#IT WAS TARGETED. IT WAS FORCED UPON HIM AGAINST HIS WILL. NOT TO MENTION HE ALSO WENT RED | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royalsweetteaa · 3 months

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Never too much, never too little

Pairing: Winter soldier/Bucky Barnes x reader

WARNING - The following fic contains: Angst/Fluff, winter soldier!Bucky, memory loss, kissing, caressing, comfort, mentioned past abuse & violence, mentions of past SA towards Bucky, trauma healing, reader refers to Bucky as ‘Winter’.

Summary: You take responsibility in taking care of the winter soldier after being the first to snap him out of HYDRAs control.

You had woken up in the middle of the early morning as you felt a tall, lurking presence in your room.

It wasn’t the first time he had done this since the day you helped him snap out of his winter soldier self.

That day, he was on the mission of capturing you, the one who the whistleblower within HYDRA had reached out to, warning about the winter soldier and the super soldier program in Syberia. You were a journalist, and the person who had reached out was someone you were familiar with.

Although you wouldn’t call them a friend, especially after the danger they would put you through as your identity got leaked.

You were expecting him to come after you sooner or later. And he did.

As the Winter Soldier had broken into your room and was about to take you, you thought of what you had read upon from the Whistleblower’s documents, and you got his attention when you said you knew all about what they had done to him. He stood there, trying to stay resistant and cold as you told him you knew he didn’t want to do this. That you knew he was forced to, and that he didn’t have to keep up with it anymore as you would help him.

Still, he stuck to orders as he turned angry and frustrated, and he gripped your arm as he told you ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about’.

Although, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that you didn’t.

As he held your arm tightly and was about to pull you out to his vehicle, you wrapped both of your arms and hugged him. He was shocked to say the least, not sure what to do. He pushed you off harshly as he threatened to kill you if you didn’t comply to him, but you went right back and wrapped your arms around him as you kept talking and pleading.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore or take abuse. What you have done this far isn’t your fault. I know what they did to you. Just let me help you. I can get you out of this, I promise. Let’s get out of this together. Please!”

It seemed like he had really tried to resist as he kept his hand on his gun, but his arm was trembling. As you saw that, you gained the tiniest bit of hope that you weren’t going to die today.

Miraculously it worked. The Winter soldier was brought down on his knees, his body becoming heavy as he slouched against you, allowing himself to let you embrace him. You didn’t stop as you kept whispering reassurances that you would help him be free from them. Free from whatever control they had in him, both physically and mentally.

And that is how you found yourselves in a cabin you had inherited, far within the woods of the mountains. Weeks had gone by as you had kept to yourselves far away from society. HYDRA was as much after you as their lost super soldier, and therefore you depended on bringing in supplies from the forest. It proved to be easy with an assassin who knew to hit his targets efficiently, regardless if it was a person or animal.

While you were working on figuring out how you could spread the classified information without compromise, you tended to the former winter soldier.

You didn’t know his name, and neither did he as he suffered memory loss from the countless wiping HYDRA performed on him. Therefore, you settled on a nickname for now: ‘Winter.’

Out of all their troubles, the early mornings turned out to be the hardest things to deal with. Because as the former winter soldier would stay alone in his room all night, trying to sleep through his terrible nightmares, his habits from HYDRAs brainwashing would return mildly.

That was why as you had woken up feeling that same lingering presence, you were not surprised to see the man standing there, staring at you as if he was on guard.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

His eyes narrow slightly as he considers your question. He shrugs as he replies, “Waiting for you to wake up,” as his voice remained emotionless.

That would be one of the first signs.

“Alright….how did you sleep?” You ask him as you remain calm.

He tilts his head slightly, analyzing your question. “As well as can be expected.” His tone remains flat, unrevealing anything about his thoughts or feelings. “You?” he asks, his gaze fixed on some distant point behind you.

You nod slightly as you answer, “I slept just fine.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you decide to test him, now unsure where his state of mind was. “want to come closer for a second?”

His eyes narrow even more. “Why?” his voice is now cold and unyielding, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

So it was as you thought … no different than some of the previous mornings.

“Because I want to give you a morning hug.” I decide to pull a welcoming smile at him as I pat the empty spot beside me on the bed. “Remember when I told you yesterday that it could be a good exercise to keep some consistency in your memory?”

He hesitates for a moment before slowly walking over to you. When he's close enough, he stops and looks at you warily. “A hug.” He says, as if it’s an unfamiliar concept to him.

You frown as you realize you’re loosing him again. “I gave you one yesterday, didn’t I? You said it felt nice.”

His expression remains unchanged as he stares at you. It looks like he’s not sure how to react, or even if he should. “I don't recall.”

You take a deep breath as you realize you need to take it from beginning. “Winter…do you remember why you’re here?”

He tilts his head slightly, the movement almost robotic. “I am here to carry out orders. To serve those who control me.” His gaze remains focused on you, but there's no sign of recognition or comprehension in his eyes.

You refrain from exhaling out of frustration as you don’t want to come off as someone who lacks patience. Especially when he’s like this. “no, that’s not it…Winter, listen to me.” You stand up and approach him carefully as you caress his face with sorrow in your eyes. “You don’t have to take orders from anyone anymore. Don’t let them control you. You’re here, with me. You’re safe,…just…please…” you plead with your voice, hoping he will snap out of it again soon enough.

His cold gaze softens slightly as he looks at you, seeming to process your words. For a moment, a flicker of emotion surfaces within his eyes before quickly disappearing. “I will not disobey.” He replies sternly as he moves his gaze to the side.

You don’t give up that easily as you caress his face tenderly. “look at me..what is my name?”

He hesitates for a moment, his mind struggling to recall that information. “I...I don't remember.”

“Yes you do, Winter…go on, say it. I know you can.” You don’t stop caressing his cheek as it seems to soothe his glare, turning into a look of vulnerability.

His face twitches just then, a sign of internal conflict as he struggles to obey his programming. After a few seconds, he finally speaks, “Your name is... Y/N.”

You smile gleefully as he finally recalls, “that’s right…you’re with me, in this cabin…where we are safe. you don’t have to follow orders anymore…you’re okay…” you hold around him tightly as you keep whispering reassurances.

The super soldier’s muscles tense under your touch, but he doesn't resist. “Y/N... It feels strange not following orders.” His voice is barely above a whisper, revealing just how unfamiliar this feeling of freedom is for him.

“I know…” you murmur with understanding, “I know it’s hard for you to fight it but we will keep working on it, alright?” I pull away to look at him as I ask, “you remember now how you got here, right?”

He nods slowly, still unsure of himself. “Yes…”

“how did we meet?” You ask him to test his memory once again.

He frowns slightly, trying to recall the details of their encounter. “We met during my mission... I was sent to capture you, but something happened. I couldn't bring myself to do it.”

You nod encouragingly “that’s right…that’s exactly how it went…” you then proceed to rub his back soothingly as you continue, “and do you recall me giving you a hug yesterday?”

He nods slowly, his expression still unsure. “Yes... you hugged me. It felt strange.”

You nod once again, “that’s okay…I know it’s not something you’re used to…” you hold his metal hand gently.

His eyes widen in surprise as you touch him, though he doesn't pull away from you. "Do...do not..." He says softly, trying to find the right words to express what he truly feels. It’s as if the winter soldier in him is trying to protest with a last effort, but luckily it doesn’t win this time. Instead, he closes his eyes tightly and leans into your embrace instead.

You smile fondly as you pull him into your embrace, “do you remember what I used a wet cloth for yesterday?”

His eyes almost snaps open as he recalls the memory. It’s as if the last puzzle of memory is finally placed inside his head. “You used a wet cloth to clean up my face. Because I got dirty while hunting.” He answers quietly, still leaning against you.

You nod once again proudly, “that’s right… see, you’re recalling everything so quickly now…” you stroke his shoulder gently as you allow him to keep leaning on you. “Do you want to stay like this for a while?”

He sighs and nods slowly, feeling more comfortable now that he has been allowed to remember things like this without fear of punishment or retaliation. "Yes." He replies quietly.

You lay down on the bed as you hold out your arms to welcome him into your embrace. He lays down beside you, wrapping his metal arm around you and resting his head on your chest. "Thank you..." he whispers, as he finally feels some peace in his mind. You whisper in return a sweet ‘you’re welcome’ before you continue taking a nap together.

That very same day, hours after that incident had occurred, you found yourself sitting in the living room, reading one of the many old books that had been stored untouched on the book shelf of the cabin.

The super soldier hadn’t stopped looking at you from the other couch as you tried to read in peace, until you finally broke the silence to ask, “Is something on your mind?”

He sits up and turns towards you as he asks, “Do you think we could... try something different?”

You look up from your book and ask softly, “try something different?”

He stands and turns towards you, his eyes burning with a fire that you've never seen before. “We could... have sex.” His voice is cold, devoid of any emotion other than the barest hint of curiosity.

Your eyes widen with surprise, unsure if you heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“I said we could have sex.” He repeats himself with the same uncaring tone.

You stare at him with only one word to ask, “why?”

He shrugs and looks down, finally seeming like he’s carrying some shame for even asking. “I just…I’m in a lot of pain right now…and sex is the only thing that’s eased it in the past. It has made me forget.”

“Why would you think that it could ease pain?” You ask, not understanding how he has had experience to make that conclusion while being the winter soldier.

His eyes closed tight just then as he thinks back to what you could only imagine being horrific memories. “I know because…they used me...for their own pleasure…”

Your lips part in shock as you can’t help but ask, “who?”

“The men…who kept me in order.” He swallows as he speaks, “When I wasn’t out on missions, they would…do that…as one of many tactics to keep me submissive to them…”

You lean in to hug him without further explanation, still processing this new piece of information. You knew they had been cruel to him, but you didn’t think they went beyond mental and physical torture. “Winter…I’m so sorry you were violated that way…but having sex with me won’t do any good…you need to heal in other ways…you can’t use trauma to heal trauma.”

“I know, but it's all I have. I’m sorry,” He sighs heavily as he buries his face in your shoulder. "It's just hard...to feel anything else."

“it’s not…” you assure him. “can’t you feel the affection I’m giving you right now?”

He hesitates for a moment before pulling back slightly to look at you. “I...I can feel it,” he admits softly, his expression still uncertain. “But it's not enough. The pain is too loud…”

You hold his face in my hands as I murmur, “what if I kiss you? Do you think that would give you any relief?”

You knew it was probably inappropriate to suggest it, given you two had only known each other a few weeks, but it was out of innocent intent that you suggested it. To see if it could bring any positive emotion to the winter soldier.

He stares at you for a moment, before he finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Are you sure? Do you truly consent to that?” You ask, needing further affirmation.

He nods less hesitantly now, “yes, I’m sure…”

You lean in, your lips finally meeting his. His lips are soft against yours as he tentatively returns your kiss. For a moment, there's a spark of something familiar—a flash of emotion that he can't quite place.

The kiss remains simple, yet soft and sweet before you pull back and search his eyes, “How was that, Winter?”

