place a warm kiss to your neck or shoulder, his stumble pricking your skin in a way that made you shiver.

And in his hands was a fucking Five Guys milkshakes, the sticker on it listing your usual order. The one you mindlessly mentioned ONCE to Negan while he tried to convince you that Fast Food was shit and your body deserved to eat healthy, in the middle of a lap dance you were giving him.

You don't even know how the fuck he managed to do that because she's sure as shit there was no Five Guys on their way to his place.

"Did I get it right?" Negan smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your breath came out shakily as you took the milkshake from Daryl, not meeting his eyes and grabbing the straw with your other hand, lips engulfing the paper straw and sucking. Yeah, fuck him.

Fuck him and fuck his money. Fuck his charming smile, big hands, and perfect memory and fuck his eyes and his mouth and his tongue and his stupid stupid stupid face!

You didn't say anything as you practically tried to inhale the milkshake, not meeting poor Rick's eyes. Negan clapped once and laughed, throwing his head back, amused and highly entertained.

In that moment one of his henchmen came in and said, "The order has been paid and packed."

Rick slapped in his thighs in dad fashion and stood up, ready to leave when Negan said, "Where do you think you're going?"

Rick frowned, "You got your money and we got what we came in for."

A mean grin spread across Negan's face, "No, no, buddy. We're not done yet."

"What else do you want?"

Negan ran his tongue on the top row of his teeth, "I'm only selling if you agree to come back and let me know how your little mission went." He glanced at you then back at Rick, "I want to see how good you are at your job, I might use your services in the future."

"Okay?.." Rick shrugged.

"Only if she's the one who comes back, alone, and in one piece, we got a deal?"

You eyes widen at his words and look at Rick, who's already looking at you. He looks pained and very annoyed, so you put the milkshake down on the coffee table and one of his hands, squeezing once, "It's okay, I can do it."

"Are you sure?" He genuinely looks worried and you nod, "He's not a monster."

Rick sighs and meets Negan's eyes, "Fine."

70 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it.

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ‘thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he’s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer

785 notes · View notes

1toreyouapart · 28 days ago

Text

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f&m receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

A/N: Currently unedited. Sorry. 😬 Read at your own risk, I guess. 😅 Also no word count because I’m lame.

Part 1

Part 2-Noah

"Lilly's on her way." Nicholas dropped down in the chair next to him.

Noah's heart sank into his stomach. Five years of successfully staying out of her way was about to go to shit. At first he'd done it to make it easier on her. Or so he told himself. But after five years, he had to admit it was because he was nothing but a coward, too scared to face the worst mistake he'd ever made. Hurting her. He could still see the look on her face when he'd come home that morning.

The way those brilliant blue eyes of hers, bloodshot from lack of sleep and undoubtedly hours of crying, tracked his movements as he quietly went up the stairs to take a shower. The pain etched on her face. He'd never seen her so fragile. He'd left the shower and gone downstairs, ready for her anger. Ready for the fight that he was sure was going to happen after what he'd done. Instead he'd gone down just in time to watch her pull out of the driveway. No yelling. No screaming. No crying. She just left. And he did nothing to try to stop her. He knew what he had done. The final nail in the coffin.

"I should leave. I'm not needed here."

"Stop being a fucking coward. I love you, man. But you can't run from what you did forever. Been sober for three years now and you're still too chicken shit to face her."

Ouch. He was right, but ouch. Noah had made amends with everyone he had hurt during those years he had tried to drink himself to death. But the thought of facing her fucking terrified him. Before that last year he had been sure he was going to marry her someday. Shit, even during that last year of their relationship he had been sure of it. Up until he just kept fucking it up more and more, too chicken shit to face his own demons like a grownup.

"Does she know I'm here?"

"Yes. We all promised to keep you away from her unless she wants to speak to you."

Noah grimaced. Sure, he had known deep down that they all kept in contact with her. She was like everyone's little sister. He didn't expect them to just drop out of her life, or her theirs. She'd known all but Nicholas longer than he'd known them, anyway. That didn't stop him from feeling a little hurt by them keeping it from him for so long, though. They could have been honest with him. He knew he had fucked up. He had known the second he let another woman hang all over him that night. Knew as soon as he followed her out the door instead of going straight home to the woman that had moved all the way across the country with him. Bought a house with him.

The door opened and his breath caught in his throat, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. Palms sweaty he looked up, leg starting to bounce anxiously. There she stood, Jolly wrapping her up in a tight hug. Time seemed to stand still as she turned towards him, her impossibly blue eyes locking on his. No anger. No hatred. Not even a hint of an emotion in them. Just blank. Fuck.

***

Noah shifted uncomfortably, trying his best not to stare at her. Everyone was gathered in the backyard, a fire in the pit, sharing stories of Danny. All evening he had avoided being near her, though everything in him begged to touch her. It was enough to slowly drive him insane. All he wanted was to sit next to her. Hold her hand. Shit, just hold her. To hear her say his name again. But he couldn't do that anymore. He had given up that right.

Lilith's laugh filtered through everything else, and he was sure he was going to pass out right there where he sat, directly across the fire from her. Instead he took a sip of his water, if for nothing else other than a distraction.

"Noah, you have to finish telling them. I can't." Lilith interrupted his thoughts, her laughter echoing in his head. She spoke to him? Said his name? Oh, fuck.

"Jolly asked how she got the Thumbelina nickname," Nicholas whispered, knowing he had been too caught up in his head to know.

Noah smirked, remembering Danny telling him about this story on the phone that day.

"Danny stopped by when we were on tour to check in on her, like I had asked. Apparently she was too caught up in planting those flowers right back there," he gestured towards the flower bush she had planted all those years ago. "And when he said hi she threw one of the bushes at him, thinking he was an intruder." Noah couldn't help but join her in her laughter at the memory. "Danny dubbed her Thumbelina from that moment on."

Noah met her eyes from across the fire as they laughed together, and suddenly everything felt somewhat okay. There was joy back in her eyes, etched across her face. Her smile took over her face, breathing life back into her. He may not be the cause of it, but it was a sight he thought he'd never see again.

"Wait. I thought Noah gave you that nickname. Who started calling you Bambi?" Jolly interjected.

Noah choked on his water, sputtering at the nickname he had always called her. That was one of his favorite memories, though rather private. And not a story he was keen on telling without her permission. The way she had insisted that she didn't need him to help her up after the first time they'd had sex. How she had stumbled and flipped him off the second he said "You sure about that, Bambi?"

Lilith laughed. A full on genuine laugh that came from her toes. God, he had missed that sound. He had missed the way she never held back her true laugh. The way she laughed with every fiber of her being.

Jolly looked between the two of them, her unable to control her laughter, him hiding his face the best he could. Noah watched as realization set into his friends features, and quickly avoided eye contact with him.

"Awe, man! What the fuck?"

Noah couldn't hold back his own laughter anymore, joining Lilith. Jesus Christ, he had missed this. Missed her.

Tags: @haylaansmi @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

#bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #angst #noah sebastian angst #unedited #reader beware

56 notes · View notes

shallyouobeyme · 1 year ago

Text

Spider

Miles Morales, Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen + (mentioned) Platonic!Yandere!Miguel x child!reader (GN)

Summary: Deciding to cause some Mayhem, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr go looking through Miguel's office in his absence, only that what they find there, isn't quite what any of them expected. Who'd have thought Miguel was the type to have a secret Apartment...only that that might not be the worst thing in there...

TW: Kidnapping, dark!content, yandere, threat of violence (not towards reader), MDNI, I do not condone this behaviour, this is just fiction

Day 2 of my Yandere Writetober

After Miles' official introduction into the Spidersociety, he’d loved spending his time there. Not only because he’d be able to hang out with Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr, but also because he felt like part of something bigger. He’d made up an after-school club to his parents and had somehow managed to keep the lie up to this day, which took a lot of studying and doing his best to actually attend class to make his parents trust him.

One afternoon the four spiders were hanging out when Hobie suggested doing something less boring, like breaking into Miguel’s office and checking out his hologram Programm. And while Miles and the others knew that there were some serious consequences if they’d get caught, the energy Hobie had was infectious and they soon found themselves sneaking through his door after making double-sure that Miguel and Jessica were on a mission.

The thrill of sneaking through his office, using his floating platform and the holographic floor to show each other nice or funny memories from their respective universes was just the thing four teenagers needed to have the time of their life’s.

About half an hour had passed and they were strewn around the room looking around. Hobie was probably dismembering and taking components from the different machinery, Gwen was trying to use the holographic floor to look at some classic concerts and Pavitr was playing around with the floating platform. Miles had taken to exploring the shelf’s in one of the corners of the room. Usually the room was so dark that you’d hardly be able to see them which is why

Miles had to use his phone's flashlight to see around. The shelves were filled with some gizmos and gadgets, some files strewn around, some boxes and blueprints. Nothing of particular interest to Miles, or at least nothing until his light hit a picture frame standing about where Miguel's eyes would be level with it.

Given that Miles was not quite as tall as Miguel, he had to rise to his tiptoes to even get an idea of what it depicted, he thought he recognized the image from the video Miguel had showed him when telling him about the dangers of ignoring canon events. It was a picture of his late daughter.

Miles had to swallow hard. He tended to forget what hardship Miguel went through because of how much of a douche he was to him. Something in Miles compelled him to take a closer look at the picture so he reached out to it and tried to take it, but instead of coming down from the shelf, he was only able to pull it slightly into his direction. Then there was a quiet but noticeable ‘click’ before the shelf with the picture on it opened a gap.

"Guys? Uhm, there’s something over here,” Miles called out to his friends who all ran over to him.

“What’s up?” Pavitr asked as he looked around, without seeing anything.

“Well, I think this shelf- let me just-“ he stuttered as he took a hold of the side of the shelf where the gap had opened and pulled.

“Whoa, a secret room? Cool,” Gwen mumbled in awe and slight confusion.

