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personapeters · 7 months ago

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𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬

— a rafe cameron one shot (2 of 2) part one • part two

✰ you’re at a party with your ‘best friend’, rafe, when things suddenly turned sour, and he’s not afraid to fight for whats his.

rating: sfw — cw: blood, implications of tipsy driving

typically, rafe would send y/n a quick text whenever he went over to her house, alerting her of his arrival so she could let him inside, but this time, he doesn’t. instead, he knocked his sore knuckles against the large oak door with a heavy sigh before attempting to adjust his disheveled appearance. after a minute, he knocked again impatiently, this time with a little more force.

“who is it?” a familiar voice called from inside a few seconds later, to which rafe replied, “it’s me.” instantly, he heard the heavy locks turn as the door began to open. “jesus, rafe, i though you were a murderer or some-,” she began, but abruptly stopped when the man was fully in her view, her eyes wide as she took in his appearance, “what—what the fuck happened?”

“don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, casually stepping forward and through the threshold, causing y/n to subconsciously step backwards as she stared up at him in bewilderment. “wha—‘don’t worry about it’? rafe, you’re bleeding,” she voiced with concern, her eyes scanning over the fresh gash on his mouth and ring of red soaked into his once blue collar.

“really? didn’t notice,” he muttered sarcastically, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he shut the door behind him. “don’t be an ass,” she scolded, softly hitting his muscular arm as he strutted into her kitchen, “seriously, what happened?”

he ignored her questioning as he rinsed his hands under the cold water of the sink, running his damp palms over his face with a deep breath. “rafe, answer me, why are you—,” she prodded while following close on his trail, stopping abruptly a few feet away as a look of realization washed over her face, “you didn’t…”

“i did,” rafe rebutted simply with a shrug as he filled a glass of water, turning around and leaning casually against the counter as he drank it. “oh my god,” y/n breathed out exasperatedly, “you told me you wouldn’t.”

“yeah, well, i lied,” he spoke nonchalantly, staring off blankly into the space before him as though he was deep in thought. “you shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered, standing beside him with her hands resting on the counter. “yeah? and why not?” he snapped suddenly, causing her to jump lightly in her place, which was noticed immediately — he cursed himself for being so erratic.

“look,” he started again with a softer, quieter tone, “people like that, have to learn not to fuck with people like you.” the statement was open ended and rather vague, causing a question to stir inside her. “people like me?” she wondered aloud, to which she received no reply. instead, rafe dropped his cup into the sink with a clink before turning to face her and making a motioning for her to come closer with his fingers. “show me your arm,” he requested, his eyes low as he gazed at her expectantly.

“rafe, your lip is literally bleeding, we should—,” she began, her voice raising slightly in emphasis, but he wasn’t going for any of it. “show me your arm,” he repeated, this time with much more conviction, extending a large hand as he impatiently waited. she sighed, reluctantly holding out her left arm while watching him intently, anticipating the negative reaction.

he encased her smaller wrist within his fingers, using his free hand to slide up her sleeve before softly twisting her arm to reveal the faint, pink remanence of finger marks adoring her bicep. an instant wave of fury flooded his body as his eyes raked up and down her forming bruise. the burning fire in his chest singed at every remaining nerve of self control; if he didn’t know any better, he would have driven right back to where he came and expelled his anger onto the man all over again, this time making sure only one of them was able to walk away. he released her from his grasp as he felt his muscles tighten, his jaw tightly clenched.

“yeah, that’s a bruise,” he gritted out as he nodded to himself in disbelief, and y/n quickly noticed his shift in demeanor. “doesn’t hurt or anything,” she offered as a consolation, hoping it would somehow soothe him as she tugged her sleeve back down. “you put ice on it?” rafe asked, exhaling slowly as he attempted to recompose himself and hopefully redirect his thoughts.

“no, it’s not that bad,” she concluded while ripping a paper towel off it’s roll on the counter, running it under the cold water of the sink. “well, you should,” he mumbled, “helps it heal.” she sighed, squeezing out the excess water before turning to face him once more. “rafe, it’s fine. your face is literally busted open,” she rebutted with a small, reassuring smile, “i promise, i’ll live.”

she reached up to the taller man’s face, gingerly holding his jaw with one hand and lightly dabbing at the corner of his lip with the other, attempting to clean some of the dried blood. “does that hurt?” she questioned, pausing for a moment to meet his eyes. his face was nearly expressionless as he lightly shook his head, his gaze locked down on her while his skin almost burned from her touch, and not because of his injury. she nodded in understanding, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration as she continued cleaning his face, and rafe couldn’t help but gaze down at her with a sense of adoration — she was truly captivating.

no one’s ever cared for rafe the way y/n did — she was always there to (try and) set his head straight, often talking him down whenever he’s angry, keeping him from doing things she says he’ll regret, though he’s never convinced he will. she’s always given him a place to crash whenever things got heated at home, opening her door for him with no ultimatums, no judgement. she was genuine, unwavering and pure — he wasn’t sure if he’d ever meet another quite like her again; in fact, he knew he wouldn’t.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, feeling a sense of guilt as her eyes raked over his battered face. “i did, y/n,” he replied, stark seriousness in his tone, “and i’d do it again.” she shook her head with a small smile threatening to break through, “i know you would.” she turned to throw away the dirtied paper towel and grabbed another clean one, wetting it before mumbling, “two wrongs don’t make a right, y’know.”

“first of all, that’s corny as fuck,” he stated bluntly, resulting in a laugh abruptly escaping y/n lips, causing a smile to decorate his face, “and second of all, i don’t do ‘wrong’ to make it ‘right’ — s’to make it even,” rafe stated matter-a-factly, lightly wincing when y/n patted directly at his wound. she knew rafe’s mindset differed greatly from her own, though that never stopped her from at least attempting to steer him in the right direction — even if it is ‘corny.’

“you’re gonna need stitches,” she muttered with sympathy laced heavily in her voice, turning to toss the crimson tinted wad into the trash behind her. “mmm, don’t think so,” he replied casually, his blue eyes following her movements before she stopped in her place. “rafe, it’s like a quarter inch deep. you need to go to the hospital, like, now,” she insisted, her brows raised in emphasis, “before it gets infected or something — seriously.”

he knew it wasn’t something y/n was going to let go or ignore, and he also knew it was likely in his best interest to just do as she said; he’d never admit it, but she was typically always right. “okay, alright, if you say so,” he replied defeatedly with a sigh. “i do say so — you’re good to drive, right?” she questioned over her shoulder while scrubbing her hands with soap and hot water in the sink.

“i mean, i got here, didn’t i?” he shrugged with a small smirk, watching as she dried her hands while wholeheartedly knowing she wouldn’t like his answer. “that wasn’t the question,” she mumbled, shooting him an annoyed look. “yes, y/n, i’m good to drive,” he reassured, knowing his continued antics would only stress her further, “only had a shot worth’a liquor ‘nd that was, like, an hour ago — i’m good.”

“promise?” she asked, turning to him with a pointed look as though it would prod the truth out of him. “promise,” he replied, feeling his chest warm lightly as he found her concern over him to be rather endearing. “also,” he continued, “m’gonna have to crash here tonight — shit spreads quick ‘nd the cops are probably at my mine already.”

though y/n didn’t support some of rafe’s choices, she still supported him nonetheless — she swore it would lead to her downfall one day. “yeah… yeah, of course,” she agreed, nodding slightly as she watched him casually head towards the door, following in-suit behind him. “want me to come with?” she offered sweetly as he opened the door and turned swiftly to face her.

“i’m a big boy — think i can handle it,” he quipped with a soft smirk, “you go pick out a movie or somethin’ for later; won’t be long.” she rolled her eyes, shaking her head playfully before saying, “you’re not setting foot in my room until you shower; you’re filthy.”

“yeah?” he smiled devilishly as he leaned in the doorway, causing y/n to groan while holding back a smile. “you have issues,” she laughed out, lightly pushing him backwards by his chest until he stepped out onto the porch. “tell me about it,” he rebutted, the amused look never leaving his face as he stared down at her.

“i could but we don’t have all night… now go,” she replied warmly, enjoying the comforting feeling growing inside her at the light banter. “ouch,” he laughed, holding a hand to his chest with a faux grimace, “might be the worst pain i’ve felt all day.”

“you’re ridiculous,” she smiled, her eyes resting on him for a few moments before her voice softened significantly, saying, “drive safe, okay? text me when you’re there.” rafe nodded wordlessly, his gaze lingering on her for just a few moments as though it was a silent ‘goodbye’ before turning to step off the porch.

before he even made it down the first step, he was stopped. “wait,” y/n called out, instantly cursing herself for starting something she may regret. rafe paused and turned to face her, a questioning look on his face as a singular brow was slightly raised. “yeah?” he asked, waiting expectantly. without much of a second thought, she padded her bare feet out of the house and into the chill air of the night, stopping abruptly before him.

she reached up and lightly cupped his face with a ginger hand, turning his head ever-so-slightly before pressing a warm, soft kiss onto the bare corner of his lips. rafe was taken aback, but the burning sensation that shot throughout his entire being brought him back to reality immediately. it was a touch so sweet — so tender, one he’s never felt before; it almost made his knees weak.

she pulled away with a hand still rested flush to his jaw as her eyes flickered back and forth between his blue ones. “thank you,” she whispered, her words soaked with sincerity and gratitude as she spoke. it took rafe a moment to fully gather his thoughts and process his reality, but in the midst of the overwhelming rush, he managed to murmur, “y-yeah… always.”

with that, y/n slid her hand from his face, leaving him with a soft, closed-lipped smile before spinning on her heels and re-entering her home, closing the door without a second glance. rafe stood in his place staring at the closed door before him, the tingling in his lips numbing any of the pain he once felt.

rafe didn’t know too much about the night’s events as a whole, it all being a mix of many emotions and feelings, but what he did know was that he’d take a thousand busted, bloody lips, over and oven and over again if it meant that y/n would be there to kiss them better.

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livecrow · 8 months ago

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You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

DARK!Ghost x fat fem reader

CWs: kidnapping, rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink, animal play, threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet; after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more?

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people “jus’ need killin’.”

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither.” After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food, and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality.

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing, left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it.

Wrangling you was simple; it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your total lack of survival instinct was staggering. It was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he could almost laugh.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you. It was endearing. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”

Simon's first concern was not damaging you too much. He was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck, and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. He could have groaned audibly at the squishy softness of your neck alone, his muscled arm practically stony in comparison. But he'll have time for that later. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory. Of course but he’s not actually applying enough pressure to choke you. You’re just forced to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led; he would simply tighten his hold and let you catch a wink. Pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel worktable, the metal stings even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the meat shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips and one rough yank, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but it's your turgid nipples where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle.

You were a bit of silly thing. It's good that he snapped up you before something bad happened to you. Might be a minute before you caught on, but he didn't mind waiting.

You're his perfect little prize. No doubt you'd win "Best of Fair"— that is, if Simon was willing to let someone else gawk at what's his. It was tempting. You'd look pretty in that blue ribbon.

He knows exactly where he'd stick it. The pin would sink riiiiiiight through the tender flesh of your nipple, easy as. He'd make it quick, but you'd squall all the same. His cock strained impatiently against his trousers at the visage. Your teary face, that shiny rosette hanging down proudly, bobbing slightly at your teat, forked ends kissing your belly as he made you "sit pretty" for the cameras.

...but no, you're just his.

Simon will keep you at home. Coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness from him.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what you need clothes for?” he scoffs. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want an answer. A dog doesn’t answer “Who's a good boy?” does he?

You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store. He's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. And he’s—he's measuring you? Jotting things down. Snapping at you to "'old still" as he steadies the tape, making sure there's the right amount of snug tension to get a proper measurement. Just as you try to obey, he's manhandling you again, moving you this way and that, one position to the next. The tape tickles terribly.