He blushes lightly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had just shared an intimate moment with you. “..It was nice,” he replies quietly. “very nice...” he adds.

You smile warmly at his reply as you can tell he seems much more relaxed. “Do you want another one?”

“Another one sounds...nice,” he says softly, his voice trembling slightly now.

You frown a little at that, not wanting to push him. “Are you sure? because one can be more than enough too…”

“No, it's alright,” he murmurs, his heart racing in his chest. “Another one would be...nice.”

You lean in again at his positive reply. The kiss deepens slightly, and he feels a shiver run down his spine. He's not sure what it is about this moment that feels so different from all the others—the ones where he was just being used for someone’s release.

You pull away and ask once again, “how was that?”

He takes a deep breath, looking at you shyly. “It was...good,” he answers quietly, his cheeks still red from embarrassment. “...Can we have more?”

You nod, a feeling of fondness overwhelm you as you continue sharing gentle and innocent kisses with the former winter soldier.

His gaze remains locked on yours as his lips move against yours, savoring every second of it. After a few moments, he finally breaks off the kiss and stares at you with wide-eyed wonder. “…More?”

You giggle softly as you nod and lean in to kiss him again. It remains pure and affectionate, the way it should be for now.

He takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself down. The warmth of your lips against his feels almost too much, but he doesn't want it to stop. “.... more.”

You pull away once again after a few kisses, looking deeply into his eyes as you make sure he’s alright. And boy does he seem to be doing just fine.

“More...” he whispers, a tremor in his voice betraying his eagerness. He reaches up to caress your cheek, fingers trembling as they graze over your skin. “Please...”

It was as if you had opened a new gate for him that day. A gate where he became aware of pure affection being the most healing thing to his soul after witnessing and going through hell.

He already knew he could never get enough of it from you, no matter how your relationship would move forward.

“How do you feel now, Winter?”

“… I feel alive.”

N/A: I wrote this in the middle of the night because I felt very inspired to. 😅 it’s been like months since I’ve posted any fics, so I know it’s out of nowhere but I hope you enjoyed reading it anyways.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #captain america the winter soldier #winter soldier x y/n #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader

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frannyzooey · 5 months

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devour (the entire universe)

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: E (additional warnings: harvesting violence, mentions of gore and blood, mentions of cannibalism, love as consumption and all the visuals that come with it, so much fucking and filth and ass play and cum eating it isn’t funny)

My submission for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event, my giftee is @wannab-urs ❤ Merry Christmas, my lovely!

I was so excited when I was given your name (!!) - I absolutely love seeing you on my dash. I tried to take as many things from your list as possible, but the prompt "love as consumption" really inspired this piece. Having never written anything like this before, I really, really hope you like it. A million thank yous to @hier--soir who beta'ed this for me and also gave me the best inspiration and guidance - I couldn't have done it without them. Thank you also to @bageldaddy who put up with my terrible spelling and who always reminds me, in the best way, that less is more ❤

CYCLE ONE

The first time you saw him, he stumbled into the field you were working in. Your head snapping up at the sound of someone coming through the grass, you observed each other for a moment, each of your throwers raised.

“Now this is something I have never seen in all my time in The Green,” he said. “A little girl.”

Immediately bristling, indignation flashed across your face underneath the glass dome of your helmet. You resented being called that - a little girl. The open prejudice against women harvesters was well known and there was something about his tone that felt mocking in a way you loathed, so you didn’t even dignify his statement with an answer.

Instead, you held your ground.

The two of you locked in a silent standoff, he took you in with a tilt of his helmet, assessing the threat you posed. You did the same, taking in his battered yellow suit, his lithe but broad frame.

Eventually, he lifted his hands in acquiescence and turned, disappearing back into the thick vegetation.

“A little girl,” you muttered angrily to yourself. Gouging your shovel into the rough soil, you sneered at the remembrance of his tone – as if he was taken aback by your presence. As if you didn’t belong here.

Three weeks later, you understood the marvel in his initial statement.

A woman an anomaly on the Green, others saw you as an easy target. Strong-armed out of your gems for the third time in weeks, other harvesters used brute force against your own smaller frame. Repeatedly forcing you into submission, you started to hate both them and yourself; the cruel environment and even crueler inhabitants bending you until you almost broke.

It was at this point that he stumbled upon you again: only this time, he offered himself to your aid.

Impressed by your tenacity, he suggested a partnership: your nimble fingers paired with his protection.

Sitting in the dirt with your suit torn and your case gone, you knew it was foolish to reject his offer of protection, but you did it anyway.

Both of you knew it was pride talking.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing you face to face. “I don’t see you have much of a choice. Or perhaps you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes in stubbornness. “What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “A companion.”

You stiffened, and he shook his head. “Not that sort of companion.” His eyes raked over your form, as if he could see anything under your bulky suit, coming back to your face with a raise of his eyebrows. “Unless you’re interested?”

Your face hardened. “Not a chance. Protection only. Even split.”

He thought for a moment, his face suddenly transforming into something amenable.

“Of course.”

CYCLE TWO

At first, you hated him.

Couldn’t stand the way he was always talking in that drawl of his, always spewing those endless sentences filled with nonsensical words and even less content. You had come to the Green to work alone in silence, after all. A concept he seemed to despise, given the way he wouldn’t fucking shut up.

Attempting to ignore his ceaseless talking in the days that followed, you thought all the time about breaking the partnership - especially when you saw just how deceiving he could be with those words of his. It was a resource, you reasoned, to have that type of deception on your side, but what was stopping him from deceiving you? Constantly questioning his true allegiance, you kept your guard up – until the fourth time someone tried to take what was yours.

He killed them.

No hesitation, no negotiating. Calculated yet with a glimpse of something feral underneath that flashed in his dark eyes with every plunge of his harvesting knife into the man’s chest, you held your breath as you watched him take out the threat. Your form was frozen, the heavy grunts of his struggle echoing through your helmet.

Chest heaving and fist gripping a blade covered in thick, dark blood when he rose, his breathing sounded heavy and labored through the radio. His deep voice crackled through, pulling you from your fog.

“It’s okay, Birdie. Keep digging.”

CYCLE THREE

Sharing a tent for logistical reasons, you had to get used to his…proximity.

The careless way he discarded his clothes around the small space, the constant crinkle of Bits Bars. The way he changed his clothes in front of you whether or not you averted your gaze. His scent that clung to everything in that tent: the thin pillow and blanket he gave you, the towels you dried yourself with, the clothing he lent you to sleep in.

Unused to having anyone in his presence, he was careless with his body and trying to give him some privacy (that he didn’t seem to want, nor need) you strained your eyes attempting not to look at his tanned skin every time he bared it. His body littered with evidence of survival, you wanted to touch every line of puckered skin with your fingertips just to see how it felt.

Attraction due to proximity, is what you told yourself.

Imagining the texture and heat of his skin, obsessing about the way his tongue peeked out to dart at his top lip when he was deep in concentration, staring at the size of his hands as he worked to daydream about how filling his fingers would feel inside you. The images haunted your every waking moment, and you tried to ignore them all, including the sleep thick mumbles that left his plush lips while he was dreaming at night.

The intimate sound drove you mad with arousal, even though you assumed they were nightmares that plagued him…until the sounds changed into something more desperate. Until he said your name, his hips shifting on his cot with intent.

Your pulse pounding in the dark, you slipped your hand beneath your waistband and delved your fingers deep into the silken wetness that greeted you.

Swirling, swirling, swirling, you joined him in his dreams.

CYCLE FOUR

Everything about your dynamic changed when he lost his arm.

Used to him being confidence brimming over, he turned into something else. Sullen, quiet. The silence you once craved too foreign to be comfortable, you tried to coax him out.

“You seem like you’ve been doing this a long time. Tell me about it.”

“How long have you been on your own? How many planets have you harvested on?”

“How did you get that blonde streak in your hair, is it a birthmark or something?”

Slowly inching yourself into the hole he’d lowered himself into, you settled in next to him, curling yourself into his still side.

Diving deep inside him to find the self-confidence you knew was buried deep, you cradled it carefully, nurturing it back to life. You modified his throwers for one armed use, stitched up the sleeve of his jumpsuit so it would stop flapping in the wind, helped him practice fighting techniques to learn a new way of throwing his lean strength around. When he had a setback in his healing, you bartered for more juice all on your own.

Carefully soaking his stump, he had avoided your gaze the whole time – or tried to, but you wouldn’t let him.

“Hey,” you murmured, his chin cupped in your hand. His dark eyes lifted to yours, and you held his gaze. “We’re still partners, right?”

He huffed in disgust, looking away. “A one armed man is of little benefit to you.”

“I decide what’s beneficial to me,” you challenged, the fierceness in your tone forcing the edge of his lips to tug up.

He said nothing as his eyes searched your face and you considered how this must be for him – a reversal of roles, an independent creature like him used to coming out on top. Scrambling and clawing and fighting for it, sure – only this time he lost, and with it, everything he knew.

Except you.

“I need you,” you said, reaching for his whiskered cheek to guide his face back to yours. “Partners. You and me, okay?”

“If you’d still have me, Birdie,” he offered, nodding in confirmation. “You and me.”

CYCLE FIVE

The first time you kissed, you were both drunk – and you did a lot more than kissing.

For a man still getting used to one arm, he fucked you senseless.

A bottle of…something found on the body of another harvester who saw Ezra’s missing arm and tried to take advantage, the two of you drank it in its entirety next to the still body left in the fight’s wake. Stumbling back to your tent with warmth spreading through your limbs to pool between your thighs, he saw your aching, restless want and matched it with his own.

Insatiable, filthy, depraved: you thought his inhibitions were gone along with the contents of the bottle, but it turns out he never had any.

Helmets tossed and clothes torn from each other’s bodies, his fingers left bruising marks in their wake paired with the ones pounded into the inside of your thighs from his rough thrusts that shifted the cot along the floor. He swallowed your guttural moans before matching them with his own, his teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh that he found under the rough exterior of your suit.

Riddled with the marks of his desire, he watched you ride him until you cried out his name and then made you sit on his face, licking his own spend out from inside you.

Never stopping until you begged him for reprieve, he only let you sleep an hour before waking you up to do it all over again.

He fucked you anywhere you were willing to be fucked after that: in broad daylight against the hull of an abandoned pod, bent over his cot with his dirty t-shirt stuffed into your mouth, right in the loose soil of a dig once.

Introducing you to so much more than you had experience with, he drew every debased fantasy out of you, and then made it come true with his fingers, mouth and cock. Wondering where he’d even learned the things he knew, he regaled you with more tales of his travels, only this time he told you about the interactions of a different kind.

A brothel, specializing in bondage.

A woman who had trained her gag reflex, and then bringing in a friend, had shown Ezra how to train his as well.

A bounty hunter once, who refused to take off his helmet.

“It was thrilling, not being able to see his face,” he mused, a delighted smile stretching his cheeks. “He came more than anyone I have ever been with. Filled my mouth full of his milky desire.”

He stopped there with a fond expression, lost in reminiscing.