“I knew that bloke had somethin’ to hide, he ain’t right kosher, y’know,” Hobie shrugged and was the first to take off into the secret passage, the other three hot on his heels.

Miles wasn’t sure what he had expected to hide in the secret room, but he was sure it had been anything but what they found there.

Behind the shelf was what seemed to be a full apartment, with a nice open concept as Pavitr noted offhandedly, which in itself wasn’t so strange, after alle, maybe Miguel just liked his privacy.

Or at least that was what the four would have thought if it wasn’t for the plushies, toys, coloring books and other children’s stuff strewn throughout the different sections of the big room.

“Maybe Miggy over here is a bit more kinky then we gave ‘im credit for,” Hobie joked as he picked up a princess coloring book from the kitchen table and leafed through it.

“I don’t know, something about this seems weird, right guys?” Gwen looked around and received nods from Miles and Pavitr, “Maybe we should leave…”

Miles wanted to agree, wanted to get out of there and act like they’d never been there, but his stupid spider-senses had to start going off the charts right that second as he heard something from behind one of the three doors leading out of the room, the only door with more locks on it then on an average New Yorker apartment door.

“You guys feeling that?” Pavitr asked, confirming Miles’ fear that he wasn’t the only one whose senses were acting up.

Not bothering to answer, Hobie and Gwen were the first ones to go towards the door, quickly followed by the other two.

Hobie had already taken hold of the door on both sides ready to take it off its hinges when Gwen stopped him.

“If we break it, there’s no denying what we did anymore, maybe we should try this differently. These locks seemed to be electric, maybe we could overload them to reset them or something.”

Miles quickly realized that with ‘we’ Gwen meant him so he pushed himself to the front and got ready to electrify the locks.

A few seconds later there was a shrill beep and a click and with high anticipation, Miles took hold of the door handle and… It opened without problem.

With bated breath, he opened the door.

“Daddy?” a soft, quiet voice, doubtlessly that of a child, called out to them and all of them stood there like frozen as they stared towards the small kid sitting on a fuzzy blue rug surrounded by dolls and plushies. The child tilted their head, looking at them in confusion.

“Hi, are you friends with Daddy?” they asked, but none of them were in the mental state to answer them, all too shocked.

Suddenly a voice called out from speakers somewhere in the room.

“Y/N go into your room immediately please,” a voice - all of them recognized it as Lydia’s - said and after a slightly disappointed ‘okay Aunt Lyd’ from the child they left through a sliding door in the wall opposite of the four spiders which immediately closed (and probably locked) after them.

“Miguel has been informed of your intrusion, I’d advise you to take your leave immediately, and if you enjoy your heart beating I’d tell you not to mutter a word of this to anyone, now leave.”

With a heavy heart and many questions the four ran out of the secret apartment, making sure to close the shelf after them, before they disbanded and returned to their original universes. All of them couldn’t get the child out of their head, but especially Miles couldn’t help but feel he’d seen them before.

Only when he was lying in bed that evening mulling over the events of that day again did he remember.

Months ago his father had taken one of his files home with him, a missing persons report, a little child had disappeared right out of their childhood bedroom without any hint as to what or who had taken them.

In the upper corner of the report was a picture of a smiling toddler with an white area below where their name was…Y/N.

#Yandere #x reader #spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #miles morales #Hobie #Pavitr #pavitr x reader #Gwen Stacy #Gwen #yandere!miguel #miguel o’hara #platonic #platonic yandere #dark!miguel #dark content #tw: kidnapping #child!reader #gender neutral reader

394 notes · View notes

sashi-ya · 1 year ago

Text

東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑵𝑬𝑿𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑰𝑺: 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑩𝑼𝒀𝑨ㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ kenpachi zaraki x afab! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. the last train on a cold december night, a night out that has ended... what about fucking with a hot stranger on the bathroom of Shibuya station?

requested by: @bookandyarndragon ➡ Hi Sashi! For the mini event may I please ask for the next stationis nsfw with Kempachi and an afab reader? Thank you, Bookwyrm tw: MNDI. fucking with a stranger (kenny) semi public depravacy. masturbation. rough unprotected sex. risky behaivour; this is fiction. In real life please be extra careful. shameless cheating. creampie. wc: 1,8k masterlist

That man, sitting right across the train, looks insistently at your legs. You do the same, but his chest is what catches your attention the most.

He is big. Too big. He looks ferocious. Wild, too.

It’s late; the empty seats show it. A drunk salary man sleeps a few seats from you. There are barely two or three more people in there, scattered on the different coaches. Probably the last ride of the day before the stations shut off for some hours until next morning. You are a little dizzy, the night for you should have ended way earlier that it really did. And drinking with your colleagues is not something you were searching for, but you did anyways.

From Akihabara, to Shibuya. That’s the plan. You always take the Yamanote Line. This time, you were pleading to finally hear “the next station is Shibuya” like never before; your heels were killing you. You were tired as hell.

But then, the man… the man that doesn’t look away.

Did I mention he was big? And he also, with that overflowing testosterone, looks absolutely attractive. Long, spiky hair. Sharp edged jaw line. Deliciously manly.

It’s been, perhaps, more than what you could remember since you succumbed to a man that is not your boyfriend. Is it the alcohol in your veins, or maybe your deepest desires what is making you uncross and cross back your legs in the most sexy -yet fiercely- way you’ve ever done.

Your panties give him a little sneak peek of red -or maybe purple- lace. He smirks, crossing his leg, with arms spread to the sides and his head thrown slightly back. His prominent pecs show better on that black t-shirt, the scar crossing his eye shows to be reaching until under his jawline.

You act innocently sensual; an inviting dichotomy, playful and dangerous. Being alone at night, on an almost empty train, alluring a stranger to do something unexpected… depraved…

Oh, how exciting.

You give swift looks at him; he hasn’t stopped watching you. And now, as the train approaches Harajuku, the path turns a little bumpy. And with it, your breasts, bounce enough to hypnotize him.

A semi see through shirt covers up your upper part, the choice of not wearing a bra today had come up to be a great idea. It is cold, December nights are most likely to be freezing these days. Your nipples hard, erected, grazing against soft silk, protrude deliciously for that stranger to enjoy on his ride home.

You grab your phone when you effectively check he is into the mesmerizing bounce of your breasts; the reflection on the screen shows his protruding bulge, on dark green pants that were not that tight up until now.

His big, enormous hand, that had been resting on his lap, slides down and hangs right before his crotch and in between his spread legs. He is not touching himself; he is just temptingly letting the bumpy motions of the train move his fingers to graze his trousers.

Oh, how inviting… do you want me to touch you, sir? Or maybe, just maybe… kneel right in between those legs for those hands to bury my head against your dick? Do you want to use me like your personal fuck toy, Mr. Stranger?

You bite the inner side of your mouth to the idea. Wondering about the taste. Wondering about the size and width of his sex. Your legs, slowly, open to the point your skirt does nothing to cover your panties once again; the semi see through black nylons are sheer enough to get wet with your neediness… and him, beguiled, seems to be getting annoyed from your games, because that man wants to play his turn this time.

That last drunk man that probably passed two stations already, finally wakes up. He looks at both of you, absent in spirit, only walking out of sheer inertia towards the opening doors.

Now, that stranger and you are finally alone.

And your gazes cross, in the dance of concupiscence and domination that he clearly wins. He lets his right leg, that had been resting on his left one, fall to the side. Wide spread legs, his crotch show the huge hardness you’ve been willing to taste.

No words needed, his hand on his sex allows you -orders you- to do the same. Slowly and deeply sensual, contrasting with the viciousness of his touching, you open your legs enough to let him see the full picture he’s been imagining.

Tracing little circles over your panties, you give him a silent spectacle. And you do, taunting him, knowing that as long as none of you move from their seats, this will only remain in the memories you will succumb on lonely nights.

Shibuya station is approaching, and you know you will have to get off the train to walk home… but will you be able to make it?

“The next station is Shibuya”

That woman’s voice breaks the sexual ambience, and by now the green trousers of that man have already been stained with prominent amounts of precum.

You smirk, playfully closing your legs again and standing up. Nodding as if you were wishing goodnight to him, you walk up to the doors next to your sit.

“Heh” he hums, as if he was happy to know you are descending the train.

You giggle as you walk outside, thinking of the audacious things you just have done…

“I’m such a whore…” “Yes, you are…”

A sudden hand covers your mouth; the grasp is violent and dominant. The presence that accompanies it, huge. It takes your breath away, as if some kind of invisible pressure fell upon your body.

“I’ve been told people in Tokyo weren’t disrespectful, but I can see you in fact are… do you think it’s ok to start something and leave it unfinished?” a raspy voice whispers in your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

The circle mirror right next to the railing reflects what you were suspecting; this man wouldn’t leave without getting what you tease him to give…

It is either push him away or let him take it. Little to nothing, is what it takes you to decide… the way his huge frame feels against your back, the way his hand on your mouth muzzles you… a defenceless victim; a victim, really, of lust.

You turn your head to the side, where you can see him better. Your narrowed eyes show nothing but sexual intention. His hand, slides down immediately after. Even a man like him gets amazed by the way you express your desires.

“I have a fiancé waiting for me at home. I have to walk home before it gets too late … however, I might get lost at Shibuya station and take a little longer to arrive home…”

Your words of consent cause in that man something unstoppable; his eyes desperately scan the station for something covered enough to leave your legs trembling.

The green buzzing light on a トイレ sign catches his attention, making the perfect hideaway.

“Come’ere” he grunts, snatching your arm and pulling you towards a bathroom.

Your legs do what they can to keep up the pace, allowing you to follow him inside. He doesn’t even care for getting into a stall, you are suddenly turned around and pushed against the sinks.

The mirror in front of you shows the imagery of a face tinted in lust, and your mascara to be a little bled off under your eyes.

Your skirt, the one he wished to lift, ends up like a belt around your waist. Your semi see through stockings, ripped by his own hands. Your panties, drenched, moved to the side.