As he lassos your wide upper thigh, the tape suddenly brushes against the lips of your pussy, making your heart stutter painfully. When he pulls back the tape, you're holding your breath. He just returns to the pad of paper. As you try and calm yourself, you think distantly that the stubby pencil looks puny in his giant fist as he adds to his chicken scratch.

You were sorely mistaken when you thought that you'd get even a brief reprieve. No, what's coming next is worse. You're completely helpless to fight him off, your punches and kicks might as well have been the frantic swats of a rabbit's soft paws, for all he reacted. Your wrists were lashed to your ankles behind your back, joints complaining at the unfamiliar stretch. Hogtied. By the end of it, you’re panting, trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape it. While the measuring tape may have tickled, the twine fucking bites.

Simon admires his work, says it looks good on you. He can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing, humiliating pinch. You struggle, of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn.

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. You still feel the warmth of his hand long after the swat. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand-stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of D-rings. It will be more comfortable for you, and more importantly, he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chafing.

"I'll 'ave somethin' made from you too."

As he admires your skin, that's what he muses offhandedly. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. "Couldn’t find more supple, could you?" He hasn’t decided what you'll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. If he's careful, he's hoping he could get a jacket and a fine, sturdy pair of boots out of you. Every time he sits down to clean his boots, buff and polish them to a shine, he'll think of you.

Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That's the first time your consciousness flees from you. Seeing your face suddenly slacken, fat cheek smooshed against the table, is delightful.

Simon lays it on thick, praising how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you honestly can't blame him for any of this, really. Something about wagyu beef.

Oh, come off it, he's going to take good care of you while you're still bleating too, not just your hide, so why are you pitching a fit? You won't find meat living a softer life. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge, oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying; it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged.

His hands are always on you; it’s never-ending. Brutish fingers always pressing, tips disappearing into your doughy plushness. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating, and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats; might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food. You don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful, and to no one’s surprise, it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop, of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye.” He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher,” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'."

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner from whatever position he's left you tied in at that particular moment. Just seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. That day, dinner is steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, and roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over, forced to eat off a dish on the floor without the use of your hands, knees aching, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise.

Still, if he’s in a mood, he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess” when he deliberately misses your mouth.

The food was prepared, but this time the knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your periphery. Glinting.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased as you dutifully open for him without being told. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like.

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence. Until he wasn't

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was a sort of twisted mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes.

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then.

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the oversized knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side—

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue

“They’ll say ’m spoilin’ you rotten. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?” He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whether Simon lets you speak depends on his mood. Somedays you're gagged the whole day, besides feeding and watering. In that case it's usually a milder gag. Cloth or tape. If you give him a reason, run your mouth , you'll force Simon to remind you "what you are." His favorite is the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make are special. Little nonsense noises, almost like "you're tryin' to talk like a person would." Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little.

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze.

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker.

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day.”

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it.

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes.

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, dark eyes crinkling, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

#crow writes #i love that this is the first thing i've ever posted publicly and it's this abomination #this is as dark as i'll write lol #now i need something soft with Ghost as a form of pseudo aftercare #this is a sick fuck dark/horror version of Ghost and isn't intended to be canon accurate #dead dove do not eat #both reader and author are fat #I don't know how to write accents #egregious use of quotation marks and italics #dark!Ghost #dark!Simon Riley #call of duty #Silmon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #smut #fat reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #cw: noncon

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thescarletwitchsapprentice · 3 months ago

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My Princess (Yandere!Rio Vidal x female!autistic!ADHD!glasses-wearing!reader)

(CW: Break-in, murder implication, thievery, kidnapping, internalized ableism

Summary: After you're stood up by your third blind date and come home feeling nearly sick, there's someone waiting to make you feel like the most important person, but at what cost?

Author's Note: Of course I'm gonna make auDHD reader stories with Yandere Rio. What do you think I am? Mentally and emotionally stable?

Two hours.

That's how long you've been waiting at the restaurant for a blind date you're supposed to be on and they haven't shown up. And your autism is backfiring on you because this is a major change. It was already nerve-wracking getting the courage to go on a blind date, but for them to not even show up? That's just asking for anxiety.

You haven't even ordered anything yet; it'd be impolite to order before they got there, but you can feel your stomach begging for food.

All this six months after your break-up with your ex-girlfriend, when you finally managed to get the courage to get back out into the dating scene. But third time's the charm post-breakup, right?

"Just another half an hour," you think, glancing around the restaurant. "They're just running very late, right?"

You've been telling yourself that for the past two hours. Maybe they just need reminding?

You check the DMs you sent; no response. The last message you sent was an hour ago and the last message they sent was two hours ago; they said they'd be there later. You decide to type one in to send.

"Hey, where are you? It's getting really late."

You click send.

Wait, what?

MESSAGE COULD NOT BE DELIVERED.

You decide to check the website to see what that means. Anxiety is pinballing around your stomach until you find it; it means the account was banned or they blocked you. You click on their profile; the account is still there.

It's official; you've been blocked.

At that moment, you feel the crack form in your heart and the tears forming in your eyes. You pushed through discomfort to pluck your eyebrows, wear contacts, get your nails done, do your hair up nicely, wear a form-fitting dress, AND put on makeup; all for you to get stood up...

It's the third time in a row too. Your heart sinks.

"What am I doing wrong?" you think, trying to hold back your tears. "Am I not pretty enough? Am I too weird? What's the problem?"

"Miss, are you going to order anything?"

You tense up as you hear the waiter ask you again for the seventh time tonight. You sigh.

"I....I don't think I'm gonna. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I think I'll just go."

You decide to leave a tip--$20 sounds about right--and head out of the restaurant. You hear the sky rumble and droplets on your head. Great. A thunderstorm. At least the walk to the parking lot isn't too lo--

Wait, where the hell is your car?!

You could've sworn that you parked it here. Where did it go? Did it get stolen?

The sky rumbles again.

It doesn't matter. You need to get home, so you try to flag down a taxi, but no dice. And now it's practically pouring and none of your friends are picking up to take you home. And why do you still have your ex's number?

"I can't believe I forgot to block her," you sigh.

You decide to take care of that when you get home, which is a thirty minute drive....and a sixty minute walk.

Great.

Just great.

By the time you get home, your legs are blaring with pain and you feel like you're going to freeze from the cold rain gushing down on you. You can barely make it up the steps to your top floor apartment. Almost immediately, you head to your bathroom and swipe up the makeup wipes, still trying not to cry even as you wipe it all off get the contact lenses out. The glasses are much more comfortable, but they don't alleviate your broken heart. Even a warm shower doesn't help.

As soon as you're finished, you're wrought with exhaustion; all you want is to go to sleep. But as you pass through your living room, you get a strange feeling, one that's telling you that you're not alone.

But that makes no sense. You live alone, so who coul--?

"Surprise, m'lady."

The voice is low and soft, and familiar. Whirling around you find one of the last people you expected to see; your ex-girlfriend, Rio Vidal.

"H-how did you--?!" you stammer.

"Door was unlocked," she shrugs. "But that's not the issue; you look like you've been through the wringer, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

"I don't nee--"

"Yes, you do," Rio insists. "I know how you are when it comes to self-care and it's abysmal, so I'm going to be taking care of you, whether you like it or not."

In one swift motion, Rio sweeps you up into a bridal carry and takes you to your bedroom.

"This is it?" she asks. "What do they think you are? A peasant?"

She sets you down on the bed and uses her magic, transforming your bedroom into something more akin to a princess' bedroom and then your PJs into something more akin to a princess' nightgown, soft and white, draping down to just above your ankles.

"Rio--" you begin as she shuts the door.

"Shhh," she shushes gently. "Don't you worry; I'll take care of everything. You just stay there and look pretty."

Rio pulls the blankets up to your chest before using her magic to conjure up a feast of your favorites. The smell wafts to your nose, and you're caught in its enchantment. Of course your stomach definitely doesn't object and you go to grab a fork.

"Ah-ah-ah," Rio scolds with a playful smirk. "Princesses shouldn't have to do the work meant for servants."

She sits down on the bed next to you and snatches up the silverware before digging into one of the dishes and feeding you.

"You're so beautiful, like the cosmos full of shimmering stars," she sighs with a tone that's a mixture of affection and obsession. "Anyone with common sense would be euphoric if they got to date you."

You try to hold back a wince as you remember why you returned to your apartment looking like shit to begin with.

"You are an angel, so full of sweetness and light," she continues, her tone becoming gentle and soothing. "You deserve to be with someone who appreciates how unique you are, who sees you as one-of-a-kind, who treats you like a princess, their princess."

She leans in and whispers.

"My princess."

Hearing this, the hair on the back of your neck stands on edge. You try to escape, but why isn't Rio trying to go after you? You go to the door and open it, your stomach flipping at what you see.

You're not in your apartment anymore; no, instead you see a long, elegant hallway, the walls a regal dark blue, like something from a castle....Rio's castle.

"You like it?"

You jump upon hearing Rio's voice purr in your ear. She uses your shock as an opportunity to lead you back to the bed, clearing off the food with her magic.

"Why are you so stunned?" she chuckles. "I should think seeing how luxurious your new home is would help you forget about the car and the date. Both are....rather out of commission anyhow."

You freeze upon hearing this; no, surely Rio wouldn't go THAT far?

"You're why I've been gettin--?!"

"Those mortals would never treat you like the princess you are. I did you a favor."

In an instant, Rio pins you to the bed. As you look up at her, you see that all-too-familiar look in her eyes; obsessive affection.

"You really didn't think you'd escape me that easily, did you?" she chuckles. "Every mortal has to face Death eventually, after all."

Rio moves off of you and onto the bed. She pulls you to her, your back against her chest and her arms around you tightly before conjuring up a blanket around the two of you.

"Except, for you, it won't be for being guided to the afterlife."

She moves close to your ear, her breath hot and smelling of peppermint as she whispers, causing shivers to run through you....

"It will be right back to me...."

#rio vidal #yandere rio vidal #audhd reader #female reader #yandere #yandere marvel #rio vidal x reader #yandere avengers

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angelyuji · 3 months ago

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I really love your Yandere!Cecil stuff and its kind of my favorite rn! But was was wondering if you could do something soft-ish Yandere?? I gues??? I don't know what I'm talking about. Like ___ has Superpowers and Cecil and them got together after he was made the Director of the GDA. ___ Has been a hero so long that they're tired, exhausted even, and then they talk to Cecil about it. Cecil would be surprisingly okay with the idea of hiding them away so they could have a break. Cecil knows they can take care of themselves but can't help but panic and obsess over them. Cameras watching the house and town (not everyone's a spy cause she knows a lot of the agents from working with them for so long) as well as a secret tracker implanted in them after a really big kidnapping accident as a hero (came in handy?) But like a soft but dark yandere Cecil.

I'm sorry if this really long and detailed but if you give it the time to think it over, thank you so much! ��

hello my silly!! long and detailed is what i like best :) pause...

i honestly see cecil is a pretty soft yandere unless he's panicky and you're getting on his nerves. (or just not listening/understanding him)

i see what you're cooking tho so lemme see if i can expand on that. also fun fact: im supposed to be studying rn... but... i cant get cecil out of my head so...

cw // yandere, kidnapping (not cecil initiated), nonconsenual body modification, nothing too coo-coo in the fic (just... implications of coo-coo if u read into it), kinda voyeurism

crazy yan!cecil headcanons at the end so cw // manipulation, emotional/financial abuse, abuse of power, gaslighting (kinda... from me lmao)

"i need to get out, cecil." you were tired. it was exhausting, this job. everything has fallen onto your shoulders with the guardians gone, omni-man a murderer, and now a viltrum takeover on the horizon. you were drained, physically and mentally. "i know, you need me, but invincible and atom eve and all the others are adults now. so..." you look to him and cecil stares at you, his face unreadable. "please... say something."