“Sounds like you don’t need me anymore,” you teased. “You should go find your tall drink of bounty hunter, and –”

A smirk graced his face, and he rolled you onto your back to settle above you. “I love my gems golden colored, but I love them green as well.” He winked. “Come now, my envious Birdie. I’ll always need you.”

CYCLE TEN

You learned to move as one - both inside the tent and out.

Alone for months, you shifted with each others every movement, as if your bodies were connected just like the frequency of your helmets. Every tell of his showed plain through his suit, every mood shift of yours was met with a lift of his eyebrow.

Every beat of time spent in the presence of one another all merged and blended into one timeline: before, and after Ezra.

Before, there was insignificance, and after, there was only him.

Love seemed too simple a word, too small for what you felt. You shared a heartbeat, a body, a mind — something more than just love. It was crushing and all consuming, something that took root deep inside you and branched out to connect with his own limbs. You needed a better word than love to describe your devotion.

Something that dripped in reverence and coated your tongue just like he did.

“Have you ever cared for someone so much you wanted to consume them? Swallow a piece of them whole, to keep within you forever?”

Love as consumption, he called it.

You were used to his musings by now, the knowledge that he’d gathered over a lifetime of travels pouring out of his generous, plush mouth. Your bodies squeezed together on his cot, your skin was bare and sweat damp with exertion, your limbs intertwined with his. “There is something romantic about it, don’t you think? Wanting their body within yours.”

“Your body is already within mine nearly every night,” you teased, and he pinched the tip of your nose, grinning.

“Too true, little bird. Too true.” His face shifted from playful to something subdued. “But you know what I mean.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Your thumb traced a line across his eyebrow, your fingers seeking out the patch of white in his hairline just above. “Want me to slice a piece of you off and eat it?”

He ignored the grimace on your face. “Which part of me would you choose?”

The question was phrased in such a way that you could tease him again, but you knew he wanted a real answer, not a playful one.

“Well…” you thought, lacing your fingers with his to bring them to your mouth. “I have always loved these. But to leave you with any less fingers would just be cruel.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes fixed on the way your mouth molded around his knuckles as you gave them a kiss. Letting go, your touch drifted to dance along the blunt edge of his stump.

“Maybe a piece from here?”

He frowned. “You’d take even more from me, in a place I am already lacking?”

Your voice dropped an octave, your own expression turning solemn. “It was horrible, what we had to do. I hate thinking about it: the weight of your arm as it dropped away, the pain you were in.” You found his dark eyes, holding his gaze as you stroked the puckered flesh. “I want to carve a piece out right here, just to rewrite the memory of it. A gift from you to me, rather than something I took.”

“You took nothing that I did not beg you to take.”

The double meaning in his words – like all of them – wasn’t lost on either of you.

“Only you would make amputation sound so romantic.”

He smiled, and you dug your fingers into the firm round of his shoulder, pulling his body to lie on top of yours. Cradled safely between your plush thighs, his hips immediately rocked forward with intent.

His head dipped to nuzzle his nose against your own. “It’s easy to be a romantic with a muse such as you.”

Catching him with a kiss, your lips locked as he slid his tongue inside the wet cavern of your mouth and you breathed him in, winding your arms around his neck to keep him in place. Your fingers slid up through the crown of his mussed, shortly cropped hair and he relaxed on top of you, deepening the kiss.

“I would give you my arm if I could.”

You whispered your confession as his mouth covered your pulse with a harsh suck, and whined when he answered with a sharp bite: his incisors pinching your delicate flesh. His hot breath ghosted humid over your skin as he searched for another spot, biting down on the other side of your slim neck.

Arching underneath him, you continued. “I would cut it off and give it to you.”

He found the tender underside of your breast, catching it between his teeth and groaned, soothing the bite with a broad sweep of his tongue before continuing down the plane of your body.

“I would give you anything, Ez. Anything.”

Mindless with lust from the sharp edges of his love, you writhed underneath him, hitching your knees higher along his torso. His strong muscles flexed and shifted under the squeeze of your legs, and he forced them open to spread your legs wider. Questing, his mouth sought out the tender skin along the curve of your hip with another bite.

“Fuck,” you breathed, pushing your fingers through his hair to guide him lower.

Situating his broad shoulders between your thighs, his mouth devoured.

Wide open to catch everything you gifted him, his tongue slid smoothly through your folds to collect every slip of arousal that dripped out, his throat bobbing with a swallow before going harder. His hunger shifted you up the cot, the lower half of his face buried inside your aching cunt and when his tongue found your clit with a smooth, forceful grind, you shamelessly begged for more.

“Harder. Eat it harder.”

He growled, his fingers digging into your flesh to tug you tight against his face and a hoarse cry crawled out of your throat – one that broke into an astonished cry when he pulled back just to bite into the plush, smooth skin of your inner thigh. This one drew blood – you could feel the hot slip of it against your skin, his kisses smeared with it. Ignoring the blossoming throb of pain, you asked him to do it again.

He did, right at the same time he slid two fingers inside you with a filling stretch and joining your hand with his, he rested his cheek on your inner thigh and watched as your fingers breached your slick warmth together. A finger of your own and one of his, then two of your own and two of his - your hands worked together, as they always have. His face right next to the liquid warmth coating the digits, his tongue joined to lap at your clit.

Obscene sounds filled the small tent: the audible slick sound of your cunt accepting his fingers over and over again, your higher pitched moans blending with his lower ones. Keeping his fingers tucked snugly inside, his mouth lowered down between your cheeks to slide against your asshole and he ate you there with abandon as well, your thighs dropping open wider to give him more room.

When his mouth found your clit again with a suck, the impulse to be eaten alive by him spread thick and warm through your hips, weighing heavily in your core. Propelled higher and higher with every pump of his fingers, the image of his blood soaked mouth as his teeth tore into your pulse made you pitch forward into your release, your body bowing against the thin cot.

Breathless and still riding a pulsing wave, you begged him. “Come up here and fuck me.”

He obeyed immediately, letting his weight push the air from your lungs just before his mouth stole the rest. His kisses soaked in desperation, his cock notched thick and stiff at your entrance, and you accepted him within you without any resistance. Fucking you with harsh snaps of his hips, your fingers dug into the meat of his ass and surrounded in his warmth with the light blacked out by his broad frame, your lips found a home on his bicep that flexed taut next to your cheek.

Your body cradled within his, the humid air around you pulsing with life. The rhythmic woosh of his strong heartbeat, the safety you’d feel within the damp darkness, finally joined as one.

His strokes snapped harder, his own want matching yours. His mouth ached to bite your soft lips, to nibble on the skin until it broke under the force of his love.

His harvesting knife slipped between his ribs to crack them open, gifting you everything held inside. Feeding you bits and pieces of his heart, watching the muscle that’s only ever beat for you disappear between your lips.

“Where do you want it, Birdie?” he begged above you, his mouth molding around the hinge of your jaw, tasting the sweet skin there. “I’m gonna come. Shit – shit. Where do you want it?”

“Inside me.”

A shudder slipped through his body as he came with a loud, sated groan, his hips forcing themselves into the cradle of your thighs to bury it as deep as possible – but he wasn’t done. He was never done, when it came to you. Before he could catch his breath, he slid his softening cock from your warmth and replaced it with his fingers, crooking them to gather the milky spend.

Bringing them up to your mouth, he fed it to you.

Glistening tendrils of release coated his fingers and your lips, smeared across your tongue when he forced them into your mouth and then sliding them out, he kissed you deeply, savoring your joined taste. He gathered more, this time shifting his touch to the tight ring of your ass and he pushed some in there as well, your hips arched up to accept it.

Sweat, spend, blood: he consumed them all and likewise fed them to you. Hours slipped by, his appetite for you insatiable: forcing you onto your hands and knees to eat you roughly from behind, filling your ass with his cock before pulling out to spill hot across your lower back, smearing it over your skin like a balm, his fingers tacky with it when he wrapped them around your slender throat and made you take him again. Riding him, your fingers sought out the wet heat of his mouth and he kissed and nibbled on them, before drawing them in with a suck.

The vast universe outside the tent was a threatening thing: harsh and unforgiving, ruthless and deadly. Inside the tent, tendrils of filthy intimacy surrounded your bodies as you orbited each other, creating your own universe between the sweat damp press of your bodies.

“You and me,” he breathed under you, his teeth catching on the pads of your fingers and you dropped down, resting your mouth just under the whiskered curve of his jaw. His pulse a rapid beat under the skin, you relished the strength held just under the surface.

“You and me,” you replied, your mouth opening wide.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x reader #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 month

Text

Most Wanted (Mafia Boss!Toji x Spy!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot)

"I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me."

*IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK CONTAINS R*PE & NONCON SEXUAL ACTS. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS AND READ LIGHTLY.

Pairing: Toji Fushigiro x Self-Insert!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You’re a highly skilled hitwoman. You’ve been doing this for years–getting paid to take hits on the wealthy and corrupt at your agency’s order. You figure taking a hit on the renowned Tokyo mafia boss Toji Fushigiro won’t be any different. However, things take a terrifying turn for you, and your skills are put to the test when you go undercover as a dancer at his favorite club and give him a private dance. But instead of killing you, Toji takes it upon himself to punish you and show you what happens when you fuck with him.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+; Porn with Plot; Physical Fighting; Gun Play; Knife Play; Noncon/R*pe; Forced Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Forced Orgasm; Lap Dancing/Pole Dancing; Doggystyle; Spit Play; Degradation + Praise; Rough Sex; Choking; Hair Pulling; Unprotected PIV Sex; Creampie; Some Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Here you go lovely!! @curiouscutie143 I hope you & everyone other toji lovers enjoy this. I had so much fun writing this & I tried to make it as nasty as I could lol. I may write another mafia!toji thing in the future just cuz this shit was soooo fun. Enjoy! -Jazz

*********

“Peaches, you’re needed in the backrooms.”

You resist the urge to smile as you turn around from your seat at the bar, sipping on some water after your dance and sweet-talking a middle-aged bank broker into his pockets. It’s important to keep up the facade.

“Comin’,” you tell your coworker and turn to the broker who looks ready to dive into your cleavage.

“Sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” you sigh, acting apologetic. He frowns at you, making the wrinkles and lines in his face more evident. “But this shouldn’t take too long. Find me afterward?”

The broker puts his hand on yours, accidentally using the hand his gold marriage band sits on. “You’ve got it, baby,” he purrs. “I’ve got some dollars just waitin’ on ya.”

He gives you a wink before polishing off his whiskey and walking away from the bar, leaving you to breathe and collect your thoughts. You turn to the bottle girl, waving her down. “One shot of Patron, please!” you yell above the music blaring from the overhead speakers. She nods, scurrying to fetch you a much-needed shot. It will be the first alcoholic drink you’ve had since your shift started.

You suddenly hear a buzz from your right ear and instantly put your hand up against it under your hair. “V,” a gruff voice says into your earpiece. “Come in, V. It’s been 20 minutes since we last talked. Did you get him yet?”

You scan the upscale strip club pulsing with purple and red strobe lights and booming with activity: businessmen and regular-degular customers tossing money at the dancers on stage who spin around poles and do splits in their thongs and heels.