“Suck my finger” he commands, burying index, middle and ring finger into your mouth. Deep, almost making you gag, you coat them with saliva. It was completely unnecessary; you were dripping wet anyway. But it gave that brute of a stranger, hot and needy, time to let his zipper down and his erection out.

You cough, and immediately after, those three fingers slide violently inside of you. They slip so easily, making him to smirk pleased.

“I’m glad I don’t need to prep you; you will take me like a good whore”

You swallow; you can’t see the size, but you most definitely can feel it resting warm and throbbing on the small of your back. You can also feel the way he pumps a few times, coating his shaft with your fluids coated hand.

He lifts your right leg, enough for it to rest on the dirty sink counter and your body to be tilted to the side. Did he do that for better access, or perhaps for deeper? Both… you will need it.

The strong hand of that stranger grips from your ankle, leaving probably the imprints of his fingernails in your skin. His dick, hard to the point of exploding, slides in mercilessly.

Your whine reverberates against the cold tiles of that isolated bathroom, your eyes turn white as the tip feels enough to create a bulge on your lower belly. Your insides feel like squeezed one against the other; his intrusion feels enormous compared to what you have tried before.

“You like it, little whore?” he asks, using now his free hand to grab a fistful of your hair to keep your face up, to maybe enjoy your pleased façade on the mirror.

His right hand leaves your ankle to make a few buttons of your shirt to pop and your chest to freely bounce with the thrusts.

“I … I do, don’t stop” you plead, as if he were to.

“Heh. You are insatiable… aren’t you?” he growls, giving you harder and stronger back shots. Hitting against the front walls of your sex enough to make you shiver and lose control of your own juices.

Coated erection that gets ready to impregnate whether he likes it or not, whether you want it or don’t.

And right before your climax arrives and your walls get painted by his warm release, you look yourself in the mirror for once… “Look at you, about to burst, getting fucked by a total stranger on a random night…”

The next thing you do is walk home, acting as if nothing happened but trying hard not to drip cum from your cunt…

#kenpachi #zaraki kenpachi #kenpachi x reader #zaraki kenpachi x reader #bleach #bleach x reader #bleach anime #bleach imagines #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanfic

233 notes · View notes

narcissarina · 9 months ago

Text

Darkened Desires

Prologue and Chapter 1: The sun || Chapter 2: The moon || Chapter 3: The moon || Chapter 4: The sun || Chapter 5: The sun || Chapter 6: The moon || Chapter 7: The moon || Chapter 8: The sun || Chapter 9: The sun || Chapter 10: The outsider

Pairings: Mafia!Scaramouche × Barista!Reader

Word count: 2,306

Tw: praise kink, degradation, kidnapping, tourture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, gore, deaths, age-gap, corruption, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, mentions of human trafficking on the near chapters, slowburn.

Warning: This fanfiction may contain kidnapping, torture, dub/non-con, forced breeding, dismembering, age-gap, corruption, vigilante Scaramouche, use of force, trauma, use of drugs, stalking, and more. This fiction will continue grow darker as chapters goes by.

Your mental health matters.

CHAPTER 11:

THE MOON

I sigh and lay my head low, I left her alone in her own home—I shouldn’t worry too much since I know she’ll be safe and can protect her own. But I can’t help but feel my gut that tells me the opposite of it.

I’m not ready to talk about it, I’m not ready to share my criminal life and leave her uncomfortable.

She’ll ask me questions and probably press me why I didn’t become an agent like my mother is.

I lean back to my chair and tap on my armrest, papers been stacking up—got a few calls, few emails here and there.

Letting out a frustrate sigh, I look up my ceiling—there’s been a gut feeling that’s bee stabbing me to check up on her, see her, feel her.

I fight the urge and stood up from my chair, fixing my tie and brushing off dust from my vest.

I took out my phone and look through my messages, Ajax texted me: “Are you still gonna refuse what we had planned?”

Rolling my eyes and a scoff left my lips as I tuck my phone in.

Although I am worried, I know she is safe since I did sent out a few guards to check in on her. I assure myself and walk walked out of my office to stretch my limbs and stiffen body.

I let my head hang up in the air and silence filled my surroundings, muting any sounds as my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I hear faint footsteps… getting louder and louder and closer.

I took out my gun and point to my right, halting someone as I assume they would come knocking me out or attack me while I let my guard down, turning my head to see who they are. They’re one of my men, I groan and put back my gun.

He was frozen in fear and shock, I snapped, “what the hell do you want?”

“Sir…” his breath hitches, his voice quivering.

The moment I hear those words, the moment I felt my heart drop through the ground.

“She’s gone.”

Immediately bursting through her house door, I was met with eerie silence. My brows knitted together as I search the living room, I called out her name… No response.

“Sunshine?” I say out in a panic, my chest rising up and down as I head upstairs to her bedroom—I open the door and saw her messy bed, she was taken when asleep.

My head started hurting and my breathing starts to pick up, too much is happening all at once.

I called to one of my men while heading downstairs in a panic, I gripped on his collar and bring his face closer to mine.

“you had one fucking job.” I say in gritted teeth, he was still and his fist clenched, “how did this happen?” I asked and pushed him down, safely landing on her couch—god fucking damn it!

I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Too much is happening and it’s happening all at fucking once.

“Where were you when she got taken?” I asked, trying to keep my cool and flatten my tone, he open his mouth to respond but his partner answered for him, “he was taking a fat shit.”

I closed my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, “couldn’t you shit faster?” I sat down on the nearest and clasp my hand together, I lean forward and rest my elbows onto my knees.

“if you don’t find a piece of clue of her whereabouts within twenty-four hours, I’m going to have each of your fingers taken off.” I spoke, loud and clear—he nods and had a death grip of his own knee. If his nail could pierce to that piece of fabric and skin, he would be bleeding by now.

I lean back, groaning in pain and defeat.

Out of anyone, why would they target her? She hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s just a simple I clench over my hair and brush it back, letting out a frustrating sigh as I kick down a fucking chair.

Although she likes to poke her nose and ears where it doesn’t belong.

I need to find her fast, or all will be too late.

I sat in my car seat, my hands gripping on the steering wheel as I hit it repeatedly to let out my stress, I already made my men go back first without me since they’re doing shit at their job. I need a time alone before I couldn’t contain myself and kill them all.

Ping—

The sound of my phone notification grabbed my attention for a second as I look to the messages with a picture attached.

It was Ajax.

I read the message carefully and felt my heart stop for a few good minute.

I put my hand on the wheel and took off, speeding up to get to my destination, I’ll be breaking Ajax’s neck if his explanation did not satisfy me.

I arrived in front of his house as I slam my cars door shut and bolt inside his home, “where the fuck is she?!” I yelled and took his collar, making him meet me eye to eye. I would love to cut that grin off of his face as he only held his hands mid air and chuckle, “chill, she’s safe.” He said and grip one of his hand to my wrist, “if it weren’t for me, she would’ve been taken by… You know.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“It’s better if you go see her first then we’ll talk.” Ajax snap his finger to one of his men and got behind me, signaling me to follow them—my grip on Ajax collar loosen as I slowly turn my back and followed them.

My mind swirls with questions and how would I approach her and what her condition is, I never knew fear exist in me when one of my men says that she’s gone…

We arrived downstairs as his guard open the door, isn’t this Ajax torture room or something? Why did he kept her in here? Is he sick in the head, what the fuck…

Impatiently waiting and tapping my shoe, they opened it and I burst into the room and look around the dimly lit room, I see a couple of blankets and pillows on the ground and a tray with a plate that was once filled with food.

There she was, sleeping uncomfortably on the freezing ground as she toss from her left to right and the blanket wrap her like a burrito. I rush to her and held her in my arms, she was snoring and mumbling in her sleep, I held her tight and my hand on her cheek.

“Sunshine.” I mutter, my lips connected to her temple as I softly rock her in my arms. She’s also hugging a pillow and curl up into a ball, “wake up, darling.” I called, she whines and turn her back on me while still being in my arms. I chuckle at her tactics and carried her bridal style as I walk out of the room with her sleeping soundly in my arms.

I lay her down in one of Ajax’s luxurious couch and sat down beside her—sleeping soundly as if she doesn’t sense the danger in this world and that in her dreams, she’s safe and happy.

I adjust her position and let her head use my thigh as her pillow, she grunt and whines a little but proceed to smack both of her lips and turn her back as her forehead made contact where my healing wound is. I smile down at her and remove some of her hair from her face.

Ajax is right across me, legs cross and drinking his tea.

“I won’t cut to the chase.” I hear him clear his throat, his tone serious but his smile not disappearing. I look up at him and remain eye contact, “I called you for a reason, Scara.” He added then continue, “actually, when me and the boys did our job, you know? The usual—breaking in, shooting, murdering the wanted people. You know?” He chuckle to himself and lean back to relax his muscles.

“But there’s something that caught my eye when I broke in to my targets office,” his hands clasp together, “there was a file that stands out the most and most familiar,” he then snap a finger as his men gave him the file that he was talking about, “it's about your previous Sunshine, Scara.” He handed me the file by tossing it to the table between us, the file slides close as I manage to grab a hold to it.

I scan and read each word carefully while still listening to what Ajax’s saying, “she was being targeted, I don’t know who nor what do they want but they just wanted her.” My brows frown, muttering under my breath every sentences I read.

Name: Y/N L/N

Age: 24

It was one of her personal backgrounds, the same one I also have but different… It has the approved stamp on it and the date when they’ll be taking her, my eyes widen and filled with so much rage that I could fucking kill every single person in this room…

But I remain calm, as waiting my darling up would be every upsetting.

He could just watch me stress this out, “I know you have a lot in your plate right now, but I feel like you should know and that why I took her in the first place.” He explained, “she’s a lovely girl, but we can’t have her be taken away now. Not when she’s your sun ray and that the Tsaritsa just want to question her.”

My eyes shot up to him, “she wants to question her..?” Ajax nodded and smiles more widely now, “I mean, just a harmless question, she’s going to be fine!”