"(y/n)... if this is what you want, i'll do it for you." cecil sighs.

"really?" your bottom lip quivers as you hold back your relieved tears. cecil smiles slightly, reaching out to cup your face. you lean into his warmth.

"honey, i'd do anything for you."

you wash the dishes, mind wandering to your lover. cecil had come over as if knowing you had missed him. you feel his lips touch your neck as he wraps his arms your waist, "we can finish the dishes tomorrow, how about you come to bed..." his lips trace down your neck to pepper your shoulder.

you giggle at the feeling, "i'd rather get it down now, so we can sleep in tomorrow." he sighs, giving in quickly. cecil rubs your arms, massaging your biceps as you finish up. you turn in place, throwing your arms around his neck, "now, let's go have some fun."

cecil couldn't think straight, you had been missing for 4 days now. every hero was searching for you, but he couldn't do anything. all he could do was wait for the assholes to reach back out with their demands. all he could do was sit around and wait. "what the hell kind of partner am i, donald." he rubs his scar, his reminder.

"sir, we're going to find them." donald's voice is calm, but nothing could settle cecil's heart until he could see you again... alive. hours pass before the first demand comes in.

his heart burns as he sees your face, you were beaten and bloody, almost unrecognizable. "play the video." cecil's voice was thick, holding back his anger and fear. donald tries to say something, but cecil could barely contain his rage, "play the fucking video, donald."

the first second was silent before the screams started, cecil couldn't breathe, the agony and pain in your beautiful voice. you were sobbing as they started to beat you once more. "we're going to keep fucking up your pretty little hero's face until we get what we want. 10 million, a jet, and some nice...." someone whispers, "yeah! some nice machine guns too, add those in. you guys get 2 hours or we kill this bitch." someone whispers again, but the sound of a train passing covers it up. "oh yeah, bring it to-" cecil can't listen, his brain focused on you. his love, his world, you were mouthing something. the video ends with another warning.

"they're giving us the location." cecil's eyes widen. before long, the GDA had sent your location to every hero they had. you were unconscious when you were brought in and cecil couldn't rest. what if this happened again? what would he do if the next time, you couldn't help them figure out where you were? what if the next time, you were brought back in a body bag?

"mr. stedman?" the doctor looked nervous, "i did what you asked, the tracker. are you sure they want-"

"where is it in them?"

"left bicep, they won't feel anything, they won't even know its there. but... are you sure they wanted-"

"are they awake yet?" cecil didn't have time for the doctor and her moral conundrum. she nods, stepping aside for cecil. cecil stops to lean in, "if i hear you breathe a word about this to anyone, especially them, you won't live to see another day. are we clear?" she nods, shaking.

"hey neighbor!" dave smiles at you as he waters the flowers in his front garden. you wave back, grabbing the mail. "your husband left already? i wanted to meet him." dave frowns, playfully.

"oh- he's not-" you pause, "yeah, he has another work trip, unfortunately. i'll invite you and janet for dinner when he comes back!" the two of you chat for a second before you go back inside. cecil smiles, hearing you call him your husband. donald clears his throat behind him.

"what." cecil sighs, moving his attention away from the cameras in your town.

"immortal and dupli-kate want to talk to you about their retirement."

"christ, donald... fine. give me a minute..." cecil sends you a quick text 'i miss you.' "you know (y/n)'s neighbor, dave... butler. is he one of ours?"

donald taps at his tablet, "no, sir, that's one of the civilians." cecil hums, satisfied. 'i miss you too, come home soon <3'

this is unrelated to your ask, but someone asked me what they think would happen if you tried to run after figuring everything out (in the case of civi!reader but ill touch on supe!reader too cuz i love u guys)

cecil has a tracker in you. and i mean that literally. it's pretty easy to make people do things if you're the leader of the GDA lol

if you run, cecil will know. he has cameras, not only in your house, but all over the town you're in. he has all of your financial activity monitored and also this man has/had (depending on what season we're talking here) the strongest superheroes in the world following his orders

there's no where you could go that he wouldn't find you especially if you're a regular person

you could try, if you cut the tracker out of you or smth, but like... why would u... he's not hurting you or hurting your family :( he's only watching your every move and isolating you from the real world so he could be the only one who gets to be with you :((( is that so bad???

i feel like if u did run, u couldn't go to your family for help

cecil would probably reach out to them first talking abt some "mental break" and he needs to get to u first before u do something crazy

and why wouldn't they believe the kind government man that you've only ever spoken kindly about

anywho i love cecil and i want him to impregnate me WOAHHH WHO SAID THAT

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carminekings · 1 year ago

Text

martin nods, once, as if this act alone would prove his understanding. he wants to clarify an opinion, to draw the lines thicker with pen, but nate looks resigned -- tired and almost nauseous from the weight of his responsibilities. if harm had been done, fate's careful hand would understand -- martin knows this -- has seen it proven under his own gaze. perhaps they would work through nate too, wielding the hammer tight around his knuckles, and swinging with shared effort. it would be like release, a jolt of satisfaction worth the mess, the blood, the spatter. and then, like martin, nate would be free. he nods again, suddenly relieved by the private journey. "maybe clean isn't the right word. even then. an even slate. both bowls on the scale may be filled, but they're still level," he continues, mumbling along with the realization. yes! how could any aspect of the world be clean after all? it isn't cleanliness they seek, it's balance. lady justice, surfacing through the muck, her gavel stained with blood. then briefly entertained by the presumed proposal of nate's father's downfall -- martin shifts in his seat, invasive when he leans in, almost excitable. "have you thought about how you would do it? what steps you would take? -- the police are really thorough nowadays -- security cameras are insistent, and although i'm skeptical of police dogs -- they scare me in general -- i imagine their noses pick up blood really well. they're over funded, frankly. the police, not the dogs."

martin being in his overall presence, much less his car, a space he deemed sacred and didn't often let others into was unnerving. the words martin chooses to go with in response to what nate tells him doesn't exactly reassure him, but he's so used to sitting with discomfort and coldness that nate doesn't react impulsively but offers the other boy a searching, sidelong glance. "what'd you mean? if he wants to live period, or if he wants to avoid living out the rest of his life behind bars being passed around for a pack of cigarettes?" he huffs a laugh, the sound of it harsh and hollow. evidently, something nate's given thought to before. he's suffered head trauma from sports related injuries and had to sit through remedial classes, but solving this equation didn't prove too difficult for nate, having entertained what would happen if his dad was caught along with the arguably worse outcome. as if he's suddenly realizing how incredibly stupid and reckless this all is, nate's breath hitches. he glances back at martin, studying his face for any give or signs of palpable fear. "if you tell anyone this, i'll put you in the fucking ground. but you're smart, right? you knew that already." then he offers a chillingly placid smile, like the threat of bodily harm was something obligatory they had to muddle through and now they could go back to being amicable. he hums in acknowledgement, idly gnawing at the flesh of his bottom lip. what martin's saying sounds nice, makes sense, but overall rings hollow to nate's ears and he's learned that these things can drag on for a long, long time without the universe doing a goddamn thing. "you don't get it, man. i think i have to be that bad thing. do you think people can change their nature? like, the uh, parable. the scorpion and the frog. 'cause i don't know, and if i leave it alone, it's gonna get worse." nate doesn't want to elaborate on what he means by 'worse' when by all accounts, things looked pretty fucking bleak. on paper, maybe to someone other than nate, his family looked so normal and squeaky clean, up until you started poking around the sediment to see how dirty the water really ran. putrid and stagnant. his gaze softens at the mention of a clean slate, throat working around nothing but the desperation of how much he wishes that were true. "no. it's too late for that. my hands aren't clean, i've already done something fucking stupid."

#— nate & martin ( threads )#— & tragedyrich.#/ me . loudly cheering as martin advocates for Murder even though it's doubtful this is what nate's advocating for #cw murder implication #/ PERHAPS ? idk . both these chars should come with Assumed cws at this rate .

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arieswritez · 2 months ago

Text

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 4

chapter 3

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH, reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you’ll miss it), SADIST MARK, violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, so . . gore, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he’s a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; [the fuckin' thought of you with somebody else, i don't like that.] . . actually, if you even consider leaving i'll lose a couple screws in due time, i'll stop breathing and you'll see the meaning of stalker when i pop out the dark to find you and that new dude that you're seeing with a attitude - IFHY (tyler the creator)

there was blood on mark's hands.

syrupy and wet.

the distinct stench of iron rot fogged up his senses.

blood clots stuck like soft gelatin between his fingers. stretching, snapping webs of gore whenever he opened and closed his hands.

still warm as he switched on the water from your sink.

the suds from your hand soap came up a copper brown, adorned by tiny rivulets of red as he dug beneath his fingernails to scrape away any remnants of viscera.

dna washed away by tap water.

his skin purified once again.

mark looked up and met the eyes in the reflection, making sure to pick off specks of skull fragment and the fatty tissue of brain matter from strands of his hair.

what a fantasy.

a blink and it's all gone.

just like you.

you and your attention.

your undying devotion. a huff and the flame gets snuffed.

better yet. . you light and pass the torch to someone fucking else.

it's no good.

there's no use being mad at you and your uninspiring devotion. how special is your love, really, if it is so easily obtained?

and why does the fact that it no longer belongs to mark so upsetting?

why'd the realization that anyone who called you pretty would have you fantasizing about baby's breath bouquets - something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe - make his blood run that much hotter?

why'd it make him stare down into the sink, faucet running, as he tried to slow down his breathing? gripping the edges of your porcelain sink until he heard it creak. counting forwards to a hundred, then back again.

he did all the things the therapist his mother took him to recommended he do when those feelings came up. things to see, smell, and touch, and taste. but the only thing that came through the ringing in his ears was the vivid fantasy of tearing your boy apart.

he could see the light leaving his eyes. he could smell the acrid stench of piss running down the coward's leg. and god knows he'd only ever touch him to dispose of his body.

and at the end, he'd taste the tears collecting at your cupid's bow when you sought comfort in his presence. just like the old days. it'd all be worth it in the end.