“Target was sighted five minutes earlier, sir,” you whisper into the earpiece given to you by your agency. “He is currently in the backrooms waiting for me. He came alone. He made eye contact with me ten minutes ago, so he may be asking for me.”

More like you made eye contact with him and had been since he walked in. He is impossible to miss with how tall and buff he is. His black V-neck tee stuck to his pectorals and abs while his jeans hung low on his hips.

You had expected he’d be flashier with his wealth by wearing obvious designer clothing, but you figured that he had to keep a low profile as well. Beneath the V-neck that hung from his neck, you could see the tattoos that roped over his chest just like his arms. The healed scar at the corner of his smirk as his green eyes scanned the place over told you that this was, indeed, your target.

He stood between two bodyguards in suits half his size, giving off an intimidating aura, especially with the guns at their hips. But you’d expect nothing less from Toji Fushigiro, Tokyo’s most notorious mafia boss.

He is powerful. He is wealthy. He is known throughout Tokyo and Japan for being the head of Tokyo’s infamous mafia gang, the spot being passed down by his father. He is also a criminal. White-collar crime, organized crime, drug trafficking––you name it, Toji does it.

He is also known for his scare tactics on those who owe him a debt. He’s held man over bridges, threatening to drop them in the murky waters below. He’s pistol-whipped. He’s choked. He’s stomped. He’s jumped guys in alleyways and left them for dead. He is a man of his word. If he tells you he’ll fuck you up if you don’t give him his money in a certain amount of time, he’ll do it.

He is the number one man current on your hitlist…and your agency’s. They knew it was a good idea to employ you, their top hitwoman, to Toji’s favorite club to take him out for good. Though he didn’t show up when you started at the club a couple of weeks ago, you knew it was only a matter of time until he showed up.

And now, he is. As soon as he was in the club, everyone’s eyes were on him. Dancers scurried to the pole and backstage to change into their best outfits to milk him out of his pockets. Bartenders and bottle girls quickly wiped down counters and took care of customers as quickly as possible so they could tend to him. Your manager barreled toward him with complimentary champagne and a spot in the VIP section.

As Toji walked with your manager, your eyes met across the room. They met again while he sat in the VIP section when he should’ve been watching a dancer twirl around the pole in front of him. Both times were fleeting, but they affected you completely. His green eyes, like mirrors to a forest, sent chills down your spine and made your stomach flip. His gaze was intense. Intimate. His eyes made it hard to relax or act like a normal dancer working her shift at the club.

He seemed to know what he was doing to you or he was sizing you up because he would simply smirk and sip on his whiskey on the rocks and puff on his cigar, his soft lips forming Os and blowing the smoke into the strobe-lit air. You can understand why so many women fell for him, but you aren’t one of them. The tiny gun strapped to your hip proves it.

Your real boss sighs in relief. “Excellent work,” he praises. “Unfortunately, we can’t see what you’re doing from over at headquarters and we’re still working on connecting the audio to hear what’s happening around you, so just fill us in on what you do next until then. All you have to do now is walk back there and complete the mission as we discussed.”

You toss an arm over the bar, stretching your coffin-shaped nails along the polished bar. “Of course,” you reply with a smirk. “Don’t I always?”

The bartender returns with your shot and you down it at once, relishing the burn and the way it loosened you right up. “I’ll keep you informed,” you say. “Just stay near the phone.”

“Be careful,” your boss says before the line cuts. You check your makeup in the bar before you get up from the bar and strut over to your beautiful, blonde coworker in her red lingerie and heels. “Hey, Yuki,” you greet her.

She smiles at you and guides you to the backrooms where the wealthier customers usually take the girls to get a dance…or something more. Sexual exchanges aren’t allowed, but the manager never complains if they bring in more money. You and Yuki peer down the hallway to the double doors of a private room where Toji’s bodyguards stand.

“Why the guards?” you ask, pretending to be confused. “Is the President here or somethin’?” Yuki turns you to face her, her eyes wide. “Even bigger,” she replies. “He’s the hot guy with the scar who comes in here often. He’s a mafia boss, apparently. Super hot, but very powerful. The bossman gave him his pick of any girl he wanted and he picked you.”

You do your best to hide your smirk. You knew you had him. “Me?” you ask breathlessly. “Why me?” Yuki shrugs, just as clueless. “Don’t know, but I was sent out to fetch you. He’s willin’ to pay double the amount of a regular lapdance, but he didn’t say if he wanted it topless, naked or not.” She gives you a worried look, furrowing her blonde brows. “You sure you up for it, hon?” she asks. “I know you’ve taken high rollers before, but he ain’t even a high roller! He’s beyond that!”

To sell it even more, you bite your lip, acting nervous but intrigued. “I can do it,” you reply. “Just hold my hand when you walk me in there.” Yuki obliges and squeezes your hand as you begin to walk toward the guards, heels clicking across the floor.

“Target is in sight,” you whisper into your earpiece, turning away from Yuki and putting your mouth in your arm to muffle your voice. “I’m walkin’ to the backrooms now where he’s located.”

“Excellent, V!” your boss says. “Just do it as we discussed. Don’t falter, don’t yield, and don’t lose focus.” The three rules of being a spy. You never forgot them. Finally, you come to the guards and Yuki smiles up at them. “I’m here with Peaches,” Yuki announces. “The girl Mr. Fushigiro asked for.”

You plaster a bright, charming smile on your face. It must work because the guards budge and step out of the way for you. One of them opens the door for you and Yuki, holding it. “Step in,” he orders. You thank him and scurry inside the dimly lit room with an included mini-bar, a single stripper pole, and leather lounging couches. Toji currently sits in one of them, legs spread and eyes hooded as he puffs on a blunt and sips on his drink.

His green eyes pierce into your very soul when he eyes you in the doorway. “Here she is, sir,” Yuki says. “Just as you requested. And she’s just as pretty as I told you she is.” She moves your hair out of your face, exposing your pretty false flashes, Fenty Beauty gloss, and accentuated features to the boss.

Toji hums, liking what he sees. “Yes, she is,” he agrees. “Tell your boss thanks. He can expect some good business out of me once the night is through.” Yuki nods and gives your arm a squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispers before heading off. The doors close and you are left alone with your hit.

Neither one of you moves toward the other, staying posted to your spots. Toji takes a puff on his blunt and lights taps it above the ashtray next to him. “Y’know, you’re mighty pretty up close,” he purrs. “I’ve been wonderin’ what you’d look like up close instead of across the room.”

You finally look at him, noticing how big he is even sitting down. “So you’ve been watchin’ me tonight?” you ask. He nods, his eyes trailing down your form. “I knew I hadn’t seen ya before,” he continues. “I come here often and I would’ve remembered seein’ a face and a rack like that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Charmer, aren’t you?” you sarcastically question.

He smirks at your wittiness. He likes that bite in a woman. “When I wanna be, but you’ll have to forgive me; the liquor makes me bolder than I already am.” His tongue jets out to lick his lips. “But you’ve gotta give a guy credit for bein’ honest and that lil’ outfit don’t leave much to the imagination.”

You go to wrap your arms around yourself but then stop. You need to sell this and if you’re forced to stand here in a mini dress that barely covers your ass or titties with heels that could crush a bitch in front of your hit who also happens with me enticingly sexy, then so be it. Toji’s gaze softens somewhat, noticing your discomfort. “You are very beautiful, Peaches,” he genuinely says. “Is it okay if I use your name?”

“Thank you, Mr. Fushigiro,” you softly reply. “And no, it’s fine. It’s what I’m known as around here anyway. I started here five weeks ago.” He nods, sipping on his whiskey. “Call me Toji.”

“Toji,” you parrot, slowly striding towards the pole in the middle of the room, an overhead speaker playing soft R&B overhead. “You’re quite the man. The entire club seems to be in a frenzy over you.”

His smirk widens, proud and cocky. “They always are,” he chuckles. “Don’t know why. This place gets plenty of people bigger than me all the time, especially international celebs. I heard Drake was here not too long ago.” You give a dry “mm-hmm” as you grasp the pole. Toji takes that answer another way. “What, you don’t like Drake?” he snorts.

“He’s okay,” you reply, short and impatient. “So what are you here for? To talk or to watch me dance?” You wrap a hand around the pole and pop your hip out, waiting for him to give you an order.

“Depends.” He sits up, leaning forward to get a better look at you. “What are you willin’ to do tonight for me? ‘Cause we can just sit here and talk. I wouldn’t mind hearin’ that pretty voice all night.” His green eyes gleam with mirth and a small hint of lust.

“Definitely a charmer,” you chuckle. “That’s fine if you’re willin’ to pay, though we don’t have a rate for conversation.”

He laughs at this, the sound deep and raspy yet pleasant to the ear. He takes another puff on his blunt before he lowers it down onto the ashtray. “Then let’s cut to the chase,” he sniggers. “It’s $500 for a 10-minute dance, right? I want 20 minutes, so that would make…”

He begins to count on his fingers but then stops. “A lot,” he chuckles. “I’ll probably ask for you to strip though. Are you okay with that, Peaches?”

You feel something flip inside of you at the mention of all of that money and how passive he is about it. Any girl working here would do whatever he wanted for 20 minutes! “I’m a stripper,” you reply passively. “What else am I gonna do?”

Toji tsks, grimacing at you. “Damn, what kinda attitude is that?” he laughs. “A beauty like you should be more adamant about showin’ off her body. Can I offer you a drink to get you in the mood?” He nods at the mini bar overflowing with bottles of tequila, vodka, and liquor.

“I don’t drink on the job,” you reply. “Music helps.” You suddenly hear a buzz in your ear and then your boss’ gruff voice: “Give me the rundown, V,” he demands.

You want another drink?” you ask. You nod at Toji’s empty glass and he agrees, so you walk over to the bar. To him, you’re seemingly looking for a bottle of whiskey, bent down to look through the racks. “With the target now,” you whisper. “Just waiting for the right time to attack. Give me a second.”

Once the line goes dead, you walk back over to Toji and pour him a bottle. As you bend down, you give him an ample view of your titties much to his enjoyment. As you do, you slip the gun out of your dress and place it under the couch where only you can find it. Once done, you leave the bottle with him, and step back, hands on your hips. He sits back against the couch, preparing for the show. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’,” he purrs, his eyes filled with obvious lust and attraction.

With a slow song playing above and the lights dipping into an almost ominous red shade, you begin to move to the beat. You roll your hips, swaying them side to side and front to back, almost as if you’re grinding on Toji despite him being several feet away from you. You let the music take control of you as you grasp the pole and begin to grind against it, dipping low to wind your ass in his face.

You do a few tricks on the pole for him–jumping and spinning around it, your thighs wrapped tight around the metal pole; squatting and lifting up your dress to bounce your ass, etc.–before you turn to look at him over your shoulder, flipping your hair. Toji’s eyes are hooded and lustful, all from the weed, the whiskey, and the effect you’re having on him. Despite the situation, it feels good to have an attractive man ogle at your plump frame.