My eyes darkened, annoyance visible on my face, “now, now… Let me explain.” Ajax laughs, as I feel her again turning and letting out a sigh of relief as she knew she’s in a warm and comfortable spot to sleep on.

“You know… She low-key looks like the Tsaritsa’s diseased child, but more older and mature now.” His tone became soft and calm, “you know, since her lover got killed in an intense battle in war.”

“Isn’t her lover in the military?”

“yes and the Tsaritsa is part of the most powerful and resourceful mafia family…”

“Why and how did she fell in love with a soldier?”

Ajax thought for a moment and let out a deep breath, “she ran away to be with him, then his deployment came when she’s pregnant. Before she knew it, he’ll never return. And he doesn’t know that she’s the most wanted mafia’s daughter.”

I nodded, look down at her sleeping soundly and caress her cheek.

“how did her kid die?”

“When the Tsaritsa’s little princess was running around the house, greeting every servant and giving them smiles. She’s a lovely girl, like her—” he points to my sleeping sunshine, “—like her, the Tsaritsa calls her child her sunshine. Her ray of light when she was out of hope, but she continue pursuing life because that day, she has a child.”

I smiled, I know it’ painful to lose a kid. But I knew, because I lost not one but three kids because I failed to save them from their abuser and predator…

“But when hope was building, it collapsed when her ray of light got into a flight accident—along with the Tsaritsa’s trusted servants to guide her sunshine back home. Back where the kid belongs, not only did the kid lost its life, but also four or six people died there too. Most of them survived, but not the kid and the servant.”

I listen, as I feel this pain in my heart. I continue caressing her face as I look up and see Ajax wiping off tears from his eyes, he laughs and dismiss this matter. “N-No, sorry. Quite unprofessional…” I could hear him sniffle and smile again, “it’s just awful to lose someone that young and that they’re your only reason why you’re keeping it together.”

He inhales and tries to stop tears from falling off, he took a fan and starts flapping it in the maximum speed he can. “It’s just that, when the Tsaritsa caught a glimpse of her file. She immediately knew that she found another reason to keep it together and finally had someone worthy of her protection.” He smiled while battling with his tears, even though in those dead eyes of his—there’s still a hint of emotion in there somewhere, just finding it’s way to wave and finally come around eventually.

“So, I’m only doing this for her request, not a demand—but a request.” He clarify twice, assuming that I would hear it right. “it’s okay to refuse since the Tsaritsa only asked if she had a chance to meet her, and maybe talk to her too.”

I’m free to refuse, but how could I refuse when I finally knew what the Tsaritsa’s intentions are? There’s a side of me that’s really soft and this is one of them.

“I promise you, comrade.” Ajax lean forward, his elbow resting on his knee and hands clasp together, “that the Tsaritsa will provide her everything, will do anything to protect her. Even though she’s not her daughter—she found yet again a sole reason to keep it together.”

I sigh, pinching the nose of my bridge and look down at sunshine. Ismiled and try to lean and kiss her forehead, “alright.”

“Arrange an appointment for us to meet Her Majesty.”

Link:

Chapter 12: THE SUN

#genshin impact #genshin smut #dark romance #darkened desires series #scara x reader #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scara #Mafia!Scara #Mafia!Scaramouche #I DID SOMETHING >//<#i tried doing some message thiny:3

82 notes · View notes

yawn-junn · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do a yandere quackity alphabet pls chupapi mew manure 😍😍😍❤️

♚Quackity yandere alphabet♚

♚Special thanks too: the dumb ass who requested this, Quackity

♚Note: legit my first time ever writing for quackity....

♚TW: yandere themes : toxic relationship : mentally ill Quackity : obsession : possessiveness : death : mentions of murder : cursing : dark themes : brief mention of suicide :

♚DISCLAIMER: do not read this if you are uncomfortable with yandere themes I have other works you can read or if your into kpop/kdramas don't hate on this no one is forcing you to read this if you are sensitive don't read this THIS IS ALL A WORK OF FICTION DO NOT ATTEMPT ANYTHING YOU READ IN THIS POST if someone is doing some of this stuff to you contact the police immediately DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 16!!!

10-28-23

A - allowing (how allowing are they?)

I feel like he's not as though as others would be, so he'll allow you to go outside, but he has to be there as well.

B - blackmail (did they blackmail there s/o?)

No he didn't, in his eyes your fragile, almost baby like, he didn't wanna do anything to harm you.

C - carving (do they carve there name into you? And where?)

No he doesn't, no matter how pissed he is at you, he refuses to harm you in anyway.

D - Dangerous (how dangerous are they?)

On the danger scale Quackity is about a 6, he's not super dangerous but he can be.

E - Exposed (How vulnerable are they when it comes to their s/o?)

Once he knows you're not going anywhere, he'll be more sensitive and, talk about personal things and, seek comfort in you.

F - favorite (there favorite place on there s/o)

Probably your hair....he loves playing with your hair.

G - Game (are they using there s/o as a pass time?)

Absolutely not, you're too fragile for that.

H - Hell (what's the worse they've done to there s/o?)

even tho, not as extreme as other yandere's would do, the worst he's done is lock you in a room for a week.

I - Ideals (what's there future plans with there s/o?)

Probably to keep you with him as long as possible, he doesn't want kids, he feels you won't be able to make it through child birth.

J - Jealousy (how jealous are they?)

On the jealousy scale he's about a 7, like he gets jealous and will kill the other person but once he sees you he forgets everything.

K - Killing (how many times will they kill for there s/o)

As many times as it takes.

L - Love (how in love are they?)

Head over heels in love with you, he fell in love with you the first time he saw you.

M - (how messy are they?)

He's very clean when he does his killings, he doesn't want you to find old blood.

N - No (what will they not allow there s/o to do?)

Go anywhere without him, it's his main rule.

O - Obsession (how obsessed are they?)

On the obsession scale he's about a 9, he does have pictures of you all over his walls. (not just the bedroom)

P - Possession (how possessive are they of there s/o?)

He'll let you wear what you want and, hang out with whoever, just don't break a rule and you'll be fine.

Q - Quit (if there s/o dies would they find someone else?)

If you die he dies.

R - Regret (do they feel guilty for the things they've done?)

When he sees you cry over something he's done, then he will remorse for the things he's done, but other than that nope.

S - Stamina (how long will they put up with there s/o acting up?)

Not long at all, the second you start acting up he'll put you in your place.

T - Tears (how do they feel about seeing their s/o scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

He hurts more than you, once he sees you doing anything of the sorts, he'll stop everything immediately.

U - Unique (would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

Other than letting you actually have a life that's not revolved around him, not really.

V - Vice (what weakness do they have for there s/o?)

When you get emotional, he can't stand it, unless its a good kind of emotional.

W - Wit’s end (would they ever hurt their s/o?)

Physically? No, Mentally? Absolutely.

X - Xoanon (To what length would they go to win their s/o over)

He'll go as far to change himself, physical appearance included.

Y - Yandere (what kind of Yandere are they?)

He's laid back, he allows you freedom, but as I mentioned, he always has to be around you.

Z - Zzz (Do they sleep around there s/o?)

Of course! He wanted to prove to you, he's completely normal and nothing wrong or messed up is going on in his head.

#qsmp quackity #quackity smp #quackity #quackity x reader #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #yandere content #yandere #yandere quackity #dsmp x reader #qsmp x reader

215 notes · View notes

jessicaloons · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 39:

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy

Masterlist - Previous - Next

TW: as mentioned before, I’m using Carlos Sainz (and his family) as the baddies. Big baddies. One might think I don’t like him with how I portray him (and his family) and yep, that’s true. I don’t like him. For many, many reasons. But then again: this is fiction. Just because I portray him (and his family) like this, doesn’t mean that they really are like this. If you are a Carlos Sainz fan: I’m sorry, but he’s the bad guy here and it’s only getting worse… that’s it. That’s the warning.

Monza. Home of the Tifosi. It was loud and crowded in front of the hotel. Charles smiled and signed as much as he could, posed for selfie after selfie. Joked with the fans. From the outside it looked like he was the usual charming and sweet boy, Prince of Ferrari, Il predestinato. But I knew him better than that. I saw the sadness in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The forced smile. When we walked inside I grabbed his hand and he smiled at me.

"You don’t have to fake a smile for me." I whispered when we entered the elevator and he sighed.

"I know… it’s just, I don’t want anyone to see me just slightly unhappy here…" Charles replied and I nodded.

"I get it. Let’s just stay focused. It’s a race weekend like any other. Just that you look like a McDonalds employee this time." I teased a little and he groaned.

"Oh stop it!" he rolled his eyes but laughed "I like the suit and the livery."

"Oh the livery is amazing! Especially the German flag. You’re sporting it for me? Or maybe a little tribute to Michael?"

I laughed when we walked through the door to our room.

"You’re the worst!" he pushed me down on the bed, caging me in "I should teach you some manners…"

"Oh yeah? Teach me some manners? How are you planning on doing that?" I cocked an eyebrow, while he leaned down, kissing along my jaw down to my ear.

"Easy. I strip you naked, piece by piece, slowly. Kiss every inch I unravel. Worship every body part of yours… and when your squirming because you can’t take it anymore. Trembling from anticipation. Then I stop." he whispered in my ear and I shuddered.

"Charles…" I breathed out.

"Yes, cara mia? What is it…" he chuckled.

"Eww eww eww… god not again!" Joris exclaimed from the door, covering his eyes "If you wanna go and get at it, close the damn door! And then hang up a don’t disturb sign! God!"

"I just had to teach my pretty girl some manners." Charles laughed and I pushed him off of me.

"Nope you did not…" I got up and grabbed my suitcase sitting down on the floor.

"What about you have this very physical conversation as soon as I’m gone?" Joris asked and Charles laughed "Here, Silvia asked me to give you this. It’s your schedule for the next 2 days."