. . he shouldn't have read your dairy.

not because debbie raised him to 'respect privacy' - because who doesn't keep shit in their notes app in this day and age? - but because it put him in a shitty mood.

but he was also glad he did it.

it revealed what your problem was.

and mark's always been your problem solver.

mark was imaginative.

mark was smart.

mark was also patient.

surely, you'll get bored.

you'll preoccupy your mind with mundane things: how the world spins, for example. what you'll make of yourself. what people will think of you.

ouroboros: swallowing yourself whole trying to find the beginning to the end.

will you be loved? how will you be loved?

you're a glutton obsessing over not being enough in the first place. more, more, more.

you'll dizzy yourself.

come full circle, nausea and vertigo, habitually crawling back to him.

you're a distracted little thing.

you always have been.

it's in your nature.

mark tries not to be too hard on you about your romantic pursuits.

after all, you'll go after what you think you deserve.

and if that's dysfunction, then so be it.

however. . . your standards could be a little higher. had it been any other person occupying your mind. . mark wouldn't have cared.

oh, not at all.

he cares fuck all about your meaningless schoolyard crushes but the one thing that boils mark's blood is all of the abuse.

the hoops you have to jump through for the smallest shred of applause.

and really, how pathetic do you have to be? why can't you see that he's using you? as entertainment. as a pet. as a clown.

and what you don't understand is that deep down. . mark and your boy aren't all that different.

which explains why you like him so much.

mark and your boy were sharks.

your boy could smell your blood from a mile away; see the desperation in the way you sauntered past him, salivating at the thought of being the apple of his eye.

he saw you for what you were: prey.

and they saw right through your flimsy little costume of new clothing and perfumed wrists.

your boy and his group of cronies didn't laugh at your jokes because they thought you were funny. they laughed at the idea of you believing they found you entertaining.

your mediocre attempts at relevancy were funny - hilarious, even - because of how eager you were to impress them.

and the only reason why they hadn't used and discarded you like a plastic bag with warm dog shit inside of it was because they were more than happy tossing a coin into traffic, making you fetch just so they could entertain themselves watching you get hit by a bus.

but everything for your boy, right?

you and that fucking boy.

whatever it is, mark's more than willing to find a way to make all of that stop. he's devised some plans to make everything go back to the way they used to be.

it'd always been you and mark.

mark and you.

he planned to keep it that way.

and so, he was on his best behavior.

he'd let you have your boy.

he'd push down the bile that crawled up his throat whenever he imagined his hands on you. whenever he saw your face light up whenever your phone pings with a notification.

mark can be a very good actor.

he'd act as if his stares weren't deadly when you looked up and caught him looking at you. he could melt those icey eyes, the ones that glaze over in anger, and turn them into their usual warm brown.

he's on his best behavior.

attentive, even.

he's so, so interested in what you've got going on.

who are you talking to? yes you can tell me. no i won't get mad. yes. i promise. him? yeah, I remember. why didn't you tell me?

no, i'm not mad.

good for you!

no, i won't threaten him.

who do you think i am~?

mark knows better than to be outright poisonous towards you. not when there was another boy willing to stuff your pretty little head with cotton.

you are far too sensitive to hear anything that isn't a candied lie. if he plays nice, it gives him the upper-hand.

there is no need to vent to a diary when your best friend is sitting in front of you, doe eyed and innocent, the way he pretended to be when you two were twelve and his mom would check up on you in his room. or when teachers would walk past and he had to pretend he wasn't pressing the sharp point of his pencil into your thigh.

mark loves your parent(s).

they aren't that much different than you.

in fact, mark has come to find that there aren't many people that match him in terms of intelligence.

he can see why you came out the way you did. un-special, if he's feeling kind. the other word he'd like to use is not nice to call someone.

pining after approval, your parent(s) were very easy to like.

very easy to control.

"i just don't know if they've told you, yet. . it seems kinda unfair that i'll be the one to say." mark mutters under his breath, tracing shapes into the dining room table as your parent(s) sit across from him.

"mark," your parent reaches across the table, hoping to grab his hand, only for mark to pull it out of their reach. "if something's happening. . we want to know. we need to know."

"it's just that. ." mark pauses, gives a few seconds to really build the tension. "it's a bit embarrassing."

super.

he's worried about you, you see? there's a group of guys you've been chasing around in school. . and mark doesn't think they have your best interest in mind.

mark has heard. . things.

but you've gone cold on him.

he's worried you might be. .

well, he's worried you might be having sex.

with a few. .

. . all of them?

oh, who gives a shit? the more the better. and the more mark spills, plucks things out of thin air, the more petrified your parents look.

he makes sure to say it.

sex.

hisses, purrs it, whispers it like it's such a bad word.

he even wills himself to look embarrassed, averting his eyes like it's a shameful thing.

it brings him back to the day debbie caught him with some girl after a baseball game.

she had just been some random. a shiny object that called mark's attention. something he could put his dick into while he tucked his face into her neck and imagined the sounds you'd make.

his mom should've known he was already having sex. however, having been caught with his pants down and balls deep in someone wasn't necessarily the way he planned to break it to her.

he heard his mom and his dad arguing in the next room that night and, coincidentally, nolan came in and gave him 'the talk' to the best of his ability.

humans are fragile, mark.

yes, they are.

but the bruises on her were not his fault.

she was soft.

and she'd liked it.

nevertheless, your parents are not as forgiving as mark's.

they promise him it's not a big deal. that he did good. that he's good.

a good kid, a good student, a good friend.

but as soon as he's gone, he knows they are searching your room top to bottom.

he flies up to your room and peeks in through the curtains to watch them toss open closet doors, rummaging through clothing, bookbags, notebooks, whatever they can find.

and finally, your bed.

your diary with all the juicy, dirty - downright violent, jesus - fantasies mark wrote by forging your handwriting.

and your nightstand.

wherein tucked underneath your cute underwear lays a shiny pack of condoms.

at least you're being safe.

you'll never hear the end of it.

it's too good to miss and mark doesn't care if he has to wait all day for you to get home. he wants to watch your everything crash and burn.

not that he'll have to wait much, anyway.

your parent's on the phone, trying to contain red hot anger from spewing out like a backed up volcano, hissing at you to get home, now.

you poor thing.

you poor, poor, thing.

you don't know what to tell them when they toss the pack of condoms at your feet.

when they shove the journal in your face, showing you all the depraved things you wrote in that cute little scrawl.

the boys, the nights out in which you claimed to be at mark's: helping him out with a project.

yeah, right, stop lying, already!

"give me your phone. now."

fingers feverishly tapping and swiping, going through texts as tears stream down your flushed face.

you've got a date tonight.

and you hadn't told your parent(s).

what a coincidence, oh my!

your boy must've planned to seal the deal that night. and mark would be damned if he didn't have you first.

mark doesn't need to worry.

that's definitely not happening now, is it?

in fact, you won't be able to go anywhere that isn't class for the rest of the school year. not unless you're monitored by mark. and isn't it embarrassing, mark having to be some sort of guardian?

"I thought you were smarter than this."

and you're too good to yell back.

you're too good to argue and try to explain that it wasn't you.

you didn't buy condoms. you didn't write that. you didn't do anything.

but if it wasn't you, who was it?

who did?

you look every bit of a cornered animal. it's very you: to freeze in situations like that. back to the door, facing the window just enough for mark to be able to peek at every emotion going past your face through the crack of your curtains.

he watches it flicker past your eyes, the way the muscles in your neck tense up when you squeak out those ugly, strangled, sniffed out cries. the ones you try to hold back when you're crying alone in your room and you want no one else to hear them.

the ones you'd let out at your desk when you were itty bitty and your parent had dropped you off at kindergarten, promising you they'd be right back, but they never were.

you are so much like the way you used to be.

mark wishes things hadn't changed.

he wishes you were just as innocent, as good. he wishes no one would've turned you into what you are now.

he wishes you wouldn't have been stupid enough to let them.

you don't say anything.

you don't even push past your parent when they're done berating you, just stare down at the floor until their mouth has dried, and they shoulder check past you.

you only slowly turn to push the door closed, grab your computer and send a message to the only person you think you can confide in.

he arrives in ten minutes.

enough to make it believable, climb up a tree and sneak into your room.

you fall into his arms immediately, sobbing.

mark hopes you don't feel him smiling against your shoulder as he comforts you.

your boy has been different since the last time you talked to him. distant, distracted. different. you catch him zoning out whenever the two of you are studying in the library, not reciprocating when you try to play footsies with him.

you're not sure if it has to do with the night you had to cancel your date. sure, it was last minute but he'd told you that it was okay. but with everything going on at home, you don't have the patience to hear him lie.

"seriously, what's up?" you ask, kicking his shoe softly.

your boy looks up at you.

his eyes used to gleam with confidence. the type of cockiness that'd make your cheeks burn and butterflies flutter like mad in your stomach. but they looked empty then. he looked like he hadn't slept well. that night or the one before.

he looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. you leaned forward in response, your curiosity peaked.

"this is going to sound weird but. . do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"

you blinked.

"uh. . hm. ."

come to think of it. . sometimes you did. you've been sensitive to eyes on you since you can remember. the hyper vigilance is something you've grown accustomed to, making peace with the fact that it might not be a curse after all, and instead some sort of safety feature.

but it felt different.

not like the irrational tickle in your stomach whenever you think of a possibility. but the speckling feeling across your skin, crawling with a million legs, the kind that makes you hallucinate a breath against your neck. the type that has your head rolling, looking for an intruder.

nothing.

but you didn't tell your boy.

because your boy was talking about himself and you've learned to insert yourself into it could be rude.

you settle with saying, "what do you mean?"

he shrugged a shoulder. "i dunno. watched. I get that sometimes. see something from the corner of my eye. and when I turn to look it's gone."

you felt your heart pick up speed. strange. the same thing had been happening to you.

you let out a nervous laugh. "if you're saying this to scare me I'm gonna get really mad, y'know?"

"i'm serious." he said, almost urgently. "and here's this: i was walking to my car after baseball practice and found some weird red shit smeared across my windshield."

he's fucking with you.

surely, he is.

this must have something to do with the rumour circulating around school. the one in which they've seen a figure whizzing past. the one in which that figure is the reason in which some animal carcasses have been found in the baseball field, mutilated like some sort of fucked up science experiment. a villain that's found a hobby in terrorizing the town, perhaps.

"it's probably nothing." you whisper, unsure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"probably." he responds.

he doesn't look convinced.

and he doesn't reciprocate when you try, again, to get his attention.

your boy was gone.

gone, gone, gone.

word around the school was that he'd transfered.

but that started to feel suspicious when the students noticed the smell.

something easy to dismiss at first.

the kind of funk attributed to warm weather and not enough deodorant. growing boys and their scattered hormones.

and then it grew.

bold, loud.

ugly enough that it couldn't be ignored.

sour.

downright rancid.

and it was all coming from your boy's locker.

it got so bad a janitor had to pry his locker open.

and that's where they found a decomposed animal, tire marks through the middle of the delicate body. maggots swarming in the orifice where the eyes used to be.

you don't remember when the last time you saw him was.

you don't know if you ever will.

with his past time of mutilating animals and collecting roadkill, you're not sure you even want to.

and if you did, the only thing you'd ask is why?

mark seemed the least surprised about it.

he hadn't so much as grimaced as he told you the story of his locker being pried open.

the stench was the worst thing, apparently.

although, it wasn't enough to deter his appetite as he popped grapes between his fingers, making sure to squirt the juice onto you as he described fat, wriggling maggots falling off in swarming little balls off of the carcass.

you shiver, skin crawling, staring at the pile of homework before mark.

now that your boy had vanished into thin air, his entourage wanted nothing to do with you. you figured it was only normal. you were all preparing for finals, applying for college, planning ahead.

still, it hurt.

it hurt to think you almost had it, almost had him, but it was all taken away. you're not sure why you feel that way, but you do.

and the only thing keeping you afloat is the fact that you've found your way back to mark.

it reminds you, he'll always be there for you.

no matter what.

it's nice, you think.

spending time with your best friend.

even if it means doing mark's work again.

CHAPTER 5

#mark grayson x reader #alternate mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #invincible x reader #yandere mark grayson #yandere mark grayson x reader #bpd king #he just like me #srry for my disappearance #i was going insane #it will happen again #sinister mark #sinister mark x reader #invincible variants

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maraudersilver · 5 months ago

Text

despise you (Sirius Black x Potter!Reader)

Sirius Black x Fem!Potter!Reader - Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

wc: + 2,4K

cw: swearing

Regulus had sat a couple seats away from you, and Barty had decided on a silent treatment in fear of incurring your wrath with the sour mood you had awoken with. You kept sending death glares at the Gryffindor table, specifically to where James was sitting. The poor boy had tried to huddle on the bench.

“What has your brother done?” Pandora asked once she placed herself next to you.

“Has to bring me something.” The lack of bite in your tone almost offended Barty, who had suffered the consequences of speaking to you that morning in the common room.

“Oh.” The blonde girl scrambled her eggs absentmindedly, and Barty leaned attentively to sneak on the conversation. “A book?”

“An antidote.”

Dorcas, who was at your left, spinned faster than a snitch and raised her eyebrows at you. “Has he poisoned you?” The girl narrowed her eyes at the Gryffindor table too, and now the four Marauders were flinching under both girls’ stare.

“Seems like it,” you grumbled, munching a toast angrily.