“Take off the dress,” he demands, a slight growl in his voice. You don’t turn to face him, instead still facing the wall as you carefully unzip the back of your dress. The thin piece of clothing falls off of your body, revealing all of your rolls, curves, and the matching glittery bra and thong set.

“Shit!” Toji hisses, ogling at your asscheeks in your glittery thong. “Your back don’t hurt carryin’ that around?”

You finally turn around and find him leaning forward, his hands clenching his thighs. “You don’t look like you’re ready,” you giggle, winding your hips and toying with your titties in their cups. “Did you talk too much big game, Toji?”

The boss looks like he can’t even speak, his scarred lips parted as he stares you down. “Goddamn,” he hisses. “How some horny fuck didn’t propose to you and steal you out of here yet is beyond me.”

You give a light, tittering laugh, smiling down at him. “Well, if someone did that, I wouldn’t be here with you.” He looks happy with that response. You then twist around and bend over for him, giving him a full view of your full, round, perfect ass. “Can you handle it, baby?” you purr. “Can you handle me?”

You quickly pop up and turn around, finding him shifting in his seat and gritting his jaw. “I should be askin’ you that,” he growls. “Come the fuck here.” Deciding not to tease him any longer, you strut over to him, feeling sexy and irresistible. It’s strange that the same man you were sent to kill is doing this to you.

His eyes have grown several shades darker, reminding you of the deepest, darkest parts of a jungle. “Dance for me,” he demands. “Not on the pole; on me.” He opens his legs wider for you and pats his lap, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Though clients often get handsy when dancers give them lapdances here, you decide that it’s best to do as he says.

Plus, you’d be lying if you said that you aren’t curious to feel him for yourself. So you place your hands on his thick, muscular highs and begin to roll your body before squatting down, popping up between his legs. You reach up to drag your palms and long nails down his chest, feeling up his abs and toned stomach. He allows it, staring down at you with a look that would make a nun blush.

You then stand up between his legs before turning around and lowering yourself down into his lap. “Shit,” he whispers, watching the way you work your ass along his lap and the jean-clad bulge that has begun to make an appearance. You twerk and bounce on top of him before he takes a drag of his blunt, blowing the air away from you. “You ever shotgun before?” he asks, his lips close to your ear now.

Your body grows hot from him being so close, the attraction ironically magnetic. Slowly, you shake your head and Toji chuckles, adoring your mix of cute and sexy. “C’mere.” You lean back and tilt your head up while he takes another puff of his blunt. He holds the marijuana smoke before puckering his lips up and leaning down as if to kiss you. Slowly, the smoke travels from his lips to yours in an indirect kiss that leaves you breathless and your head dizzy.

You can’t deny it: you’re wet. Your pussy has never been this wet for any man before…and he’s the enemy! Toji seems to feel it too judging by the hard-on you can feel pressing into your thigh. You shift onto his knee and begin grinding your ass back, doing your best to not grind your pussy against his thigh.

“So you got a name other than that stripper shit?” he randomly asks you. You are immediately taken out of your lustful haze, remembering why you’re here. “I don’t remember us talkin’ about personal shit,” you dryly reply. “I don’t give my real name out to men I don’t know.”

Then, for the first time tonight, Toji touches you. His big hand lowers onto your thigh and squeezes. You don’t try to move it but you are alarmed. “Oh, but you do know me, darlin’,” he replies, digging his fingers into your flesh. “And I know you, V.”

At the mention of your real name, you freeze. The world freezes with you, everything seeming to cease their existence including the music that continues to play overhead. But you don’t hear it. All you can hear is your own blood pumping loudly in your eardrums. Toji releases you and you quickly jump off of him, turning toward him.

He just sits there staring at you, a humorous smirk playing on his lips. The smile is no longer attractive to you anymore. Suddenly, you feel disoriented. You feel like you may vomit or drop to the floor in your heels. Your earpiece buzzes to life again in your ear. “V!” your boss calls. “We just got the audio working again. What’s happening?” He sounds panicked, just as much as you are.

Toji bares his pearly whites at you as he calmly reaches for his whiskey. “Ah, now them wheels are turnin’ in that pretty little head,” he chuckles. “You know, you dance almost as good as you lie. I can see why you were put here to go undercover.” He takes a sip and licks the remnants away from his top lip, still staring you down.

“Ain’t that right?” he asks and it feels like a snake has just silvered up your back and sunk its teeth in you, paralyzing you.

“Y/N, he knows!” your boss hisses. “Stand down! Don’t do anything stupid!” He continues to yell and scream at you about aborting the mission and telling you that someone will be there soon, but you can’t quite hear him. It’s like you’re underwater and he’s standing above ground, his voice muffled and murky.

For a few seconds that seem like a lifetime, you and Toji stare each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. Your body kicks into fight or flight, the freeze stage having already been awakened. Inisctively, you shift into fight mode. Quickly, you take the bottle of whiskey and bring it down towards Toji’s head, but he catches your wrist like it’s nothing.

You grunt, wincing at the pain of his grip. “Oh, you wanna play, huh?” he cackles. “Goin’ against your boss’ little rules just to take me out? How cute.”

With a wail of effort, you swing your other hand at his head but he catches that too. Counting on this, you bring your leg up and kick him hard in the groin. He immediately releases you and lurches forward, holding his junk, giving you a chance to grab your gun from under the couch.

“Don’t move,” you growl, cocking the gun at him. “You move and I’ll shoot.”

Toji, red in the face and panting, glares up at you. “Please,” he scoffs. “You act like you’re the first bitch that’s put a gun to my head.” Before you can blink, he is swinging the bottle at you. You duck which is a mistake because Toji uses that opening to tackle you to the ground. You struggle and growl, turning into an animal as he wrestles with you for your gun.

He ends up winning, flipping you over and pinning you down to the floor with his body. “Get off!” you scream, still wriggling around. “Get off me!” Click. The barrel of your gun presses to your temple. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you regret it,” he growls.

His fingers move your hair back away from your ear and pry the earpiece out of your ear. He snarls at it as if it’s nothing but a bug. “God, they made these things so much smaller now.” He stands up, keeping the gun on you, and stomps on the earpiece, breaking it. “Whoops!” he mockingly says. “They should still be able to find ya though. I don’t plan on movin’ ya to another location…if you don’t piss me off.”

The gun clicks again. “Turn around slowly,” he demands. Despite your reluctance to do so, you slowly turn around and face him, lying on your back with your own shit pointed at you as Toji stands above you. “How did you know?” you whisper.

He smirks, appearing like the Devil in your eyes. “It wasn’t hard, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Dancers don’t eye me up the way you were. You looked like you were out for blood, not dollars. Not to mention the gun I saw at your hip.” You flush, cursing yourself. You should’ve been smarter. Of course, he would know. He spends his days having people hunt him down.

His smirk fades, his expression darkening. “Who sent you?” he demands. “And don’t lie. You don’t wanna know what I do with liars.” The gun cocks, his finger trained on the trigger. You glare at him, hating his guts even more than you had before you met him. So you weakly confess. He guffaws, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, those guys? They’ve been after me for years!”

“You’re a criminal,” you hiss despite the gun in your face. “You only got this far because of you dippin’ your hands in crime and gettin’ blood on your fists. I’m here to stop you.”

Toji’s brows raise in shock though he’s intrigued by your stubbornness. He squats down in front of you, still pointing the gun at your head. “And how are you gonna do that, huh, little girl?” he asks.

Not even thinking, you hollow your lips and wallop a glob of spit in Toji’s handsome face before quickly turning over and scrambling to the door. However, Toji is just as fast and has his big, tatted arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight. You can’t elbow him anywhere because your arms are stuck in his, leaving you to kick and wriggle.

“Oooh, I love a feisty bitch,” he chuckles. “Makes it a lot more fun to break ‘em.”

He begins to walk with you over to a nearby wall and slams you against it, knocking the air out of your lungs. You find yourself pressed against the wall and him who is equally as hard and unmoving as the solid wall against your front.

He shoves the side of your face into the wall while he pins your arms behind your back, causing your muscles to explode with pain at being stretched back too far. “Get off!” you cry. “O-Ow, that hurts!”

Toji tugs on your arms again, emitting a weak whine of pain from you. “That’s what you get for fuckin’ with me,” he growls. “Now what should I do with you? Kill you? Leave your agency to find you here?” The gun once again presses against your temple, cold and unrelenting.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears pushing back the ducks. You can’t beat this. You can’t fight this. “Do it,” you sob. “Just do it!” You go limp against him, waiting to feel that bullet penetrating your skull and for the void to come to collect you…but instead, Toji takes the gun away from you, leaving an indent on your temple. “No,” he says. “I’ve got a better idea.”

You open your eyes, confused but also scared. What else is he planning to do with you? Before you can answer, you hear the undeniable sounds of his zipper coming down and the clinking of his metal belt buckle. Your body instant seizes, fear flooding your insides.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me. Tonight, babydoll, you’re mine. You don’t have a choice. You’re mine and I’m gonna show you what that means.”

With his belt finally in his hands, he trains the gun on you. “Put your hands against the wall and stick that ass out,” he demands, his voice void of all emotion. “Do it now.” Outnumbered and out of tricks, you do as he says, trembling as you do so.

“Bad girls like you need to be punished,” he says before the belt comes down hard onto your right asscheek. WHACK! The sharp sound of the leather hitting the soft, jiggly flesh of your ass penetrates the air. It feels like fire has licked your skin and your knees buckle at the pain. “Ow!” you cry out.

Toji cackles at your agony, finding enjoyment and cuteness in it. “What, that hurt?” he laughs. “You don’t like the pain? I’m sure a girl like you has taken plenty of worse things before.” He raises his arm and whips the same cheek twice.

WHACK! WHACK! You flinch at each sharp hit, each one becoming more painful than the last. “Hurts, don’t it?” he snickers. “Don’t you regret pullin’ that shit with me now, babydoll, hm?”

He then proceeds to whip your left cheek, not allowing you any time to recover or breathe.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! You bite your lip so hard that you nearly draw blood, the burning of your backside too much to bear. “S-Stop!” you whine. “Please stop!”

Toji’s big hands wrap around your mouth, covering it. “Don’t speak,” he whispers into your ear, his breath the scent of whiskey and mint. “You don’t get to speak. Just take it.” You have no choice but to do so as he wails on your ass again and again, the leather cracking like fire against your jiggly ass. “God, that recoil,” he groans. “I’m gonna enjoy my time with you, baby doll.”

You don’t answer, too busy holding back tears that have begun to push at your eye sockets. Toji finally stops and tosses his head back to laugh. “Are you cryin’?” he laughs in disbelief. “Damn, and all from some spankings? And here I thought you were this tough bitch.”

You burn with resentment and humiliation, but all of that is pushed aside when he forces you to stand up straight and tugs your arms behind your back. You begin to panic but don’t say anything as he tightens his belt around your wrists and locks the belt buckle around them. “Turn around,” he finally says.