"Oh how fun." he scoffed "More sponsor events… more journalists asking me if this weekend my contract renewal will be announced…"

"Charles…" I turned around and looked at him.

"It’s mostly fan events…" Joris interjected.

"At least something." Charles mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom.

"I didn’t want to ruin his mood." Joris whispered but I shook my head, patting the floor beside me "This whole contract thing is really upsetting him."

"Yeah… it sucks. I honestly don’t know why Ferrari waits this long?" I said and leaned against the bed, Joris doing the same "Do they expect a better driver than Charles to come along all of a sudden?"

"Who would that be? There’s not many that are better? And the ones that might are a notch or two are in damn good teams already?" Joris played with his bracelets, a habit Charles had as well.

"There is no one. And as soon as Ferrari gets that in their head, he’ll get his new contract. Believe me!" I said determined.

"I believe you!" Joris answered and I laughed.

"Now we just have to get Charles into believing me…"

I didn’t see Charles the next two days much, he left the hotel room quite early and returned late at night, exhausted but with a little smile on his face. The Tifosi showered him with love and appreciation, something he needed dearly.

"I’m sorry that I was almost gone entirely the last two days…" Charles said when we got up on Thursday, getting ready for media day.

"It’s okay. I was busy myself." not true. I was staying mostly in the hotel room, feeling sick.

"You guys had some events, too?" he asked and I nodded, when my stomach cramped again.

"Umm- yeah…" I said, trying not to hiss in pain, only succeeding halfway.

"Are you okay?" Charles asked as I held my stomach.

"Yeah. It’s nothing." I smiled a little "Really. Just my stomach’s a little rebelling."

"Are you sure? You look a little pale?"

"Don’t worry. I’m fine." I reassured him.

"Okay…"

"Charles. Stop looking at me like that…" I sighed as a wave of nausea hit me. I held up my hand and ran into the bathroom, throwing up.

"Cara mia!" Charles followed me and I got up from the floor "You stay here. I get you some meds."

"Don’t be silly. It’s just a stomach bug!" I rinsed my mouth and wiped my face "Give me 5 minutes and I’m ready to go."

"You should stay in!"

"I probably just ate something wrong, my stomach is a little sensitive." I waved him off and he walked back out hesitantly "5 minutes!"

"Okay…" he sighed and I washed my face. The sandwich at the truck stop. That’s what it must’ve been. It looked half dead. But I ate it anyways. I brushed my teeth, then dried my face and brushed my hair "Alright. Almost done." I smiled at him, stepping out of the bathroom putting on a hoodie and some sunglasses.

"If you feel worse, you tell me, okay?" Charles insisted, grabbing his phone and sunglasses.

"Promise." I walked past him, opening the door when he stopped me "What?"

"Didn’t you forget something?" he cocked an eyebrow and I though about what he meant, he sighed after a moment, pulling me in and kissed me. I tried to push him away, but he held on tight to me.

"Charles! I just threw up." I said but he laughed.

"You brushed your teeth? And I also don’t care." he put his lips on mine again "I kiss you whenever I want to."

"For fucks sake! Close your damn door!" Joris groaned, standing in the doorway.

"Stop bitching around, Trouchie." I laughed nudging him with my shoulder.

"Trouchie?" he grimaced.

"Doesn’t it sound cute?" I winked at him.

"It’s sounds like I’m a dog… so no. Not cute." he mumbled.

"Oh come on, Trouchie. Don’t be sour." Charles laughed and it was one of the very few genuine laughs of the recent days. Joris realised it too and chuckled along.

"Alright… Trouchie it is." he sighed as we stepped into elevator.

"Trouchie… sounds really cute…" Charles said quietly, putting his arm around my shoulders as we made our way downstairs.

"It does." I agreed when the elevator door opened on the floor beneath us and Elijah stepped in. Two guys by his side.

"Lizzie, Charles, Joris. Meet Dave and Aaron. Our new camera and sound guys." he introduced them and I nodded tightlipped .

"Hey guys, nice to meet you." Charles said.

"An honour to meet you guys." Dave said.

"We’re excited to follow you along a little." Aaron smiled at me and I forced out a smile.

Charles pinched my side a little.

"Yeah… nice to meet you guys." I said, feeling Charles gently stroking my side.

"Alright, I don’t know what Julie told you. But this weekend we’re just silent followers. We just film you, but no questions, no direct interacting with us. Just you and what you’re doing and us filming it." Elijah explained and I nodded.

I could live with that, I thought as the elevator doors opened and we could hear the screams of Charles’ fans outside. He looked a little worried for a moment but then put on his smile again and we walked outside. Some fans of my own were waiting as well and I did my best to take selfies with each and every one, signing as many stuff as possible, accepting a whole bunch of little fan gifts. Bracelets, puppets, paintings. It got more and more crowded and as I hugged a young girl, thanking her for a bracelet Joris tapped my shoulder, nodding his head towards the cars.

"Thank you guys!!" I smiled at my fans and the then waved one last time before I followed Joris to the car, looking at him confused.

"Sorry, but it got quite full there and Charles is a little worried… after last year." he said and I sighed, turning around. Looking at Charles who was practically swarmed by his fans, looking over at me.

"Thanks for waiting until I was done at least." I sighed.

"Your fans are more than happy, you gave every single one of them your attention." Joris said and I nodded, climbing into the van.

"Least I can do." I mumbled leaning my head back, my stomach still feeling a little off.

"Let’s go." Charles said a couple of minutes later, when he sat down next to me "Hey sleepy head."

"I’m awake." I yawned a little and he chuckled, pulling me to his side "You didn’t have to send Joris to look after me. I was doing just fine."

"I don’t trust them around you anymore… not after last year…" he answered simply and I sighed "I protect what I love."

"You’re so cheesy, Charlie bear."

Charles POV:

Contract renewal here. Contract renewal there. It seemed like there was not any other thing on their mind than when Ferrari will announce my and Carlos contract renewal. A part of me wanted nothing more than to answer that at the moment there wasn’t even talks about this topic happening. That I didn’t know myself if I would drive for Ferrari after next season. But I knew that I would only make things worse so I smiled. Said that we’re focusing on our races. That that was important. Everything else can be discussed later. But I saw the faces of the journalists, knew they weren’t happy with the answer. I watched a clip of Jacques Villeneuve talking with Canal+ about the contractual situation and how he thinks that if Ferrari won’t announce the renewal of my contract here in Monza, he’s not sure if there will even be a renewal at all. I swallowed hard.

"What’s up?" Pierre sat down next to me and I looked up.

"Hmm?"

"I asked what’s up?" he repeated and I sighed a little.

"Not much. Preparing for my interview with Canal+."

"They love you, don’t worry." he shrugged his shoulders.

"Not all of them." I scoffed.

"Most of them."

"Yeah. Have you seen Lizzie?" I checked my phone, still no reply from her.

"Not since the media pen?" Pierre cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay…" I texted her again when Mia waved me over "I have to go, when you see Lizzie…"

"I’ll tell her to text or call you."

"Thanks mate." I got up and followed Mia.

"It’s just a quick one, how’s the season so far. What they can expect this weekend." she explained and I sighed.

"What they can expect this weekend? I mean… it’s Monza!" I said and she smiled.

"Exactly, it’s Monza." she replied right as I got a text from Lizzie.

"Are we done after the interview?"

"Yeah, we are."

"Good." I said, I replied to Lizzie’s text and then followed Mia the interview, that luckily didn’t take long and thankfully my contractual situation wasn’t brought up.

"That’s it for today then, see you tomorrow." Mia waved at Lizzie when she saw her approaching us.

"Ready to leave?" I asked her and she nodded "Alright, then let’s go."

Friday went well. The practice sessions looked promising, although Carlos found little tenths and hundredths here and there to be slightly quicker than me, so I decided to stay late. Went through the data. Watched my laps again and again. Just to find that little extra bit of performance. And when quali came, I was sure I could put it on pole today. The cheers of the Tifosi around the track elevated me. But it didn’t work out as planned. The lap times weren’t as good as I’d hoped they would be. And by the end of the session I knew it wasn’t enough.

"And that’s P3. Good job."

"Yeah. Congrats to Carlos. He did a good job." I fucked up. Quali. The one thing I used to be good at. And then in Monza out of all places "Where’s Lizzie?"

"P10."

Fuck. At least we would be both in a bad mood tonight then.

I returned to the pits and parked my car, getting out and looked around. Lizzie’s car already in her garage, but no sign of her. I sighed and congratulated Carlos and Max, but couldn’t help looking for Lizzie. I did my interview and when we returned back to the pit lane I walked to her garage.

"Where’s Lizzie?" I asked Pete who talked with Felix and two other engineers.

"Umm- she’s cooling off a little." Pete said and I cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a little situation on track…" Pete said right as Lizzie walked in from the back.

"Hey, what happened?" I walked towards her, seeing her eyes slightly red and swollen.

"I’m stupid. That’s what happened. I drove like a fucking rookie, got a flat spot and fucked up everything for us." she said, he voice bitter "I’m sorry that I wasn’t out there for you…"

"It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re okay! I was worried there for a second when you were nowhere to be seen…" I cupped her cheek and kissed her gently "Let’s sulk together later on, okay?"

"I’m sorry that you couldn’t put it on pole today… here…" she whispered and I sighed.

"Yeah. It’s like this, I wasn’t good enough today…" I shrugged my shoulders a little.

"You’ll be tomorrow!" she kissed my cheek "And now off you go. Julie waits for me… interview time… yay."

I left as well, making my way back to our garage, getting ready for the interviews myself.

"I love Monza." Charles whispered when we walked back to our garages after the national anthem. The crowd cheering for Ferrari. The hometown hero’s.

"It’s always special here, that’s for sure." I said.

"See you later, cara mia." he said, pulling me into him "Tonight we’ll celebrate."

"You think so?" I mumbled but he nodded.

"Yeah. I know so." he squeezed my waist a little and then left, getting ready for the race.

"Ready?" JK asked, handing me my water.