“Thank Salazar you don’t eat humans,” Barty mumbled in fear at the force you had applied to the poor toast, earning a slap on the back of his head from Evan, who sat beside him.

“When was it?”

“During summer.”

The four of them shared a look, even Regulus, who had pretended to mind his business, was now eavesdropping. Bewildered, Dorcas took one for the team.

“And the effects are showing now?”

You shook your head, leaving the group more confused than before. “Have been showing since the middle of summer. It’s just getting worse.”

“And what symptoms do you have? Maybe we can develop the antidote ourselves,” offered Evan with a kind smile.

“Don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it has to do with one of their creations. They’re testing a prank on me,” you growled, and Evan recoiled in his seat.

Dorcas chewed on the inside of her cheek. “But what are the symptoms?”

You swallowed what was left of your coffee, almost smushing the mug against the wooden table. “Tachycardia, mostly. I should sue them for attempted murder.”

“Tachycardia!?” Evan’s eyes went wide, hands splattered urgently on the table, causing the cutlery to clink. “Is it at random times? At all times? At night? At day? Do you have cold sweat, too? And how’s your breathing? And-?”

“She gets it, Evan,” Pandora interrupted him with a raised hand and turned gently to you. “When does it happen? Are you okay now?”

You shook your head again. “No. It’s… I think it happens when you see the pourer.”

“Oh.” Pandora squeezed her lips together in a line. “And who is the pourer in your case?”

You groaned. “Sirius Black.” His name came out of you in what you had pretended to be a snarl, but ended up softened for the others’ ears.

The group shared a look again, Regulus looking horrified at the implications.

“Black wants to murder you!?” Barty cried, not catching on the others’ knowing expressions. “Over my dead body!”

You snorted, poignant at his concern, yet you rolled your eyes with affection. “Thanks for the sentiment, Junior.”

Dorcas coughed, and Regulus’ pale complexion turned paler to the point Evan swore he had camouflaged with the glass of milk in front of him.

“Tachycardia, you say?” Pandora asked again. “Something else? Like, I don’t know, a tingle in your stomach? Sweaty hands?”

You stared at her with wide eyes, mouth agape. “They did it to you too!? I’m neutering them.” Your blood was boiling, and Barty took your mug away from your hand before you could crash it with your white-knuckled grip.

“No, no,” Pandora shook her head rapidly. “Just wondering. To see if we can find the cure, that is”.

“Ah,” you sighed in relief, giving her a small smile. “Well, I do get a tingle in my stomach, yes. Like bees.” You placed your head on your hand, chewing on your lower lip. “And yesterday he made me so angry my heart churned. It felt like dying.”

Dorcas and Pandora looked at each other with a knowing look again, while Evan observed Regulus’ dampened expression. Barty just scoffed outraged.

“Um, honey,” Dorcas started, her voice sympathetic, and you turned to her in bemusement. “I don’t think that’s poisoning.”

Tilting your head, you furrowed your brows. “Oh? And what is it?”

Barty also leaned in interest, and Evan shook his head at Dorcas. Luckily for the blond, the clock at the entrance of the Great Hall showed they had ten minutes before Potions, and sighed in relief.

“Guys! We’ll be late and Slughorn has already threatened with detention.”

Everyone, including you, turned to the clock and gasped in alarm, gathering your bags quickly.

“Wait! James hasn’t given me the antidote yet!”

“Y-you’ll have time later, c’mon.” Dorcas grabbed you by the elbow and dragged you away towards the hallway, not before you could send a final death glare to James, Sirius shivering at his side.

James hadn’t approached you during lunch. He also didn’t give you the antidote when he saw you in the library after classes, nor at dinner either. You were on the verge of pulling your hair off in frustration. Not only your brother was contributing to such cruelty, but your best friend was still avoiding you and your heart was cruelly fluttering and screeching at the thought of Sirius Black.

It was late at night, and the flames drew shadowy figures on the walls of the Slytherin common room, the green of the decoration melting into something warmer in the dim light. If anyone asked you what you were still doing up at midnight, you would have said you couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t exactly a lie. But, actually, you were waiting for Regulus to return from his Prefect duties.

It seemed dramatic, to miss someone so much in just a day, it is. But he was your best friend. Had been your best friend since the two of you were put in Slytherin. So when the entrance opened at well past midnight and you saw Regulus step in with tired steps, you didn’t waste time standing up and approaching him with nervousness.

He had seen you, you knew because his shoulders had all of a sudden tensed up. Though his eyes had yet to settle on your almost shaking form.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out in a panic when Regulus made an attempt to jump up the stairs to the boys’ dorms. He turned around slowly, raising a single brow in question, his cold grey eyes so piercing you flinched.

“For what?” he slurred, sounding bored.

“For… um… Look, I didn’t meant to- You have to believe me, it wasn’t my intention at all to-”

“Get down to the brass tacks, Potter, I want to sleep,” he sighed, leaning his right shoulder on the wall.

“Of course! Um…” It took you a few seconds to gather yourself. What were you thinking? In the two hours you had spent alone you didn’t think of anything worthy of saying. Regulus rolled his eyes, pulling away from the wall to continue climbing the stairs. “Wait! Wait, what I want to say is that I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your brother. I didn’t think before speaking and… Merlin, why is this so hard,” you mumbled lamely, and Regulus snorted.

“Because you’re not used to apologizing.”

“Right,” you deadpanned.

“Is that all?”

In panic of him leaving already without an answer, you shook your head. “No! No, uh-” Great. You had nothing to say.” Well, I’m also sorry for, um, teasing you with Miss Pinky- I mean, Umbridge! Yeah, her. And if you really like her, I support you? I guess. Although Reg, she tortures kids!”

“You’ve grown into quite a gobby,” grumbled the boy with a roll of his eyes.

“Sorry.” You were saying that word too much for your liking. “It’s just that I don’t get it. But if you like her, go for it. Horses for courses and all that jazz.”

Regulus shook his head and chuckled, his black hair -shorter than Sirius’- fell over his eyes. And when he looked up again, the coldness from them had melted. “I don’t like Umbridge. She just has a cat that usually sneaks in my dorm and I’ve been trying to guess if she uses him for spying or if she just starves him to death.”

“What?” To say you were flabbergasted was an understatement.

“Haven’t you noticed?” Regulus went down the few steps he had climbed and placed himself in front of you. “There’s always a cat with her. Sometimes the one that comes into my room, sometimes others.”

“An catmy of spies?” you joked, and he flickered your forehead. “Hey!”

“Leave the puns for those who know how to do them. But yes, I think she has more than one cat, and that she has a spy network or something like that.”

“I wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. You really thought I had a crush on her? She hums during classes,” he grimaced.

“You can excuse torturing first years, but you draw the line at humming.”

“Fuck off.”

You both laughed, until a yaw interrupted your moment of reunion.

“We should head to bed,” Regulus suggested, walking alongside you towards the stairs. “By the way, did your brother give you that antidote you were babbling about during breakfast?”

You groaned. “No. I think your brother and mine are attempting to murder me to get their hands on my part of the inheritance.”

“Don’t see it too hare-brained, brother dearest needs it at the moment,” he cackled.

You also wanted to, but the reminder of Sirius’ tear stained face when he appeared that summer night at your doorstep with just a small luggage and trembling limbs was enough to prevent it. Sirius was terrible, and your clenching heart and aching lungs were proof of it, yet you had to admit that what his family had done to him, even if you didn’t know the full story, was demolishing.

At least you had Regulus back, now your main goal was to survive another day and get the antidote to whatever Sirius Black was provoking in your body.

You didn’t see the Marauders the next day at breakfast, although Sirius and James were sightened on their Quidditch practice, just before Slytherin claimed the pitch.

Sirius avoided your eyes like the plague, and James whistled as if that would lure you away from them. Yet, much to your distaste, you stomp towards them. Regulus made his way to the changing rooms, not really in the mood to confront his brother.

“You have something for me.”

“Good afternoon, dear sister! How are you? I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

“Cut it off, James,” you bit, and your brother raised his hands in mock surrender. “Where the hell is it?”

“Is what?”

“The antidote!” Your volume was increasing with each nonsensical sentence coming out of James’ mouth, even Sirius was looking straight at you now, which caused your cheeks to warm against your will.

“I- Look,” sighed James, tossing his hair absentmindedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The other day was the same. What antidote?”

“You know damn well,” you snarled, and your angered eyes turned to a raised-brow Sirius. “And you, too! Don’t play the innocent, you are the most at fault on this!”

“The hell you on about? I didn’t do shit!” Sirius defended, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. You tried to stop your beating heart from drumming at the sight of the clenching muscles of his arms.

“You tell yourself that at night to be able to sleep?” you cooed fakely. “I know you don’t like me, but trying to kill me it’s too much. Even for nimrods like you!”

“Kill you- What!?” James exclaimed, eyes as wide as plates.

“I don’t know which of your bloody concoctions you used, but reverse it this instant or I’m telling mom!”

“Telling mom what?” Sirius counterattacked, never one to be level headed. “You’re bonkers.”

Clenching your fists at your sides, you considered what you really wanted to do and its consequences, debating over your common sense and your desire of punching Sirius in the face. You had all the rights, not only for the poison, not only for being insufferable, but also for pointing out something as painful as not having boys like you that afternoon at the library. But you didn’t. If he wanted to be a pain in the ass and act like a bully for the rest of his life, that was on him. You wouldn't act on his level.

“If you don’t reverse this, I warn you to sleep with both eyes open at night, because there is no wall, creature, Professor or prank that will keep you safe from me.”

In any other situation, both Marauders would have howled at you for your delusions, but the seriousness in your voice and gaze, the neutral expression of your face and your straight stand was enough to run a chill down their spines.

“C’mon, you taking the piss,” James awkwardly chuckled, eyes not as haughty as they usually looked.

“Think what you might. But consider your options before it’s too late.”

“Potter-” Sirius tried to call on you again, and when you ignored him to enter the changing rooms, he pulled at his hair. “What was that about?”

“Maybe someone did prank her?” James wondered out loud, actually worried about you and -deep down- your not-so-covered threat. “And she blames us for it.”

“But I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Her hair is still her colour, same with skin, body shape… Her moles weren’t out of place, either.”

“Moles? Do you notice those things or what?” James furrowed his brows, confused.

“Ah, I guess.” Sirius shrugged his shoulders, chewing on his lower lip while starting to walk away from the Quidditch pitch. “But I promise I didn’t prank her.”

James just followed his friend without muttering another word, which unnerved Sirius. Prongs was never quiet.

“No luck?” Regulus asked when he saw you already changed into your Quidditch clothes, broom in hand.

You shook your head in exasperation. “No.”

He snorted. “What now?”

A sly smirk made its way up to your mouth, and Regulus' eyes twinkled in understanding. “Now we play.”

If they wanted to play with you, they would suffer the consequences of going against a whole chessboard.

Tag list: @moonlightremblack @mysteriouslyperfecttiger @siriusement

#sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #regulus black #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #lily evans #evan rosier #pandora rosier #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr

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spookysteddie · 1 year ago

Text

Always Comin’ Home to You

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

18+ MINOR DNI

dec: after a fight with his step-mother Gator comes home late, scaring you. His bruises tell you of the day he had and all he wants is to feel you.

cw: Swearing, abandonment, mental / physical abuse (Roy to Gator), domestic abuse (Roy to Karen), bruises, mention of death, implication of anxiety, murder, toxic religion themes, gator calls his step-mom a cunt, crying, fingering, daddy kink, dd/lg themes if you squint, Gator calls himself her God (what's the name for that?), unprotected penetrative sex, cream pie, promises. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 3.7k

a/n: I need Gator Tillman like I need to fucking breathe. This man is WOW. I just want to pet him and tell him he is, in fact, a winner and then suck him off. Anyway, I hope y'all like this heheh

...