Despite your tiny sobs, you do so and face him. His eyes are hooded and dark with obvious lust for you. He uses one big hand to force you onto your knees, right in front of his open fly and hard cock that you can see pressing against his designer briefs. “I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about,” he growls. He points the gun at your face, specifically at your lips. “Open your mouth and suck on it.”

His expression, dark and chilling you to the bone, makes you feel as if you don’t have a choice..and not the loaded gun pressing to your lips. Swallowing hard, you shakily open your mouth and he slides the pistol in. The metal feels cold and hard in your mouth, making you cringe. “That’s it,” Toji chuckles. “Take that shit, baby. C’mon, don’t you wanna please me?”

Slowly, you begin to suck, hollowing your lips out against the gun. Though you tremble and shake, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine the gun as a hard, warm, throbbing cock instead. Toji moans as if you’re sucking on him, watching your tongue swirl along the barrel and your head bob.

“Fuck, baby doll,” he groans. “You’ve got such a mouth on ya.” He slides it in further, the metal scraping against your teeth, until he reaches your throat. You gag and try to pull away, but Toji grips the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, mama,” he snickers. “You don’t get to get outta this. C’mon, just open your throat and breathe through your nose. You can do it.” He continues to push and pull, the gun sliding in and out of your mouth, while you struggle to breathe. You can feel sweat pool under your pits and between your cleavage all from your fear. Toji’s finger isn’t on the trigger anymore, but it doesn’t matter. He could change that in a second.

So you suck and you slurp and you bob your head up and down like a good little slut, staring him into his eyes while spit drips from your lips. Finally satisfied, Toji pulls the gun out of your lips now coated in your saliva. “You fuckin’ slut,” he pants. “Now I need to try ya out for myself.”

He pockets the gun and, with one hand, pulls down his briefs. His big, long, throbbing, veiny, perfect-looking dick springs to life. It damn near hits you in the face, making you gasp. “Sorry, mama,” he chuckles. “He just likes you.”

He wraps a hand around his 12-inch dick, pumping it lewdly in your face. “So you finna stare at it or suck it?” he deadpans, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer or recover.

“W-Wait,” you stammer.

That’s all you get to say before his cock is pushing between your lips and into your mouth. He releases a moan when he first slides into your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your wet mouth, soft lips, and tongue wrapping around him. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to take him. His girthy dick stretches out your jaw and your throat as he pushes himself in deep.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he chuckles. “That can’t be all you can take of me.” He continues to push, filling your tongue and nostrils with the scent and taste of him. The walls of your throat have no choice but to accommodate his size though it burns and you gag as he begins to slowly yet roughly thrust into your mouth. “Maybe this will help ya out,” he says. Suddenly, he retrieves a pocket knife from his pocket and flicks it open.

Fear flares into your stomach, making you want to jump away, but his large hand keeps you locked down on his cock. He presses the knife to your throat, chuckling as he does. “Careful now,” he warns. “You lean too close and that pretty neck might get sliced. I just wanna encourage you to do a good job.” He grips your hair and wrenches it up to look at him. “And you will do a good job for me, won’t you?” he asks.

His tone makes it so you can’t refuse, so you say yes and allow him to force your head back down onto his cock before pulling it back. He does that for a while––pushing and pulling your head down onto his dick like you’re his toy while he uses your sloppy, wet mouth like it’s a fleshlight. “Fuck!” he shouts to the ceiling. “This fuckin’ mouth is heaven, baby. I hope your pussy is just as tight as your tight ass throat.”

You gargle and mumble on his cock, causing pleasurable vibrations to travel throughout his body and his heavy balls that drip with your saliva. He continues to fuck your face and ruin your makeup, marveling at how beautiful you look choking on his cock. “Look at you, you little slut,” he dreamily sighs. “Makeup all fucked up. Hair ruined. You’re just a little mess for me, aren’t ya?”

He slides his cock out of your throat and you take a grateful gulp of air, strands of your hair stuck to your wet lips and chin. He takes the knife and slides it along your chin, smirking down at you. “Now it’s my turn to taste you,” he murmurs. Before you can protest, he is picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder, and placing you on your stomach with your arms still tied behind you.

“Please!” you sob, beginning to cry again. Toji straddles your ass, one hand massaging the globes of fat in your thong while the other holds his knife. “Please what, baby?” he mockingly coos. “I ain’t even touch you yet.” You then feel the cool metal of the knife dragging up your spine, sending shivers down your spine. “Time to get your sexy ass out of these fuckin’ clothes,” he growls.

You flinch when you feel the knife drag up to your left shoulder where it cuts the bra strap. He does the same to your left one before positioning you onto your knees with your wrists slung over the couch arm. Your tits are now exposed, hanging like ripe, juicy fruit beneath you. Then off comes your thong with two swipes of the knife cutting through the thin straps. You sob helplessly as the cool air touches your sodden, wet pussy.

“Damn, baby!” Toji cackles. “Are you wet from all this? You naughty little girl.” His middle and forefingers gently probe your entrance and slide up and down your slit, dragging unwanted moans out of you. “I’m gonna have some fun with you,” he chuckles. “Make sure you never forget about me.”

He then bends you over the couch and proceeds to put his hot, wet, experienced mouth on your pussy while the knife stays pressed against your thigh. You whine at the feeling of his soft lips and tongue swirling along your clit and every sensitive part of you, opening your pussy up to more of him. He drowns in your pussy, pushing his face into it as far as he can and letting his tongue do all of the talking.

You can’t stop the moans and gasps that escape you. The pleasure is just too much and too good! What a shame that a man who is so good at eating kitty is the same man you were sent here to kill. “Toji,” you moan, using his name for the first time ever. “Please…please!”

Toji’s one hand massages and smacks your ass, becoming aoslutely obessed with it. “What do you need, babydoll?” he coos against your clit. “You need somethin’?” You nod helplessly though you have no clue what you need at this point. “Tell me you’re mine then,” he growls. “Say it and fuckin’ mean it. Say you’re my good little slut.”

You keep your lips clamped tight, not wanting to swallow your pride or give up that tiny part of you that hates him still. SPANK! Your ass stings from his assault on your ass, his hand no doubt leaving a handprint. “Say it!” he bellows.

At the blinding pain, pleasure, and delirium, you break. “I’m yours!” you sob. “I’m your good girl! Your good little slut! I’m everything you want me to be!”

Toji, pleased, presses soothing kisses to your burning asscheek. “Good girl,” he praises. “See how easy that was? Now you get your reward.” Suddenly, you feel his thick cock smack against your pussy once, twice, three times and then he is sliding home inside of you.

Your mouth goes slack and your eyes grow wide as he begins to rocks his hips into, allowing you to get used to him. He is big. You can feel him stretching out every part of your cunt as he sinks deeper into your velvety, wet walls. “Fuck,” he sighs, one hand clutching your hip. “Not bad, babydoll. Your pussy is definitely the best one I’ve fucked…so far.”

He begins to fuck you harder, faster, railing you as if this will be his last time doing so. Your moans and huffs of breath become louder and more intense the harder and deeper his cock plunges inside of you. “W-Wait!” you gasp. “Slow down! I can’t…can’t!”

Toji chuckles, watching your ass bounce against his pelvis as he fucks you. “Sorry, honey,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help it. You just sound so cute.”

Your thighs clench and your body writhes as he rails you, unable to take this deep dicking into the couch. You try to move away but the knife suddenly sliding against your throat stops you. “Uh-uh, babydoll,” he growls. “Don’t run from me. I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He then pops his knee up, his foot up on the couch, and reaches a part inside of you that makes you feel unimaginable pleasure.

“Just take me like a good girl, okay?” he whispers. “You can do that for me if you wanna live.” You don’t have a choice in the matter, mostly because of the hold he has on your arms, pulling you back as drives himself forward again and again. The sound of your moans, his grunts, and the lewd plap, plap, plap as his balls swing against your overly-sensitive clit and his hips slam into your ass fill the air, drowned out by the music playing outside.

“Who would’ve thought,” Toji pants into your ear. “C.O.D.E.’s good little spy gettin’ her brains fucked out on a mission, huh? I bet they’d love to see this.” His free hand releases your arms and yanks on a handful of your hair. “I bet they’d love to see you full of me,” he growls. “Full of this dick and my cum.”

He presses the knife deeper into your throat, just enough for you to feel the sharp, jagged edge of the blade. “You wanna cum for me, baby?” he asks. “You gonna be a good slut and take all my cum too?”

“Please!” you whimper, losing your mind and all of your pride. “Please just make me cum! I’ll do whatever you want, Toji!” He takes the knife from your throat and replaces it with his hand, choking you as he fucks you stupid. “Then do it,” he demands. “Fuckin’ cum on this cock while I fill you up. Cum with me now!”

“Ah, ah, fuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” you deliriously sob as he continues to pound into you. “I’m gonna…gonna–!”

You don’t get a chance to finish because your pussy has finally reached its limit and explodes all over him, your walls squeezing around him and your clit shuddering. You reaching your peak triggers Toji and he grips your throat and ass as he comes to a still, his entire body tensing. “Fuck!” he bellows, cumming deep, deep, deep inside of you.

You gasp as you feel a rush of warm liquid flood into your pussy while you gush all over his cock, dripping down his balls. He fills you to the brim, giving you so much that it has no choice but to trickle down your thighs. He doesn’t immediately pull out though––he continues to fuck you, albeit slowly and sloppily, before giving your tit one feeble squeeze and finally pulling out of you.

You weakly moan at the feeling of being empty yet used, your pussy twitching and aching. “Mmm, now look at that,” he sighs dreamily, staring at your cum-soaked cunt. “Now that’s a properly fucked pussy if I do say so myself.” He takes a handful of your chin, squeezing your cheeks together, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Not bad, babydoll.”

You don’t respond, too weak and too tired to do so. You’re too tired to even feel any amount of disgust for him and shame in yourself for failing the mission and enjoying the sex. “Let’s get this off of you,” Toji says, his hands unbuckling the belt from your wrists. “I’m gon’ need it for myself, anyway.” He releases your wrists and lets you lay on the couch, panting and coated in sweat.

Your makeup and hair are ruined. Your underwear is in tatters. You feel used and fucked-out. You can only stare at Toji as he quickly gets dressed and straightens out his clothes, his cock still covered in you. “I’m sorry, baby, but I’ve gotta go before your people get here.” He gives you an apologetic smile. “But gimme a call since I’m sure you can find that out. Maybe we can do this again.”

He then moves to the extra bathroom behind the couch and retrieves a robe which he covers you with. “See?” he chuckles. “I ain’t that big of an asshole.” He presses a kiss to your lips before bending down to pick up your thong. “Thanks for this,” he says, dangling it in front of you. “And the dance. I’ll cherish both forever.”

You don’t say anything, even as you watch him leave, taking your thong and your dignity with you.

Then you are alone. At some point, you find the strength to stand up and wobble to the bathroom where you take a hot shower, washing the scent of sex and cum off of you. When you return, dressed in your robe, the door busts in, and your boss and fellow spies enter the room, guns drawn and masks on their faces.

“V!” your boss shouts, instantly dropping his weapon and running to you. His eyes widen at your state, looking for any bruises or scars. There are none…that are physical, anyway. “V, what happened?” he asks.