"Always." I nodded and we walked to my car.

"Lizzie. Ready to show them how to race?" Matt asked, wiggling his eyebrows and I laughed.

"Sure. Let’s put this car on the top step, then?" I chuckled and he nodded.

"That’s the spirit." he grinned as JK handed me my balaclava first and then my helmet.

As soon as I was strapped in I tested everything and gave Matt the all clear.

Formation lap. Aborted formation lap. Another formation lap. Race delay. Formation lap. Race start. This time for real. Lights out and away we go. I had a good start, overtaking Norris and Lewis right at the start. The next three laps and I managed to overtake Oscar. And soon after that I saw an opportunity to go round the inside on Alex, overtaking him in lap 7.

"You’re doing amazing Lizzie. Already P6. Well done." Pete radioed.

"The car is on fire today." I cheered, happy with the performance.

The pit stop was great. 2.2 seconds. I came out right in the anticipated gap. The hard tyres worked amazing and soon after I knocked on George’s door. The gap behind me got bigger with each lap. But I couldn’t catch up to who ever was in front of me.

"Gap to Charles 3.9 seconds." Pete radioed and I looked up at the screens. Watching Charles and Sainz battling hard.

"Are they allowed to battle it out?" I asked.

"Lizzie, focus on your own race and stop watching the screens."

"Sorry…"

I had to chuckle a little, imagining Pete’s annoyed face, shaking his head, forehead wrinkled. I was lost in my thoughts when I saw the checkered flag being waved.

"It’s over?" I asked surprised.

"It’s over. P5! What a race Lizzie! Amazing job!"

"Thanks Pete! Thanks team! The car was amazing today! Amazing pitstop! Awesome guys! Really!" I followed the cars in front back into the pit lane and watched Charles celebrating a little with his team before he made his way towards me.

"P10 to P5! Amazing race, cara mia." he helped me out and when I sat my helmet down he engulfed me in a big hug.

"Sorry that you lost your podium spot. You had more pace in the end, no?" I said but he only shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, but it was a good race! So it’s okay!" he smiled and I nodded following him back to Max and Co.

"Good race, Max, congrats!" I hugged him.

"Thanks Lizzie." he smiled and I nudged Perez a little before I walked inside, getting my weighing done.

"Alright. See you in a bit?" I said to Charles and he nodded, leaving towards the Ferrari garage, while I walked back to mine. Valtteri already waiting for me.

"What a race, kiddo!" he hugged me and I smiled.

"Same for you! P7! 10 positions! Damn!"

"Yeah, I can do good sometimes." he chuckled as we walked inside and I sat down for a moment, watching some race highlights.

"Looked a little heated between Charles and Carlos?" Valtteri asked and I nodded.

"I think they just both wanted that podium damn much." I chuckled as Julie waved me over to follow her out the back of the garage, where a little commotion had formed. I looked up and saw Sainz senior talking with a reporter in Spanish about his son’s amazing weekend and how he did one hell of a job during the race, showing how to tame the Red Bulls. I scoffed and he looked up. He then turned to the reporter again, continuing the praise for his son in English.

"Lizzie? Ready for the media pen?" Julie asked and I nodded, following her, just to hear Sainz senior saying what a shame it was that Charles almost ruined the whole weekend with his reckless driving at the end. Just because he was too greedy and couldn’t accept that his son was simply better this weekend. I wanted to turn around but Julie held my arm and kept walking.

"Ignore him. We all know that this is not what happened, okay? Just calm down!" she whispered and I sighed.

"He’s an asshole." I replied.

"Not gonna argue on this with you." Julie nodded towards the first reporter on the left and I stepped closer.

"You didn’t congratulate Carlos, because he beat Charles?" the first question and I already was done. The reporter from ESPN Spain looked at me, grinning.

"I congratulated the winner, as always. Since when do we have to congratulate the third place? But if you want to put it like that, I didn’t congratulate Carlos because when he had the chance to help Charles, he didn’t do it, he was looking for his own race as always, but then he later complained that Charles didn’t help him by holding up Checo… and then when it was clear that Charles had more pace, he didn’t let him pass, complaining again, not wanting them to let them battle it out, because he knew he wouldn’t win."

"That’s a strong opinion."

"Yep. But it’s my opinion. Period." Was everything I said true? I didn’t know. But I didn’t care. The reporter pissed me off beyond believe and I couldn’t care less.

"Carlos was better the whole weekend and then most of the race, so don’t you think he deserved the podium more?"

"What is this now? Are we talking about Sainz or my race? If you have questions for me about my race and my team, ask them, otherwise, we’re done." I was beyond pissed.

"You couldn’t quite catch up to the Ferraris there, Charles and most definitely Carlos were faster, but did you expect the gap to be this big?" he asked, a fake smile on his face.

"As anticipated, Ferrari was faster, yes. I knew fighting with either one of them would only cost me my tyres so I refrained from doing that, managed my tyres well…"

"You saw the battle between Carlos and Charles in front. Did you think at one point they maybe will take each other out? Opening the door for you?"

"No, they both know how to race, know when to hold back. I didn’t expect anything to happen that’s why I didn’t push."

"Was it right from Charles to attack Carlos like this?"

"We are racing drivers. We want to win. We want to fight for any position. And that’s what that was. They fought for the last spot on the podium. Everyone would’ve done that…" I said.

"Thanks Lizzie."

"Yup." I walked away rolling my eyes "Can I boycott the Spanish media?"

"Unfortunately not. We have another one from Spain, sorry." Julie said, patting my arm as we walked to the next interview.

I watched Charles the whole time, trying to focus on him, instead of the stupid questions. He looked happy. His eyes had this natural spark back, that was missing for some time now. Today was a good day. He had fun. We were about to walk out of the media pen when Charles turned and looked at me, saying something to the reporter and then leaving, coming straight to us.

"Pretty girl." he smiled and kissed me, right in front of everyone.

"What’s gotten into you." I whispered when he let go of me and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I had fun today. Sure, being on the podium would’ve been better. But yeah. It’s like this. And you did amazing!"

"When you’re happy, then I’m happy!" I smiled and he nodded.

"Tomorrow we deserve a little treat…"

"When you’re thinking what I’m thinking…" I smiled brightly.

"Rossella will be happy to see you!" Charles laughed.

"Not as happy as me."

As soon as we arrived in Charles flat in Maranello he had to leave, Ferrari business, leaving Joris and me at the flat.

"Did you see that?" Joris said after a long period of silence and I almost flinched. He showed me his iPad.

"What am I looking at?" I asked sitting up and taking the iPad "You’ve got to be kidding me? No? She did not? Joris look what else she liked?" I was fuming when I saw the Tweets Carlos mother liked. Mostly all targeting Charles. But also some slightly against our family. I threw the iPad on the bed and got up.

"Lizzie? Where are you going?" Joris asked as I was putting on my shoes.

"This family is the worst! They’re fucking toxic! Ugh! I hate them!" I said and walked out of Charles flat, Joris following me.

"I’m not arguing with you on that, but where are we going?" Joris asked again and I got into the car "Lizzie?"

"I’m having a word with Carlos!" I said and turned on the road towards the Ferrari faculties.

"No! NO! Lizzie that’s not a good idea!" Joris pleaded.

"No, Joris it’s enough! Insulting Charles? Nothing new, unfortunately, but now they’re coming for his family? This stops now!" I was fuming.

"Lizzie…" Joris tried again after a while but I shook my head.

"No. I’m sick of them. All of them." I said when I turned onto the driveway leading to the gate "Ciao Antonio! How’s the baby?" I charmed the guard and he smiled at me.

"Oh, he’s doing wonderful! Thanks for asking! What can I do for you, Lizzie?" he smiled at me.

"Charles forgot some of his stuff and he also has my purse!" I lied and Antonio was unsure for a second "I’ll just throw his stuff in his car and get my wallet out, I have a spare key."

"Alright, sure!" he said and opened the gate.

"Thank you! And say Rosa and little Frederico hi from me!" I smiled and drove off.

"Lizzie, please think for a second here!" Joris sighed as I parked next to Charles car.

"I am thinking! But I’ve kept quiet even when the Spanish press tried to provoke me yesterday, even after the things the old man said yesterday standing right behind my back! But it’s enough!" I looked at my phone, checking the last message Charles sent me "He said the last meeting should finish at 4, perfect timing then." It was 15:58.

I kept scrolling through my phone, seeing all the hate there was going on and a new wave of anger hit me when I saw the Tweet from Ferrari, celebrating "the best podium of the season". Charles had won a race with their shit box of a car. Yet the best podium was a P3. I saw Carlos senior and then Carlos cousin walking out, talking and laughing, looking at their phones. Carlos junior walked out behind them, together with his race engineer, who said his goodbye and walked into the building on the right. Mattia walked out with Charles, who looked worried. Charles shook his head and walked then to Xavi and Mia, standing on the left. I took a deep breath, as Mattia walked up to the 3 Carloses.

"Lizzie, please, please, please! Don’t do it! Not here!" Joris pleaded again.

"Here is perfect, no cameras, no public! In the paddock everyone will listen!" I got out of the car, slamming the door shut and walked straight ahead to Carlos. The 4 men looked at me confused but I just smiled.

"Gentlemen, can I borrow Carlos for a moment? Junior!" I said and Carlos nodded and followed me as I walked back.

"What’s up?" his voice was indifferent, his eyes cold.

"Look, you and I, we don’t get along. That’s fine by me. You do you and I do me. All good. But this is going too far, Carlos. I know how Charles is treated by the Spanish media, mostly fuelled by your family, no, I’m not done yet. Criticism against Charles, I can deal with. But your mother, don’t interrupt me. Your mother liking all this nasty tweets, saying he has no honour? He? Out of all people? And the Tweets insulting his family? This doesn’t look good on you! Think about what the Tifosi will think! I’m asking you kindly to tell your mother and your father to stop with this bullshit. This is nothing Ferrari needs now…" I tried to reason with him but he just scoffed.