Gator Tillman didn’t have a lot of good things in his life.

Between his mother leaving, his father being as asshole and everything in between, Gator was a little fucked up and very morally gray. Doing his daddy's dirty work in the hopes Roy will finally be proud of him.

Now, there was one good thing (or person) in his life, one human who brought out the best in him. One person who saw him for the person he was deep inside. The one who saw him as a winner.

You.

You were everything Gator could ever dream of, his perfect girl.

“Gator? Baby have you seen my sunglasses?” You pull some clothes out of the hamper, double (triple) checking that they weren’t in there. “Do you have them? Are they in your cruiser?!”

You hear Gators heavy footsteps before he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, “have ya checked on top of ya head?” You can hear the smugness in his voice and instantly you want to punch him.

You were an angel and subsequently the sweetest girl. Shit, you make Gator catch and release the spiders you find in the house because you ‘want someone to grant you the same kindness in life’. Whatever that means. But of course he does it, because the last thing he wants is to make you cry.

Well, that’s not true. He loves making you cry while your wrapped around his cock, fucking you so deep and hard that you can’t form a complete thought. Only then does he enjoy the tears streaming down your face.

But at the same time, you had a wicked attitude. One he liked to fuck outta you at every opportunity. And when you look up at him he knows it’s coming.

“Do they look like they’re on my fuckin’ head, Gator? Jesus Christ.” But he doesn't fail to notice you subtly check in the mirror to make sure they aren’t actually on your head. They aren’t, for the record.

Gator is not like his daddy. Does he have his fathers attitude? Absolutely. But he has never raised his hand to you outside of the bedroom, much to his fathers dislike. Claiming he’s watched his father beat on his step-mother and even though he hates her – only because she gave birth to his twin sisters, giving his father two more chances to fuck their futures up – he doesn’t think it’s right.

He balls his fists, nails digging into the center of his hand. He has too much shit to do today and, frankly, doesn’t have time for this shit. “Watch ya mouth bunny. Lucky my dad aint home to hear you take Christs name in vain.”

Gator is right. His daddy already doesn't like you, doesn’t think you’re Godly enough. He also seems to think you’re an idiot simply because Gator does everything for you, even down to tying your shoes. It’s something Gator likes doing, taking care of you as it helps ease his mind.

But at the same time Roy wonders how his son could catch and keep a girl like you. It’s emotional whiplash most of the time. Of course, Gator takes the brunt of his daddy's issues when it comes to you, never letting his daddy so much as look wrong in your direction.

You sigh, running your hands down your pink skirt, “look, can you please help me find them? You know my eyes don’t do well with the sun bouncing off the snow.”

His eyes soften, loving when you need his help, “I’m willin’ to bet they’re in the cruiser on the floor boards.”

Your face heats as you remember exactly why they’d be on the floor of the cruiser, your escapades from your little meeting at the police station last night. There was always that preliminary fuck before going back to Roys (cause God forbid Gator ever come stay at your place. His daddy needs him nice and close.) considering you don’t know how to keep your moans quiet. So, he tires you out, not so much that you can’t drive back to his place, but just enough to where you’re silent during round two and three and four.

The cold nips at your bare legs, winter just as brutal as every other year in this godforsaken state. You swear it never gets easier, winter, and the older you get the more you think about moving south. You think Gator would like the warmer weather, probably find the warmth soothing.

“Ah ha! Got ‘em!” Gator hands them to you with a huge smile on his face. He looks almost boy-like. It’s rare he has a genuine smile, especially when his daddy is around.

“Gator,” his step-mothers voice rings out from the porch, making you both jump. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing his frustration. “Stop yellin’ cause your sisters are sleepin’!”

“Karen, they’re at the other end of this fuckin house and your scratchy ass voice is louder than me.”

You can see her huff, “I should call your father!”

He sighs, turning on his heel, “I don’t think that’ll be a good idea. Dad’s… a little busy today.” Gator knows exactly what his daddy is busy with, not that he’d ever tell you. Terrified that he would somehow put you in danger.

You know that there was shit his daddy made him do. Things that forced him to come home with black eyes, bloody lips and bruises on his knuckles and body. It hurt your heart every time he came home like that, telling you it was nothing while he winces as he takes off his clothes.

Karen seethes from the porch and you see her look from Gator to you and back. Gator, who notices everything, sees it and steps in front of you, pushing you behind him. “Don’t look at her like that, Karen.”

That seems to annoy her more, “she better not be here tonight. You hear me? Don’t need your sisters hearin the stuff you two get up to at night.”

“Not any worse than dads hands hittin’ your face while they sit at the kitchen table.” You cringe at his statement, seeing Roy hit Karen more times than you can count. “You don’t run this house. Or tell me what to do.” He spits on the ground and turns away, waiting till he hears the door slam to speak.

“I fuckin hate her. She’s sucha little bitch.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, breathing him in. “Can stay at mine tonight if you want. Don’t wanna get you in trouble,” you murmur into his shirt. “O-or we can spend a night apart. I know we haven’t done that inna while but just till this blows over an’ we know she didn’t say nothin’ to your father.”

You know you're rambling, but all you want is to make Gators life comfortable and safe. You know there is a small chance that Karen will call Roy, tell him what happened, maybe even lie (she’s done that before) and say you upset her. If that happens, Gator will get it good, possibly another broken arm or dislocated jaw. That’s the last thing you want. You can feel you chest ache, eyes burning at the idea of Roy hurtin’ him.

Gator pulls your face back from his chest, making you look up at him, “don’t you be worryin’ bout me now. Roy ain’t gonna do shit and I don’t sleep when you aren’t curled up next to me,” he kisses your forehead. “I’ll put some feelers out to see if that little bitch called him. Gotta meeting at 3 with him.”

You nod, your hand coming up to fix his jacket. In reality, you just need something to distract from the burning behind your eyes.

“Hey? I’m serious. I’ll be fine, okay?” He lets you go to reach into his pocket, pulling out some cash and handing it to you, “why don’t you go get your nails done or something, yeah?”

You know refusing to take the money wont go well, so you take it, putting it in the pocket of your jacket. “Thank you, daddy,” you whisper out, knowing you aren’t really supposed to say that outside of Gators locked bedroom door.

He lets it slide, the day has been stressful enough for you. “That’s my good bunny. Now, run along and I’ll meet you here at six okay?”

You tilt your head, “no station tonight?”

“Nah… Jerry is working and he’s got a starin’ problem when it comes to ya. Don’t feel like scoopin’ eyeballs out. Too messy.”

You shudder but kiss him goodbye before getting in your car. You have a very bad feeling his 3pm meeting isn’t going to go how he expects.

…

You were right.

You knew you were right the second you pulled up to his house at six on the dot and he wasn’t home. You reach for your phone, looking to see if maybe you’d missed a text, phone call, shit even an email from your boyfriend.

Nothing.

Even when you try to call him, you're met with a voicemail. You can feel the bile rise in the back of your throat, fear making your skin itch. Was this it? Was this the time Roy sends him out there to do his dirty work and he doesn’t make it home?

He could be anywhere right now. Not only that, if he was dead, no one would do shit for him. No funeral, no service, nothing. His dad would go on and wipe his hands clean of his “loser” son, probably more than happy that the ties of his first wife are gone for good.

Oh God, what if he was dying, the cold freezing the blood onto his skin, frostbite settling in. He could be so scared, praying to the God he doesn’t believe in that you come find him. His clothes are probably wet too, sticking to him thanks to the sn-

A knock on your window makes you jump, a yelp falling from your lips. You look over, seeing the blue of his jacket in your peripheral and the sight makes you gasp. You’re quick to shut off the car, jumping out and getting a closer look at him.

He looks… awful. His right eye is nearly swollen shut, dry blood sticking to his split brow. There is a bruise on the other side of his face and under his left eyes, clearly he got hit in the nose.

“Baby…” this time you can't stop the tears from falling. “Baby what happened?”

He lets out a long, deep sigh, his hands resting on your cheeks. “Fuckin’ cunt called dad. Said I needed a lesson in respect. S’how I got the bruise on my left eye.” He wipes the tear that falls from your eye, his touch soft and kind, “sent me to do some shit across state lines. Guy beat the fuck outta me. He ain’t alive no more though.”

You sniffle, “is it just your face?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say more. He knows you’ll see the rest once he gets you inside. Well … “we-I can’t let you sleep here tonight, Gator.”

He shakes his head, “it’s fine. Dad said so himself. Come on.”

And so he drags you inside, Karen looking like the cat that caught the canary as she watches you help Gator walk. You make a mental note to never forget this, never forget how she treats her step-son.

You push open Gators bedroom door, making sure to shut it silently and lock it before settling Gator on the bed. “Let’s get ya into some comfy clothes, yeah?”

You crouch down in front of him, making quick work of untying his boots.

“Baby, I can do this. I’m the one who's supposed to help you.”

That only makes more tears burn your eyes. You hated that he never let anyone help him, hated that he always had to be strong, couldn’t ever cry, nothing. You hated Roy for making him like this and you hated his mother for leaving and not saving her only son from a life of pain.

“Stop. Just-just let me help you, Gator please.” You pull at the laces to loosen them and make it easier to slide off his boot, your vision blurry from the tears in your eyes.

His boot comes off easy and you make sure you keep your hold on it so it doesn’t make any noise on the floor. Same with the second one.

You stand, unclipping his thigh holster and setting it on the nightstand where he likes it. Incase of emergencies. Next is his belt, coming off with ease. He stops you when you get to his pants, making you look up at him. He hates the silver shining along your waterline.

“I love you, little bunny.” He says it so quietly that you almost miss it.

“I love you too.” Your voice cracks as you say.

You work on his pants, popping open the buttons with ease. Next you pull his shirt out of his pants and pull it over his head. By the time his shirt hits the floor, you’ve gotten a full look at his bare torso. A bruise is forming along his ribs, it’s really red and slightly turning purple.

“Jeez baby,” your hands gently touch his skin and he hisses a little. “S-sorry.”

He says nothing as he helps you pull off his pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

“Stay here,” you tell him as you collect his dirty clothes and go into his attached bathroom. You sigh as you grab a face cloth, turning the water on so it heats up. It, of course, takes forever for the water to warm. Nothing like shit water heating thanks to the frigid winter. But once it does you wet the cloth and grab the first aid kit and go back to him.

You’ve done this before, cleaned him up, you’ve even stitched him up. You’d like to thank the internet for telling you how to do that and you’ve gotten good over the last two years.

“S’is gonna hurt. Luckily it looks like you don’t need stitches. Just don’t move while I work okay?”

He nods, “yes, baby. Ya don’t have to do this. I know you don’t like blood.” This was true, you didn’t like blood at all, barely even being able to handle papercuts. But for some reason, when it comes to him, you can manage to push it aside. Cuts can get infected and when they’re on his face it means it could go to the brain faster.

You carefully dab the wet rag around his split eyebrow, gently clearing off the blood and making sure that you don’t resplit the cut open. “I think it split from the swellin’ but I don’t think it needs stitches.”

He nods slightly, “good. I was hoping it’d close on its own.”

You put some wound cleaner on it before you bandage it. He might have a scar there unless he leaves it alone. But knowing Gator, it’ll open again. You clean up around his face and causing a hiss to leave his lips once you touch his cheek and eye. You apologize, applying some cream that makes bruises heal faster to his face and ribs.

“That’s everything.” You force a small smile at him, tossing the wet cloth into the hamper and putting the first aid kit away. You get undressed, needing skin to skin contact. Then, you climb into bed, snuggling up to him, resting your head on the safe side of his chest.

The silence stretches, Gators arm around your shoulders, his thumb moving softly.

“I thought you were dead in the snow,” the words tumble out of you before you can stop them.