And as the events of tonight come flooding back to you at full speed, you muster up the most believable lie you can, clutching your robe closed:

“He overpowered me.”

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #black writers #my fic shit #jjk smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x black reader #toxic relationship #toji x self insert

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cometkenji · 2 months

Text

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves - I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet.

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach. Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good.

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask.

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis.

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.”

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist.

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents.

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him.

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out.

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?”

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.”

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it.

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up.

No, it wasn’t.

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room.

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.”

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job.

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost.

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder.

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.”

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.”

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

–

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling.

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed.

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team.

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.”

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.”

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.”

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief.

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human.

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours.

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place.

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass.

“I’m Matthew.”

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area.

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink.

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.”

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.”

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed.

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored.

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.”

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.”

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core.

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke.

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.”

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately.

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless.

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden.

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

“He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past.

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.”

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes.

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought.

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive.

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own.

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car.

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car.

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to.

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you.

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels.

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

#comet: SR #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid fanfiction #suggestive #probably ass #im sorry for this

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rafebaby · 3 months

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Frat!Rafe has his target locked in and it's shy!reader (pt.3)

part one / part two

Writer's note: Yayy, you guys, I did it. I actually delivered this part by the time I said I was going to 🤭anyways, I hope you like this one as much as the others and please, don't hesitate to share your thoughts and ideas on how you want to see this progess, 'cuz obviously this needs another part, no? also, this is getting to the dark-ish!rafe side... should I mention that somewhere? haha. anyways, love you all xxx rafebaby

While Rafe is still making his way down the crowded hallway, he sees you already exiting the building. Luckily, the sea of people parts as he passes through it with imposing presence. The more you run from him, the more interesting you become for him.

From the moment you came down the basement stairs on Friday evening, he figured it would be a fun project to corrupt you. It was safe to say he had a weakness for shy girls like you, and you were without a doubt one of the worst he’d ever encountered. Before you came in, he'd been waiting there for an hour, bored out of his mind, hoping that the night would bring him anything interesting. He had definitely noticed you before, but it wasn’t until he kissed you, his mind got locked in.

He was pleased by the way your became puddy in his hands as his tongue explored yours. Even more by the flustered shock in your eyes as you realized the power he had taken over you. Then and there, he couldn’t take any further action as you fled the scene. He simply didn’t want any person in that room to get any more involved in what was going to happen between you and him from that moment on. No, with you, he wanted to play a secret game. You were simply to precious.

As you stop by the driver’s side of your car and rummage through your bag, your heart races with anticipation, desperate to return back to hiding away from the distress the last few days have brought upon you. Away from Rafe and whatever grudge he is holding against you. However insane the idea of him somehow being bothered by you might sound, even to yourself, the anxiety your body picks up on feels undeniably real.

You're met with relief as your fingers brush against the familiar metal bunch. You grab them, swiftly moving to unlock the car door. Just as you feel a slight sense of triumph, a sudden force from behind catches you off guard, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud. Startled, you spin around, pulse pounding in your ears as you prepare to face the familiar intruder behind you. Your eyes are met with Rafe’ solid chest before you bravely but sheepishly look up at him. He’s already looking down at you. Eyes dark, yet amused?

"Running away again, huh?" he asks, his tone laced with a knowing edge that only serves to deepen the guilt weighing on your shoulders.

You shake your head. “N-no, just going home.”

He ignores your answer and presses on.

"You know, (y/n)," he breaks eye contact momentarily, scanning his surroundings before leaning in closer. He's fortunate that you always park your car in the most secluded part of the parking lot. "I really thought you’d come and talk to me today," he says, his voice low and calculating. "I thought you’d realize that what you did on Friday night wasn’t very nice, and that you’d at least show me some remorse."

You nervously swallow, feeling his presence looming over you. "I-I didn't mean to—"

He interrupts you, closing the distance even further and wearing an obviously fake sad expression. "All I did was show you how to have a good time," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch threatening yet intimate. "I gave you what all the other girls would've wanted in a heartbeat, and you," he scoffs, "you just decided to embarrass me."

His words hang heavy in the air, his looming presence suffocating.

"But," he goes on, simultaneously bringing down his hand and taking a step back, returning some distance between the two of you, giving you some space to breathe. "You're lucky that I actually happen to be a very nice guy." He smiles, but there's a hint of menace in it. "I am willing to think about some ways you can make it up to me."

"R-rafe, I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice small, hoping that against all odds, your apology might still hold some weight.

"I just need some time to give it some thought;" he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nod, unable to fight against him, “I understand,” is all you manage to get out. Any other response feeling inadequate in the face of his control.

"Good," he grins again, satisfaction evident in his gaze as he holds all the power. "I'll let you know when I've come up with something."

You watch helplessly as he walks away nonchalantly, as if you just had the most normal conversation, his confident stride a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. Puzzled and unsure what to think, you're left grappling with the weight of his words. The threat looming above you feels even more ominous now. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, you finally come in motion and open your car door once again, retreating to the safety of your vehicle. As you start the engine and do your best to get out of this parking out as quick as possible, each passing second only serves to reinforce the realization that you willing let him trap you into his game, with him holding all the cards.

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cinnamonest · 11 months

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Yandere Profile - Baizhu

When I tell you I adore this man so much, he's so underappreciated and I intend to do my best to do him justice

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

WARNINGS: fem reader, dubcon/noncon, abduction, heavy drugging content, mentions of force feeding against a hunger strike, emotional manipulation of a child, homicide

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

If one had to describe his nature in a singular word, it would be careful.

Incredibly, meticulously careful. There is not one single step taken that has not been perfectly planned out ahead of time, multiple possibilities and issues thought through and accounted for. He would not rush into something of this nature unprepared, and more importantly, his cautiousness comes from another trait he has in abundance: determination. Dedication to seeing a goal through, the firm resolution that he will obtain what he desires, one way or another, with no regard to what measures need to be taken to do so, nor how long it will take.

Not to mention, from a moral perspective, one might be surprised at how indifferent he is to the notion of doing something... unethical. People tend to associate medical professionals with some sort of assumed overall moral good, that someone who dedicates their life to the pursuit of the health of others must be a morally sound person in all areas of life by default.

Well, that is true to an extent. He does want to stay within ethical bounds. He's a generally good and compassionate person, yes, and would never go out of his way to harm anyone for the sake of it. He doesn't bear any malice towards anyone. He will inconvenience or burden himself if it means doing the right thing, when the right thing does not pose any risk to him and his goals. And when it's things he doesn't care too much about, he will relinquish a goal if he realizes it would do harm. So overall, it would be correct to say that he is a morally sound person.

But if violating certain commonly agreed-upon ethical boundaries is necessary to obtain his most fervent desires... well.

He's perfectly well-aware. He's self-aware, for starters, acutely so. He knows exactly what he feels and why, knows it is of abnormal degree, and knows what it will inevitably lead to. He knows that both from a social and ethical standpoint, such things are wrong, that it violates society's conventions and standards (not to mention laws) of what is acceptable behavior by limiting another's freedoms and violating their autonomy. It's not even something he really needs to reflect on. He just notices and becomes aware of an intense emotion, recognizes that emotion and its degree of severity, and draws an immediate logical conclusion as to what will happen depending on how he chooses to handle that emotion and how each course of action is perceived by society. Very simple, really.

It's lamentable — he himself has reflected on this to himself multiple times, often speaking aloud to Changsheng about it behind closed doors.

How troublesome that even I am not immune to these sorts of desires...In the end, the nature and instinct of any given creature is immutable, I suppose.

She rarely has anything to offer other than vague warnings of not letting it spiral out of control, which he assures will not happen.

But oh well. Sure, it's inconvenient, but there is no point in fighting something as innate as one's own feelings in this area of things. Suppressing the emotions would be a waste, so it is much wiser and more efficient to simply accept them, then work through how he intends to handle them.

Cautious, intelligent, perceptive, patient, self-aware, willing to violate ethics, and of an indomitable resolve. This combination of traits is, as you might imagine, more or less one of the worst hands of fate that could be dealt to whoever is targeted by the individual possessing them.

He's an easy person to warm up to, though. Very likable and pleasant. He's not nervous around you or anything, and gives no hint of any ill intent, so you have no reason to suspect anything. Well, he might be just a bit overbearing towards you, just barely noticeably touchy or insistent, but it's nothing that strikes you as indicative of anything you should genuinely be concerned over.

Except for this... aura. While nothing he does really concerns you, there is almost some tangible feeling of something being "off" in a way you can't really articulate nor explain. Regardless, he's been helpful and kind to you, so you brush it off as nothing.

There's also distinct lack of the intense outward expression of emotion usually associated with obsessive lovers and abductors and the like. He's fairly... calm about it all. Perhaps it's an ability stemming from his meticulous and careful planning to eliminate risk, or perhaps it's that he has full and acute self-awareness and accurate perception and understanding of himself and why he feels what he does. Or perhaps it's just his nature. Maybe some combination of all of the above. But even at his worst moments, he has a fairly calm aura about him, nothing seems to bother or upset him too much. He always seems to have calculated for every potential misstep or complication.

He does make an attempt to grow closer to you, though. He's masterful with an ability to orchestrate encounters that genuinely seem to be coincidence, as well as creating inconveniences for you that will lead you to seek him out. If anything, you're usually apologizing for doing so, since he seems so busy... but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand, assures you that it's fine, that he's very happy to be of assistance to you.

This, too, isn't just because he enjoys your presence, but it's also a preparatory measure in and of itself. The more familiar you are with him, the closer you consider yourself to be with him, the easier of a time he'll have handling you when the time inevitably comes that he'll have to take certain courses of action that you may disapprove of, to say the least. He needs all the endearment to you he can get before that happens.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

He's a bit conflicted, can't really decide if he wants to or not. His reluctance isn't really based in morality nor fear; he's not particularly concerned with the former on this matter, and he's fully confident he can successfully pull it off, so no need for nervousness.

Rather, he has the sort of possessive, primal desire to take you all for himself, one that he recognizes as a rash instinct that he needs to carefully ponder, and yet, he realizes that the direct consequence of acting on those desires would cause him to fall out of favor with you. He does love your smiles you give him, how nice you've been to him, your kind words, and he knows that would disappear, only to be replaced with resentment and fear, the moment he takes you away from your life.

He often sighs and mumbles to himself about it. What to do, what to do.... such a frustrating predicament.

Human nature is fascinating, isn't it? He's so consciously aware that this is abnormal and unwell, that he should attempt to resolve it, yet he has no desire to resolve it, only craving to further indulge in it. Yet he wants to be certain that he doesn't take any rash action, that he knows what he's doing through and through.

So, he refrains, at least for some time. However, it's not an attempt to refrain permanently — he knows full well that eventually, he will act on his desires, that it's only a matter of time. But for now, he wants to savor every word, every interaction, every smile, until he knows he will eventually cave in, and those things will be gone. He also reasons that, as aforementioned, by knowing you and being acquainted with you longer under your normal life and circumstances, he can attempt to endear himself to you and grow closer to you in that time, which will, he hopes, ease the transition when you no longer have your freedoms, that you will be more inclined to forgive him and act with empathy for him rather than hostility.