"What? Now it’s not okay anymore to openly criticise? After you’ve been doing it since last year? Oh right, it’s because now it is against Charles. You use every chance you can get to bad mouth me, but now you come here, telling me to tell my parents what to do, because your boyfriend is being attacked? No, I don’t think so." he sneered and I inhaled deeply to calm myself down.

"Oh, Carlos, you really think you’re living in my head rent free, do you? I’m not using any chance I can get to bad mouth you. I only answer questions that I get asked about you, I never bring you up myself, I don’t have to constantly drag you through the mud. Unlike you. And I never, not once attacked your family or you as a person, only you as a driver. And my criticism was justified, every single time. You and your family on the other hand, you use every opportunity to talk Charles down, now our family. This is why I’m asking you kindly to stop. There is only so little I will tolerate otherwise I’ll speak up myself." I really tried my best to not snap, to be reasonable with Carlos.

"I’m not telling my parents what to do. And we’re done." he said and walked back to his father and cousin, Mattia left. As I looked to the side where Charles stood, I saw Mattia talking to him now as he looked at me, confused. He shook his head and made his way over to me, looking mad.

"What are you doing here Lizzie?" he spoke French. Never a good sign.

"I had to talk to Carlos." I answered.

"What? You can’t just come here? How did you even get in here?" he looked at the car "Joris?" the passenger door opened and Joris walked around the car slowly "Whatever you’re doing here, you gotta go! Mattia is fuming why a driver of a rival team is standing in the courtyard of our facilities! What were you thinking?"

"I had to talk to Carlos." I repeated and Charles groaned.

"Then send him a text! You two. Go. Now! Whatever it is you need to talk with him about, it surely isn’t that important for you getting a reprimand from the FIA!" I looked at him "Yes! Mattia told me, if you’re not leaving immediately he will file a complaint to the FIA. So please, please cara mia, go! Nothing they could’ve said or done is worth the trouble! I don’t care when they say shit about me."

"And what about your mum? Your entire family?" I snapped at the grin on the 3 Spaniards faces.

"What?" Charles looked flabbergasted.

"It’s not just about you anymore…" I began but I could hear Carlos’ cousin laughing, saying something like Il predestinato looks more like Il pathetico.

"What did you just say?" I asked him and ignored Charles pleading look "Say it again." I walked over to them, stopping right in front of him.

"I didn’t say anything to you, I was having a conversation with my family." he said with a fake smile "And if I were you, I would leave now, or do you want to be removed by the security?"

"No one is removing anyone by the security!" Charles said, appearing next to me on my left.

"I heard Mattia clearly saying that if she won’t leave on her own, he will make her." Sainz senior said then he turned back to his son and nephew and continued in Spanish "She should go back in the kitchen and cook her man a meal." they were laughing and I was seething, not wanting to show them that I understood every single word.

"We should state in the new contract that she’s banned from all Ferrari facilities on and off track!" Carlos cousin suggested and my eyes widened, new contract?

"Lizzie, let’s go!" Charles whispered and the three Spaniards laughed.

"He should learn to tame his bitch!" Sainz senior said and I snapped, I turned around and punched my fist as hard as I could into his face, pain erupting in my knuckles. I was shocked, breathing ragged. I turned to my left, apologetic look towards Charles, but he was held back by a struggling Joris. Charles didn’t speak Spanish? Of course puta… almost similar to pute in French.

"Don’t you dare call her a bitch!" Charles face was red "Joris, let go of me!"

"Charles, stop!" Mattia appeared and with him two security guards.

"He’s not calling my girlfriend a bitch!" Charles said to him but Mattia only shook his head.

"Enough! Lizzie, leave the premises now. You’re banned from our facilities from now on." he turned to Sainz senior who was held by Carlos’ cousin, bloody lip and nose, both shooting daggers at me with their eyes, Carlos jr. only stood there looking shocked.

I grabbed Charles hand and pulled him towards the car, pushed him onto the passenger seat, took his car keys out of his pocket and closed the door, the throbbing in my hand getting worse with every second.

"You’re taking the Pista." I threw the keys at Joris who looked at me with big eyes "Joris! You need the car tonight! So please, just drive it!" he nodded and walked off. I spared one last look at the 3 Sainz men and Mattia and got into the car, revved the engine and drove off.

The whole drive to Charles flat was silent. The only sound was Charles staggered breathing. I parked the car and waited, he didn’t say anything. So I got out and waited for him. Back in his flat he left straight into the bedroom and I flinched when the door slammed shut, followed by a loud bang. I stood like petrified in the hallway. After a minute Joris walked in.

"Where’s…" he began but I only nodded my head in the direction of the bedroom and walked into the living room sitting down on the sofa, arms on my knees, head in my hands.

"Are you okay, Lizzie?" Joris asked me and I looked up "You’re really pale? And… oh fuck! Shit! Lizzie!" he almost shouted it and I flinched, the bedroom door opening "Fuck! Charles! We need ice and clean water and…" he ran off into the kitchen and Charles was at the sofa in 3 long strides.

"Oh my god! Lizzie! Why didn’t you say anything?" he kneeled down, gently taking my right hand into his and I looked down. Pain erupting. My knuckles were bruised and bloody. Swollen. Almost unrecognisable.

"Cara mia? Hey? Look at me!" Charles looked at me and I took a deep breath "How much does it hurt?"

"I don’t know? A lot?" I whispered and he kissed my forehead.

"Here, let’s clean it up first. And then… I don’t even know if cooling will help. Charles we should get her to the hospital." Joris said as Charles gently washed the blood away and I flinched and hissed in pain.

"I’m sorry! Almost done, okay?" Charles continued and I felt tears stinging my eyes. He gently wrapped a towel around my hand and put the ice pack on top "We’ll get you to the hospital. No, Lizzie! We can’t risk anything!" he got up and helped me to stand "Come on!"

Charles POV:

"One broken, two sprained… the doctor said the break was in a position where it will heal fast. He said with the right bandage she should be able to drive. Yeah… umm. Yeah, straight in the face. I don’t know, I don’t speak Spanish, but he called her a bitch, that I understood. I don’t know, Pops. Alright, yeah, you too. Love you guys!" I hung up and saw how Lizzie stared down at her heavily bandaged hand "How’s the pain?"

"Manageable." she answered and I sat down next to her "I’m sorry." she whispered and I looked at her "I shouldn’t have come to the facility, shouldn’t talk to Carlos, shouldn’t listen to them. I made it only worse for you. I’m sorry." she sniffled a little and I pulled her in my lap, taking care to not touch her hand.

"You defended me, like a lioness. Don’t apologise for that?" I said and she looked at me with her teary eyes "As long as I have you by my side nothing they say could ever affect me! I should be the one apologising, I didn’t even realise how badly injured you were! I just ignored everything that happened, walked back in here and left you alone while you were in pain and hurt."

"Charles, you don’t have to apologise either… you were mad at me, rightfully so, and then you were a little shocked yourself." she answered and I shook my head.

"Still, the first thing after such an altercation should be checking on my girlfriend…" I mumbled and she kissed my cheek.

"It’s okay, really! But Charles… they- they were talking about a new contract for Carlos…" she whispered and I swallowed hard.

"I don’t concentrate on contracts at the moment, cara mia! That is not important!" I answered and kissed her temple "What else did he say? I know you, you wouldn’t snap when someone calls you a bitch?"

"I’m having more self-control than you then?" she said and I chuckled but I still wanted an answer "First he said I should go home to the kitchen and cook you a meal and then he said that you should learn how to tame your bitch." I looked at her in utter disgust, whole body tensed up.

"The next time I see him, I kick his ass! Fucking asshole!" I was fuming but she laid her healthy hand on my cheek and made me look at her.

"You’re not doing such thing, you show it on track! You’re showing them on track that he will never be as good as you!" I looked at her for a while and then kissed her.

"God, I love you so much, Lizzie!" I mumbled between kisses and couldn’t stop smiling.

"I love you too, my most honourable man!"

I woke up and silenced my alarm immediately, looking over at Lizzie, her hand heavily bandaged propped up on a pillow, dark circles around her eyes, but still she looked like the most beautiful girl to me. I got up quietly and took a shower, dressed up. Ready to face the consequences. Ready to face Mattia and Co. after yesterday. I expected some reprimanding words, maybe even some threats. But I wouldn’t budge. Lizzie shouldn’t have been there, that was true. But everything that happened afterwards? What Sainz sr. said? It all was unacceptable. And I didn’t care what they had to say. I leaned down, kissing Lizzie’s forehead when she stirred a little, her eyes opening slowly.

"Hey…" she mumbled and I tucked a stray strand of hair out of her face "Your up early?"

"Not that early actually. But I gotta go. I need to talk to Mattia and the rest of the team." I whispered and her face scrunched up.

"I’m sorry… for causing so much trouble for you. Right at a time like this." she sounded sad, so I sat down at the edge of the bed.

"You fought for me, Lizzie. I’m not mad or anything! What you did yesterday… how you stood up for me? My- our family? I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I want you to take it easy today, okay? Sleep in. Have a nice breakfast, I prepared you something, lean back and do nothing, okay?" I kissed her hand carefully and she nodded "Alright, I gotta go now."

"Not without a kiss!" she whined and I leaned down, kissing her "Thank you."

"I love you." I whispered against her lips and she smiled.

"I love you more."

"Not possible, but okay." I laughed and got up "I see you later. And really take it easy today, okay?"

"I will! Go now! I want to sleep."

I walked out the bed room chuckling, grabbing my stuff and left.

The moment I entered the premises I knew something was going on. Something I didn’t like. I walked inside the office building, Silvia already waiting for me.

"We have a problem." she said and I sighed.

"Good morning to you too." I pressed out.

"Charles, this isn’t the time for jokes. What Lizzie did yesterday? That will damage our brand massively!" her voice was to shrill for this early at the the day.