He thumb stills for a heartbeat before resuming, “but m’not.”

“I’m sorry this is the life you were forced into. It is not fair.”

He kisses your head, breathing you in for a moment, “it’s not your fault, bunny. You didn’t do any of this. Shoulda kept my mouth shut when it came to Karen. Just… smile an’ wave.”

You shake your head, kissing his chest, “not how it’s supposed to be.”

Gator rolls over you, forcing you on your back. He bites back a pained groan. “My sweet bunny, listen to me. I am here. I am safe. S’gonna take a lot more to kill me.” He leans down, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

You let your hands slide into his hair, deepening the kiss. Honestly, you just need to feel him. He knows it and if he’s being honest, he needs to feel you too. He’ll never say it out loud, but as he laid in the snow, doing his best to get the fucker he was sent to kill off of him, he was scared.

Scared he would die and you’d spend the rest of you life wondering. He knew no one would fill you in and he knew his daddy wouldn’t have a service for him. You’d be alone, wondering what happened to him, praying to the god you don’t believe in that he’d come home again. So, he fought like hell and now, he really needs you. Needs to be inside you.

You pull back, breaking the kiss, “Gator, we can’t.”

“We can. Please baby.” Gator doesn’t beg, he didn’t need to when it came to you. Always more than willing to do what he says and give him what he wants. His begging makes you give in.

His hands push your underwear aside, feeling how ready you already are for him. Always ready, always wanting and only for him.

You pull him in for a kiss while his fingers find your clit with ease, swallowing your moans. He always knows exactly how you like it, fingers moving in swift circles and just the right amount of pressure.

“So fucking pretty when you’re at my mercy,” he pushes two fingers inside you, the stretch making your brain go fuzzy. “Looked so fucking pretty in your little skirt and frilly socks. My little angel.”

The way Gator is cooing at you, his fingers crooked up to touch the one spot that drives you nuts and you can feel yourself slipping into that headspace you both love. You’re trying so hard to be logical, knowing he’s hurt and can hurt himself further.

“Thank you, daddy. Bought it because I thought you’d like it.” Your voice is getting small, breathy.

He grins, kissing down your neck, “I love it. Love everything you wear. Look so pretty in your pastels.” His thumb finds your clit, a soft moan falling from your lips. It’s embarrasing how quickly you are to coming around his fingers.

“P-please. Gator please.”

He smirks, “use your words, sweet girl. Tell me what you want.”

You can feel your body heat up from both the coil inside you winding tighter and the embarrassment of having to say what you want. “I-I need to cum. So bad.”

The second the words are in the air, Gator pulls his hands away, leaving your orgasm to fade away. “NO! No, no, no, no please!”

He sucks a mark into your neck, his tongue licking over the spot to sooth it.

“Need ya to cum on my cock, baby.”

Before your brain can catch up, he’s sliding inside you. The stretch is something you haven't gotten used to in the last two years. It feels like he's splitting you in half, his cock filling you completely.

“OH! Oh my god.” You're already panting, squeezing him so hard he’s fighting to not bust prematurely.

Gator drops to his forearms and pumps his hips, getting right in your face. He’s so close you can smell the fruity scent from the vape he was no doubt huffing on before coming to see you.

“S’right baby, I am your God and I love when ya pray to me.”

You can’t help the way your cunt clenches, a moan falling from your lips that is just slightly too loud for either of your comforts. At the moment, you don’t care. You know Roy already got his fill of kicking Gatos' ass. He’s not going to worry about it tonight.

“Daddy, please. I’m so close.”

His hips are snapping hard, cock hitting your cervix with every thrust. He feels like he’s inside your throat and you can’t tell if his grunts are from pain, pleasure, or both.

“Not yet. Almost there. D-don’t cum yet.”

Your nails sink into his biceps, hips starting to stutter.

“Please! Fuck! Oh god…”

He smirks, eyes meeting yours, “yeah? I know how bad ya need it. How bad ya need me to fill this pretty, little cunt up. Breed an own ya f’ever? Hm?” His eyes are black and he looks absolutely feral. Primal.

His hand snakes down the front of your body, finding your clit with ease. You gasp, thighs starting to shake. You knew you weren’t going to last but you needed his permission. You craved his praise and being in his good graces. You’d let him do anything to you, that’s how much you trust him.

“Yes! Yes! Whatever you want. Anything.” You don’t even know what you’re saying at this point, too cock drunk to think of anything besides him and what he’s doing to you.

He laughs, seeing your eyes glazed over and tears of pleasure lining your eyes, “cum for me bunny. Do it.”

It’s all you need to fall into bliss.

His hand covers your mouth knowing how loud you’re about to be. His face drops into your neck as he cums with you, both of your moans muffled by each other's bodies. His cum fills you, leaking out as he brings you both down.

His hand slowly leaves your mouth, head lifting to look at you.

“I love you. I fuckin’ love you so fuckin’ much.” He leaves little kisses all over your face, trying to bring you back to him. “You hear me? M’never leavin’ you.”

You take a shuddering inhale, trying to form a coherent thought, “P-promise?”

You hold your pinky up to him, hands shaking while adrenalin continues to run through your veins. He giggles, hooking his pinky with yours, “promise. I’ll always come home to you. I will always fall asleep next to you.”

He looks down, flipping your hand over and checking out your nails, “I can’t wait for these pretty, red claws to be wrapped around my cock.”

Your chest lightens as you both laugh together.

#gator tillman fargo #Gator Tillman #fargo season 5 #fargo fanfic #Gator Tillman x reader #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman imagine #gator tillman x y/n #joe keery #joe keery fargo

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apollodarling-writes · 1 year ago

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yan! catboy! worshipper! levi

desc : you picked up a stray catboy from the alleyway and you find that maybe he has more problems than you’re equipped to deal with.

word count : 812

cws : yandere themes, scenting, jealous levi, dubcon implications, smut implications, murder mentions but it’s levi killing his competition and bringing it back as a gift and to prove he’s better than them, slight delusional thinking, desperate clingy bf behavior but you’re not dating and he’s more of an estranged roommate, MASSIVE personality switch up, ooc levi but i genuinely wanna see this man desperate and begging, implied dissociation, this is kind of bad im ngl.

author note : someone requested this, sorry it took so long to get to it. also, here’s a little something i had in my drafts while i finish editing this commission.

you remember how pitiful levi had looked in that alleyway — his clothes torn and too big on his seemingly frail body. he was drenched from the rain, the mud that had been caked onto him softening as shivers wracked his body. the bags under his eyes were heavy and dark, and you’d noticed that he was bleeding… and badly.

you remember the way his ears perked up, his gaze sharpening as he regarded you with a mixture of apathy and contempt; the way his pupils had narrowed into slits and his tail swished in warning. he’d attacked you that night, the wound on your hip later scarring. the levi from that night was so similar, yet so different from the man in front of you.

you were frozen in place, your eyes darting between levi and the corpse he had haphazardly discarded onto your living room floor. his face was marred with blood, a subtle look in his eyes that screamed pride. it didn’t feel real — there was no way this was happening. not to you of all people.

“what the fuck—“ you gesture to the body, your eyes filling with tears. “— is this?

“what’s wrong? don’t you like it?” levi asks, his expression morphing into concern the moment he recognized your appall.

was he serious?

“levi, you killed someone and brought them back to my apartment!” you exclaim, feeling bile rise in the back of your throat as you tear your gaze away from the corpse. “my home has become a fucking crime scene!”

levi’s brows furrow, his ears flattening at your words. seeing him clench his fist, you instinctively take a step back — a feeble attempt to put distance between the two of you. he doesn’t like that.

levi knows he’d be able to catch you if you decided to run, but he wanted you to stay — willingly. he didn’t want to have to force you, knowing that would only put a strain on your relationship. sure, he was biologically much faster than the average human, but he didn’t want to have to resort to using his anatomy to his advantage again.

he doesn’t regret killing any of them — especially not this one. this man was weaker than all of the others, obviously incapable of taking care of you properly. how was that human boy supposed to provide for you? protect you?

“that just shows im better for you, doesn’t it? if they can be taken out so easily, they couldn’t protect you. not like i can.” levi hisses, his features tightening with frustration. “i did you a favor. they would’ve gotten you hurt.”

his tone takes on a more desperate edge as he scrambles to justify his actions, his hand latching onto your shirt in an attempt to keep you in place.

“why are you looking at me like that…? like i’m some kind of monster? i’m not — i did this for you! for us!” levi shouts.

you can’t bring yourself to say anything, your mind spinning as you try to wrap your head around everything. levi had never been like this before; he’d always been distant and put-together, keeping you at an arm's length no matter how hard you tried to grow closer with him.

“say something… please.” the man begs, his arms snaking around your waist as he buries his face in the curve of your throat. levi takes a shaky inhale, your scent doing little to calm his racing heart. usually, it worked like a charm, but the cortisol radiating off of you worried him.

“let go of me, levi.” you mumble, your shaking fingers pushing at his shoulders. he only sniffles in response, his tail curling around your thigh.

“please — please don’t push me away.” levi pleads, his voice cracking. “i—i need you! i’ll die without you! please don’t do this to me…!”

“get out.”

levi’s hold on you tightens, his touch slowly becoming painful. despite your squirming and growing fear, levi only pulls you closer, peppering kisses along your throat and shoulders, mumbling apologies and promising to never do it again. yet, despite the ache in your chest, you stand firm in your decision.

“leave.”

levi’s body goes rigid, his fingers gripping your waist harshly as his voice grows quiet. “we can do this the hard way or the easy way — your choice... but, you’re staying with me whether you want to or not.”

levi takes your silence as an agreement, lapping at and kissing the focal points of your pheromones to mask your scent with his own. “‘m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” he breathes, a quiet groan leaving his lips.

his movements become more frantic, nipping at your skin in between planting open mouthed kisses against any visible flesh. “i’ll fuck you until the only thing you can remember is my name — until the only scent on you is mine.”

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carnivorousyandeere · 8 months ago

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Naga; Unorthodox Gift

scales, wrapping around, poisonous

Day 6 of @yandere-sins’ Monstober and @ozzgin’s Yantober 💕

CW: brief mention of murder, Darling who overthinks and has a lot of self-doubt, the Naga is very suggestive and flirtatious

“Psssssssssst~”

You flinch and brandish your dagger at the flick of a serpentine tongue against the shell of your ear. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?! One of these days I’m gonna stab you on accident!”

The Naga laughs, languidly descending from the tree branch. “Sssssssorry~!”

He began to talk about everything he’d been up to lately, voice quiet and smooth. The Naga had been sleepier, moving more slowly as the days shortened and cooled. It at least made you feel a little bit safer around your strange friend. You, a city guard, hanging around with a monster whose ancestors probably emerged from the bowels of hell… oh, what would your comrades say…?

Probably what they always did: that you were too soft for the job.

And they were right, weren’t they? What kind of guard frees a monster from a trap and then helps nurse him back to health?

The Naga presses closer to you, wrapping his tail around your ankle. “Hey, humannnnnn. Why aren’t you lissssstening to me? You made me wait ssssssooooo loooooong to sssssee you again.”

“Maybe if you’d bother to remember my name I’d bother to listen to you prattle on,” you snap.

“Oooh, ssssomeone’ssss ssssscalessss are a bit tender today, hmmm?” The Naga raises a scaled ridge, tilting his head. “A name’ssss a powerful thing, you know. You’d do well to keep it clossssssse to your chessssst.”

The Naga inspects his own claws with a pout, wondering just how many people he’d have to kill so the only two who know your name are you and him.

“Ugh, I… I’m just frustrated lately. It’s not fair for me to take it out on you, though.” You grimace at yourself, ever the guilt-ridden goody-goody.

The Naga grins and leans closer. The flash of his fangs make your heart race like the scared little mouse he teases you for being sometimes. “Perhapsss I could… help you unwind?”

You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the implication. “O-oh, no, I-I’m fine…”

“Hmmmm, what a sssssshame,” the Naga’s smile turns teasing, head drooping at an unnatural angle as he fakes another pout. “Oh well…”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment. You can feel his gaze slithering across your skin as your gaze turns to the rest of the forest, but somehow the cool breeze is still enough to calm your heart.

“Here,” he finally interrupts the silence, unusually solemn.

You look back to him questioningly. He gently takes your hand and lowers a necklace with a little glass jar, closing his fingers around yours.

“I want you to have thissss. Ssssome of my venom. Ussssse it on your blade. Not all… monssssterssss… will be asssss friendly assssss I am.” He scoffs wryly at describing himself as a monster. “Humansssss, either.”

He tilts his head again, lips curling into a mischievous grin, “and…. If you ever change your mind about needing sssssome ssssstresssss relief, you might try a little tasssste of my venom. It isssss quite relaxing, when ingessssssted and not… introduced to a wound.”

#he would def kill the other guards if he heard them makin fun of u #Monstober #Yantober #Monstober 2024 #Yantober 2024 #yandere naga #yandere femboy #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere cw

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stil-lindigo · 2 years ago

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Comics Masterpost (organised by collection)

Please heed relevant content warnings on each post. Completed collections have physical and digital copies available for purchase on my store.

Soliloquy Down to Three [COMPLETED]

Soliloquy down to Three is an anthology of dark sapphic comics, all of which are a mix of both old and new inspiration. Its title is a line from 'craters', indicating that the phrase "I love you" manages to fit a whole monologue worth of feeling into three words.

The compiled version contains exclusive illustrations for each couple, as well as a secret ending to 'craters'.

1. fishing twine 2. hook, line and sinker (sequel to 'fishing twine) cw: suggestive imagery 3. RED cw: suggestive imagery, blood, murder with an axe 4. RED - epilogue cw: blood 5. patchwork canary cw: mouth + neck mutilation, blood 6. craters cw: implications of suicide

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

10PM [COMPLETED]

10pm is a collection of introspective comics that covers feelings of aimlessness, alienation and finding joy in creativity again. Its full title is "It's 10pm. Do you know who you are?" which is a twist on the old PSAs that used to play on American TVs reminding parents to check up on their children.

1. the parade

2. the elevator

3. the machine

4. the candle

5. the stone

6. the dredger

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Hearteaters [COMPLETED]

Heart-eaters is an anthology about the ugliest, gory-est, most heartfelt and most brutal parts of love. Sitting at a whopping 180 pages, Heart-eaters is the longest anthology I've made yet, and took over a year to finish in full.

The compiled books available for purchase on my store contain an exclusive joint-comic to "Shallow Grave" and poem named "Laozi's bowl", as well as 9 original full-page art splashes unique to their assigned stories.

1. the sunset cw: gun violence, death, blood 2. the calamity cw: eye scarring, blood, eye mutilation, gore (minimal) 3. seeing clearer (epilogue to 'the calamity') cw: biblical references 4. shallow grave cw: gravestone imagery 5. bite of winter (joint comic to 'scorched earth') cw: gore, blood, death, cannibalism, dismemberment 6. scorched earth (joint comic to 'bite of winter') cw: blood, death, burning alive, beheading 7. ashes to ashes (prequel comic to 'scorched earth') 8. little dove (prequel comic to 'scorched earth') 9. warmth 10. the fox god cw: emotional manipulation, animal abuse 11. the fields cw: blood, animal death, mild gore and blood

♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢♢

Daughter Of The Birch Tree [INCOMPLETE]

1. the vulture

#took me far too long to make a post like this if im being honest #i hope this makes it easier for you all to find my stuff in the future #and ill update this as i go #thank you for your support #and as always #thank you for reading #sapphic art #comic art #queer art #stillindigo art #soliloquy down to three #its 10pm #hearteaters

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chris-prank · 10 months ago

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Yandere Hunter x GN reader

Peace-Pocalypse Part 1

CW: Manipulative behavior, Obsession, Mention of kidnaping, Implication of murder and mention of blood

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

This guy is more of the soft dominante type, so yay no subby yandere this time.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

🪓 It was surprisingly peaceful for a post apocalyptic world and Martin liked it that way. He found it to be similar to the far west, but with modern technologies.

🪓 Most big cities were destroyed, only leaving behind small villages secluded from each other. Between them were miles and miles of luscious nature. Pretty but dangerous for solitary travelers.

🪓 You were one of these adventurers, going place to place to create new connections. That’s when you ended up at a village called Flowermore. The name was fitting since there were flower fields all around it.

🪓 When you arrived, you instantly became an oddity for the townsfolk, since they didn’t get to see new faces often.

🪓 You were just another stranger for Martin, nothing extraordinary, at the very least he was even a bit wary of you. Flowermore was a peaceful place, where a real community created itself, but that didn't mean people outside were the same. That’s until he got to talk to you and not just eavesdrop on conversations you had with the people of the town. This encounter happened after two weeks of you staying at Flowermore and of him watching you from afar.

🪓 Martin lived a bit outside of town, in a forest nearby. He was a hunter, meaning he took care of bringing meat to the village and he would often leave for multiple days or weeks– hunting animals was not his only line of work, but he kept that a secret.

🪓 It would be a lie to say that you didn’t notice him when you first arrived and that you didn’t thought he looked cool. He seemed like an interesting guy with the scars on his face and his attire making him look like a pirate. You were so enthusiastic when you got to talk to him for the first time.

🪓 Martin thought you were so cute while he listened to all your questions, notebook in hand. He could stare at your amazed face all day if he had the opportunity. In addition, he was truly invested in the stories of your own life, contributing to them to make the conversation last longer.

🪓 Martin wondered how a bubbly thing like you survived alone all this time. Not that he considered you weak, just that it looked so easy to gain your sympathy. He was glad that no one seemed to have taken advantage of you until now.

🪓 The more he spended time by your side, the more he could feel his feelings grow stronger. Maybe a bit too much.

🪓 After a month, he asked if you wanted to crash at his place for the rest of your stay. Saying that you could sleep in his bed and he could use his couch. He totally wasnt hoping that you would feel bad and offer him to join you in bed.

🪓 “It's really no problem for me darlin’ and I can sleep anywhere really. At least that way I'll have the chance to show you more of my skills.”

🪓 You were a bit unsure by this offer at first, the thought of living with him was making you all flustered, but you ultimately said yes.

🪓 Martin soon started to note down in his journal every time you mentioned something you liked. Once, while he was in a ghost town, he found a cassette of your favorite singer. He relishes the huge smile you made when you saw the gift.

🪓 He could also feel himself melting in his combat boots when you played it and started dancing. Watching your body sway like that was making his mind go into overdrive. The indent of his grip on the couch was proof of that.

🪓 If one of your favorite animals happens to be a species that lives in the surrendering area, be sure that he will find a way to capture one for you (without harming it of course.)

🪓 Martin is not very a plant guy, but he will ask the apothecary of the village what your favorite flower looks like so he can go pick some for you.

🪓 If you’re down for it, he’ll show you how to hunt small animals, by using his crossbow or by putting traps in place. He positions himself behind you, his hands going from your shoulders to your wrist to readjust your posture.

🪓 “Yay, just like that darling. You’re doing so well.” His face was so close to yours, as he whisper tenderly in your ear, that you almost feel his lips ghosting your skin.

🪓 Is this just his method of getting closer to you in more ways than one? Maybe, but at the same time he is teaching you crucial survival skills! So he doesn’t feel too guilty about it.

🪓 Seeing you and Martin spend all of your time together, armless rumors spread around. Could you really blame them? Gossiping was one of the rare sources of entertainment these townsfolk had. You tried to ignore it or just straight up tell people that you were just friends.

🪓 Martin wasn't bothered by this, that's for sure. When people asked about the two of you, he would respond in the most vague way possible, fueling the imagination of everyone.

🪓 “Mm them? Oh you know how it is… we get closer everyday.~”

🪓 One day, when he heard from one of the elders that you were planning on leaving, it’s like his whole world was falling apart. You couldn’t leave him, especially after all this time! At this point, you two were literally living like a couple! And weren’t you happy by his side?!

🪓 “I heard you were leavin’ soon…At least you had a good time with me, right sweetin’ ?”

🪓 Behind his unbothered words, he was trying his hardest not to lock you up in his cottage. He had the strength to do so, but he knew you would hate him if he did. The idea of you disliking him was worse than death, so he decided on a more subtle approach.

🪓 Martin had a lot of connections outside of Flowermore, some that he wouldn’t want you or anyone else to know of. He ended up asking some guys who were indebted to him to scare you a little. The plan was to fake a bandit ambush when you would be outside the village surroundings.

🪓 Now, he just had to wait for you to come back to him and act shocked at the sight of your crying face. You can bet that if any of these guys went too far during the attack, he will definitely make them regret their life decisions.

🪓 “Aw darlin’ I’m so sorry, it must have been horrible! Come here, let me give you a hug.”

🪓 Despite the traumatic experience, you kept telling him that you were determined to continue your travels. That one bad occurrence shouldn’t discourage you from trying again.

🪓 Oh, how Martin admired your courage and dedication, so much that he could have kissed you right then and there. But in the time being your motivation was going against his plans. He tried to play the reasonable one, using his deep soothing voice while arguing with you.

🪓 He finally convinced you to settle here by saying that you could just come with him every time he had businesses out of town. That way you could still travel (and he could keep an eye on you.) On top of that, the winter season was rapidly approaching and it wouldn’t be wise to travel by foot in these extreme temperatures.

🪓 You slowly started to notice how much more protective he had become over you, but you figured it was just out of concern since the attack. You were a bit sad to not be able to explore like you used to, but it’s true that it was nice to have a more stable life.

🪓 When the snow came by, it truly changed the scenery of the town. Since the end of the apocalypse, winter has become way more magical. You felt like you were in these cheap Christmas postcards just by taking a stroll in town.

🪓 The cold was a completely different story though. It was so intense that even with the fireplace you still had to wear several layers of clothing around the house. It was one of the cons of living in an old cottage.

🪓 One evening, you were wrapped in a hand-knitted blanket made with real sheep's wool. The good quality material weighed on your shoulders and gave your body much-needed warmth. You stared out the window and into the distance, your eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

🪓 Suddenly a black dot appeared between the trees and seemed to grow bigger each second. It was Martin, probably coming back from hunting. Your speculation ended up correct, because the moment his features became more visible you could see the striking contrast of red on his brown clothes.

🪓 You ran to the door and opened it for him. The man flashed you a subtle grin and with heavy steps he crossed the threshold of the door. Despite the blood, it was endearing to see him covered in snow, his shoulder length hair covered with bits of frost and his cheek burned from the cold wind.

🪓 After he had taken off his now soiled coat, he took you into his arms and lifted you off the ground. He nuzzled his face into your neck, his beard scratching your skin. The lack of dead prey to be seen on the ground made you think that it had maybe ran away despite successfully harming it. Martin always came back home feeling down when that happened.

🪓 When he spoke up his voice was low, almost sleepy.

🪓 “I need help to recharge, d’you think you could do that for me ?”

🪓 You cuddled for the rest of the night. Despite feeling a tad of frustration that he always seemed to find the right excuse to make you stay in Flowermore, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to fall asleep in his arms.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

So this was my terrible attempt at writing an accent that's not even in my native language... If you guys have any tip to make it better/realistic, don't hesitate to comment!

These two drawing of him are from last year, but I still kinda like them, so here they are!

#My oc- Martin #gn reader #yandere male #yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader #dom yandere #yandere oc #male yandere #soft yandere #yandere x darling #yandere #yandere hunter #x gn reader #oc x reader #trans oc #trans man #my art

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