"She punched a misogynistic asshole? What’s the big deal? He can be glad that it was Lizzie and not me." I said and Silvia clicked her tongue.

"Yeah well, I’m glad it wasn’t you because I have no idea how we could make this right in the media." she almost hissed and I looked at her.

"Media? Silvia no one knows about it." I rolled my eyes and she scoffed.

"Oh yeah? Well there were some school classes here yesterday… and someone filmed it all…" she began and I took my phone out. It was everywhere. To think no one would find out about it, because it happened in the Ferrari faculties where no one was allowed to film, was wrong. The video was without sound. It looked like Lizzie just had punched him for no reason. The internet going crazy.

"You see? We have to deal with your girlfriend’s wrongdoing!" Silvia said and my head snapped up.

"Wrongdoing? Are you serious? You as a woman should be furious about what he said! I can’t believe you!" I was furious.

"Allegedly said… do you speak Spanish? No. Mattia said they were speaking Spanish. Since when does Lizzie speak Spanish? There is no proof that Señor Sainz said what Lizzie accused him off!" she stated matter of factly and I lost it.

"I WAS THERE TOO. I heard what he said! And I don’t need to speak Spanish to understand the word puta!" I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

"Charles. Enough. We have to deal with this now. We have to wait if Sainz Senior will press charges."

"Press charges?" I repeated.

"Press charges."

I swallowed hard. Ridiculous.

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes.

"No, not whatever. Mattia is still considering to file a complaint about Lizzie being here in the first place." Silvia said and I took a deep breath.

"I’m only saying this once, Silvia. This ends here. Leave Lizzie alone. Otherwise I’m posting about what really happened. What Sainz said to Lizzie… and then we’ll see what this does to our brand. When you’re backing a misogynist ass." I walked off. Hands trembling.

I didn’t listen properly in any of the meetings. Didn’t look at Mattia, Silvia or Carlos. Didn’t talk to anyone.

"Charles?" Mia waved her hand in front of my face.

"Yeah? Sorry, I was a bist lost there…" I replied and she nodded.

"We’re done for today…" she smiled and I looked around Carlos talking to Mattia and Silvia, the rest of the team gone.

"Finally." I sighed and got up, left before anyone could stop me again. I just wanted to go home. Away from here. Not the first time in the last weeks.

I unlocked the door. The flat was quiet. Only a faint sniffle in the living room.

"Lizzie?" I asked, throwing my keys on the sideboard and walking inside.

She sat on the floor, her back to me, soft sobs making her shake.

"I’m fine…" she sniffled, not turning around.

"What happened?" I whispered and kneeled down next to her but she only shook her head. I gently grabbed her chin and lifted her head up, eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her face "Lizzie? What happened?" I looked down at the shattered iPad and glass bottle, droplets of blood on it.

"I’m sorry, Charles! I swear I didn’t want this all to happen!" she whispered and I looked at her confused "It’s everywhere, they’re spinning lies about you now. Many want Ferrari to terminate your contract!"

I took the iPad and read through some articles and comments, although it wasn’t easy with how shattered the screen was.

"I don’t care what they write, okay?" I got up and gently scooped her up, careful to not let her touch the shards on the floor. I walked into the kitchen and sat her down on the island, looked at the cuts on her hand. It wasn’t deep, thank god, I soaked a couple of paper towels and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and stood in front of her, gently wiping the blood away, looking for any shards in the cut. I pad dried it and looked for a band aid. Lizzie sniffled a little then she chuckled and I looked up looking at her questioningly.

"That reminds me of Christmas, 3 years ago…" she whispered and I smiled, the memories replaying in my head "I’m sorry, for being such a mess." I sticked the band aid on the cut and gently cradled her face between my hands.

"But you’re my mess, got it?" I kissed her forehead and she giggled a little "I love you, no matter what they’re writing and no matter what’s going to happen, okay?"

"I love you, too." she whispered and I hugged her close. Never letting her go.

"Ouch!" I huffed out and JK grimaced a little.

"I know it hurts, but if you want to drive in Singapore…" he said, pulling a little at the rubber band.

"I know… but it still hurts like a bitch…" I mumbled.

"I know Liz, but you’re doing great. Really great." JK encouraged me and I clenched my teeth, doing everything to power through with the exercise "Just another 30 seconds and we’re good…" he counted down and as soon as he reached zero he stopped pulling at the rubber band and I let go "Well done."

"You know what’s funny? I don’t even know if I’m allowed to drive…" I said bitterly and JK turned around, looking at me with big eyes "Apparently Mattia and the Sainz clan filed a complain at the FIA. For entering the premises of a rival team. For trespassing. Oh and of course assault…"

"Assault? Because you punched him? Did he pressed charges?" he asked.

"Silvia said to Charles that he’s thinking about it…" I shrugged my shoulders

"What a cunt…" JK let out under his breath and I scoffed a little "I know, I know, not a word for you posh British accent speaker…"

"Very funny!" I threw my hoodie at him when Charles walked in with Andrea, back from their run.

"We never have that much fun training…" Charles grumbled, kissing my cheek "Sorry, I’m sweaty."

"Break your hand and we’ll train it for a bit. Until then, stop whining." Andrea said matter of factly, gently taking my injured hand in his, looking at the fingers "Looks way better…"

"It is. I say I can drive easily next week…" I smiled and he nodded "I mean if I’m allowed to, of course."

"Oh cara mia, stop it. It’s going to be just fine, okay?" Charles sat down next to me and I nodded a little "I told them that if they don’t stop this bullshit, I will release a statement, saying exactly what he said to you… and then they can deal with a new shitstorm."

"You should’ve hit him harder, for what he said, honestly…" JK stated.

"You should’ve kicked his balls." Andrea said and I almost choked on my water.

"Andrea!" I coughed and we laughed.

"He’s right. You really should’ve kicked his balls. Or punch his throat!" JK wiggled his eyebrows.

"Stop it, will ya? Damn!" I laughed.

"Okay, okay!" he held up his hands and chuckled "We’re done for today. I see you guys tomorrow at the airport." he grabbed his bag and left.

"I’m leaving as well. I’m not done packing!" Andrea kissed my cheek and followed JK.

"And then there were only two." Charles said and I sat back down on the sofa "How’s your hand?"

"It’s better. JK did an amazing job! I think driving shouldn’t be a problem." I yawned a little.

"And how’s your back? Don’t look at me like that!"

"It’s fine! I just have to train a little harder! But it’s all good. I’m good. I just want to leave. Stop hiding away. Go to Singapore and race. Maybe crush Sainz on track, but yeah…" I looked at my bandaged hand and Charles carefully took it in his.

"You’ll do great in Singapore. I know it."

"You’ll do better. I know it."

The moment we touched ground in Singapore I wanted to leave immediately. Go back home. Hiding. Fans and journalists were bombarding me with question after question about what happened in Maranello. The interview at one of the biggest radio stations in Singapore had to be stopped because the only question I was asked was why I was at the Ferrari factory and why I just hit Sainz senior. He was a motorsport legend. I should have respect. I returned to the hotel room, falling face first into the pillows. Charles next to me, gently turning me a little.

"Hey." I hummed.

"Hi pretty girl." he whispered "You’re really pale…"

"I’m still having this stupid stomach bug, or have it again? I don’t know… this whole drama is really messing with my appetite…" I sighed, closing my eyes "And I’m getting a headache… I hate this all. I just want to say what really happened. But who would believe me? Who would believe you?"

"Hey, come here." Charles gently pulled me up "I don’t care what is said out there, okay? We know what happened. We don’t care what the rest of the world thinks what happened, okay?"

"Okay…" I whispered.

"What about a nice, hot bath. Something to eat, maybe some mashed potatoes? Rice? Soup. Something light for your stomach? And then we’ll go to bed. We ignore the outside world."

"I really want to ignore the outside world… I’m just afraid they won’t let us ignore it…"

"Well, we don’t give a fuck then!" Charles got up and disappeared into the bathroom, where I heard him starting the bath "Come on now, cara mia. Let’s start ignoring the outside world."

"Ignoring the outside world my ass…" I mumbled after walking away from the second journalist, asking only questions about what happened in Maranello.

"What does that mean?" Julie asked but I shook my head.

"Please tell me I don’t have to go to any Spanish outlet." I pleaded but she looked at me apologetically "Great. Just great."

It was the same reporter like in Monza. I just knew that this wouldn’t end great.

"Lizzie. Lots of drama surrounding you lately." he began and I laughed "Can you maybe tell us why you punched Carlos Sainz senior? It looked like you were having a conversation and then straight up punched him for no reason."

"I don’t run around and punch people for no reason."

"So what made you do it then?"

"He said some not so nice things. And I don’t have to accept everything that’s coming out of his mouth. Although I know that violence never is the answer. I just short circuited and reacted. Which doesn’t make it right, I know, but it happened."

"But what made you short circuit?" he didn’t let go "We all know that you’re rather impulsive. And we also know that you attract drama like no other driver on the grid, just looking at the last months. The rumours about your nephew. Your short temper. An alleged stalker who allegedly tried to kill you. The list goes on…"

I looked at him. Alleged stalker? Allegedly tried to kill me?

"Fuck this shit. I’m done." I left. Didn’t look at Julie. Didn’t look at anyone.

"Lizzie?" Pierre shouted after me but I just kept on walking, leaving the paddock and this whole bullshit behind me.

Chapter 39 - drama, baby, drama! What can I say 🤷🏻‍♀️ Singapore is next… and as we all know what happened in real life… prepare yourself for what’s happening here…

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@silkenthusiasts @eugene-emt-roe @sunny44 @itsjustkhaos @glitterquadricorn @aundercover @kakorrhaphiphobia @alittlebitofbooksandmagic @ru-kru @shimmermotorsport @janeholt3 @kahhorri @18754389 @chiliwhore @hellowgoodbye @queensassybitchsworld @harrysdimple05 @skynel09

All the images I’m using are from Google, Pinterest and Instagram (or self made).Twat

55 notes · View notes