However, should he happen upon a coincidence, the stars align and the pieces all fall into place so perfectly without him having to arrange it, well, he'll certainly take the opportunity that presents itself. You show up complaining of fever or headache or something of that nature, and in your discomfort, it doesn't quite occur to you how unusual and seemingly irrelevant the questions he's asking you are—

I assume you let someone know where you were headed when you left home? ...No? Oh, I see....

You don't by chance have anywhere you'll be expected to be in the next short while, would you?

—and it won't, until it's too late.

Otherwise, should the opportunity not arise on its own, he has to wait. The days pass. A few months in total. But the longing and the ache and the scalding feeling of intense jealousy when he sees you with others, it all becomes too much, and he's forced to put into motion a plan he has now had quite some time to prepare for. Invite you over for "something important" with perfect timing, memorizing your schedule to hopefully ensure that it will happen before you see anyone whom you might inform of where you're going. From there, once he has you inside, it's no effort at all from that point forward.

He has a remarkable ability to give off this calm, nonthreatening aura, combined with a gentle and charming voice that lulls you into a sense of safety, that keeps you from noticing anything strange about what he's doing, even if you do still have that faint sense of unease in the back of your mind. It feels sweet and endearing, really, that you trust him so.

So he goes through with it. Sets up the necessary steps, and executes the plan as predetermined.

And then he tells you about it.

Once it's already too late, of course. You already drank what you were given without any hint of suspicion or distrust, and the way your eyes suddenly widen and your body twitches and slumps forward indicates it's setting in.

That's a regular part of the effect, terribly sorry about that. Oh, don't worry, you're not in any danger. You see, it's just... ah, how should I put it...

Thus he starts to go on elaborating on exactly what he drugged you with, and more importantly, begins explaining exactly why. As in, he openly confesses to being deeply enamored, as he puts it, and that he, likewise in his own words, has—

—some sort of abnormal psychological development that has taken place, although I'm not entirely sure how to best articulate it... regardless, I'm sure you now see that these impulses are inducing problematic behavior, but I'm afraid I have already succumbed to them, unfortunately...

He speaks with this lighthearted tone and whimsical sighs if he's explaining some sort of mild, harmless inconvenience, something of little consequence, all while he's gently going about sitting you back upright, closing your mouth so you stop involuntarily drooling, fixing the cup you spilled over and cleaning up what spilled onto the table. As if it's just a regular, everyday occurrence that he's paying little attention to, and not something of great weight and severity.

What this ultimately means is that you won't actually be leaving anytime soon. While unreasonable on its own, I assume that makes sense in the context of what I've just explained to you.

He turns back towards you, loops his arms under your armpits and hoists you up. There's a slight strained grunt with the physical exertion, but he manages to pick you up without too much trouble. He's still talking while carrying you through the door to the hall, but you don't really hear much it as you begin to succumb to unconsciousness — you only really process one more sentence.

You're awfully trusting, you know. You really ought to be more careful, should someone could have malicious intent...

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

The physical restraints aren't so bad. He keeps a reverse lock on the outside of the front door, and for a little while, a singular chain to your ankle.

After a short while, and a verbal agreement that you will not try anything, he gives you a surprising degree of leniency, gives you the ability to roam to some extent. You can be present at the front where strangers show up to the desk, even. But he'll be watching. He has ways, as he puts it, of knowing what you're doing.

You're not sure what to do. It seems like such an opportunity, and yet, you know that someone as calculated as he is wouldn't give you that opportunity without having a plan he could easily enact if something goes wrong. You know he doesn't really place that much trust in your word through your verbal agreement alone. You want to do something to try and catch someone's attention or something, but there's this gut feeling you have that knows that doing that would be a mistake.

He almost certainly wouldn't harm anyone, you're pretty sure of that being true, but... can you say that with one-hundred percent certainty? If pushed to the point of it being a matter of securing you and your arrangement, preventing someone who saw more than they should from telling, can you really be certain he wouldn't take drastic measures...?

You just don't know. Sure, you're fairly certain of his overall goodness of character... but then again, that's also what you thought when you brushed off the occasional comment or expression from him that used to make you feel some faint sense of alarm or unease — that he was certainly a good person, just a bit eccentric at times. You told yourself back then that he was not the sort of person who would ever do anything bad to anyone. You overestimated his goodness once, and look where that got you. Can you really be sure that someone who would go so far as to do what he's already done, wouldn't hurt or kill someone too, if it came down to it...? And when you think even more about it, doesn't the fact that he's letting you roam so much imply that he is ready to take some other measures if you tried anything?

You just don't know. It's all so uncertain.

And he knows that. You can tell from the soft, content, knowing smile on his face. He knows exactly what thoughts are going through your mind. As long as that doubt is there, hopefully you won't force his hand to make him have to take unsavory measures to ensure your security.

Now if you were to actually successfully, temporarily get away and be caught and brought back again, this is where Baizhu actually has a rather unique reaction, both intriguing and odd compared to how other captors and obsessive lovers would react.

That is, he harbors no resentment or anger over your desires to be free. In fact, provided he caught you early, his reaction is fairly calm. If you managed to get out for a while, he's more visibly panicked when he finds you, but he still manages to calm himself down by the time he brings you back, and doesn't lash out or have any sort of angry outburst.

You still endure some form of punishment — can't just let you get away with it, of course, you'd just be more likely to do it again — but you very quickly notice he doesn't really seem all that angry or anything. At some point, you question him on it, and he's very transparent with his answer.

To tell you the truth, I can't really blame you. You're only following your instincts. It's endearing, in a way.

Being angry, he explains, would be nonsensical, silly, unreasonable. It is only natural for a human to desire autonomy and as few restrictions on themselves as possible. Yet, it is also human nature to want to control others, and to have the object of their desires all to themselves, kept away like a treasure. Both his actions and yours are perfectly natural and reasonable, and since he himself has followed his natural inclinations and instincts, he can't blame you for doing the same and following yours.

And then, he smiles.

But it seems you weren't quite capable of achieving your goal. I suppose you'll just have to hope you have better luck on your next attempt... And I, that there won't be one.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Needless to say, Baizhu is both intelligent and perceptive. Most of the time, he can easily catch you in a lie. More importantly, he knows that given the circumstances, it's obvious you'll be trying to lie to him fairly regularly, so he's on guard about it, making him that much more likely to notice.

But on the rare occasion you do manage to trick him in some way, unless it was something that put you, him, or your situation in genuine danger, he doesn't get too upset. It's just the philosophy he takes, he explains as he shrugs it off— Really, it was foolish of me to not anticipate something like that. Considering the circumstances, I should never have allowed myself to become so unguarded.

Much like with attempts at escape, it's only natural to lie to him to achieve what you want. Likewise, it's only natural for you to receive some form of punishment to deter you from repeating the attempt of deception. Simple. So while he doesn't have a particularly angry or emotional response to it, don't expect to just get away with it either.

He's also very well aware when you manipulate him, acknowledges it even, but similarly to lying, he doesn't seem to mind too much. If anything, as long as it's something mild in nature, he finds it amusing, will chuckle and smile.

Oh, my. I see what you're doing... well, how could I say no when you're being so sweet about it?

That applies only to that which is mild, though. If your request or attempted goal is something that would actually be a risk, he gets far more serious and firm in his approach.

Surely you don't expect me to fall for that, dear. As much as I'd like to fulfill any wish you have, I know better than to take that sort of risk.

It was worth a try. You win some, you lose some.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows that mental stimulation will be important to your ensuring that you remain of sound mind and health for the foreseeable future. There's limits, of course, he's not dumb enough to fall for requests for things that you could use to harm him or break out, but he'll get you what you want, within reason. Especially books, which, as he says, are important for keeping your mind sharp. Those he'll get you even without asking, often bringing you something at random because he thinks you might enjoy its contents.

And hey, he also might as well capitalize on the opportunity. To prevent boredom, you can also help him out. Lots of jars that need organizing and labeling, papers that need to be filled and documented, and so on. Of course, he'll double check to ensure there's no maliciously doing it wrong or anything, but he appreciates it if you're willing and compliant.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

He doesn't like to feel like he's being strict or harsh, but he does set specific guidelines. They're fairly short and simple.

One, you will not attempt to leave, or to rope anyone else into "helping" you.

Two, you will not attempt to cause any harm or damage to himself, his property, or any other residents or visitors you may come into contact with.

Third, you will not attempt to commit any action that intentionally causes, or has a potential to accidentally cause, any danger or harm to yourself.

Violate any of these conditions, and naturally, there will be consequences. All actions have cause and effect, this is just the law of the universe, so it is only fair to enforce a consequence.

He's still pretty forgiving, but if you push his limits, he'll begin enacting those consequences, getting progressively more intense according to the nature of your offense. Confining you to one room, putting you back into an ankle shackle, so on and so on. All done with this self-righteous attitude, telling you how it's for your own benefit that this is done.

But along the same previous lines of reasoning as to why he gives you things to keep you occupied, he knows how important stimulation is to one's psychological well-being, and can just as easily use this against you. If you've been very, very bad, repeated attempts at running away and total defiance, some more intense measures are needed. As with any other ailment, your poor behavior is something he has just the thing to treat with.

The dependency itself, you see, creates bonding. Being forced to rely on another for such basic needs is a process equally humiliating and endearing. The isolation, on the other hand, ensures that your brain associates only him with the positive chemicals and emotions induced by having stimuli to free you from boredom, as well as your needs being met and...

He continues to explain it out to you as he goes. You're still only restrained by one ankle binding, but he doesn't need much in that regard, because he doesn't really have to worry about you moving around in the first place. You can barely move a muscle anyway.

It is quite torturous, isn't it? He almost feels bad for you. You still have some control over your face, and he can see the obvious displeasure in your expression. Unable to move your arms, your legs, anything but the truly important muscular functions like being able to swallow and breathe and the like. Forced to sit there numbly while he brings cups of water and spoonfuls of broth to your mouth, when he wipes your body down in substitution for bathing. Yes, it's clear how much you dislike this, but that's the point, isn't it? This would not have to happen if you could just be a bit more compliant. That wouldn't truly be so hard, would it? He asks in such a patronizing voice. Should you keep your mouth shut and refuse to eat or drink, he'll sigh, give up for the moment and try again later. If this persists after a few days, though, he'll just have to force it, and is not above doing so.

After a few days of this, he'll allow it to wear off, provided you've proven your repentance and promise you're going to be good in the future. An unlikely promise, he realizes, but at least the sentiment counts.

Oh, and he does establish one other rule out of frustration after a certain incident: no taking his glasses and hiding them. Really, it was quite a childish act of spite on your part, and caused him a terrible deal of inconvenience. Best to address it and forbid that from reoccurring...

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rivals are actually something you don't have to worry too much about, in terms of them getting hurt. Baizhu is calculated and reasonable, highly rational, and doesn't take any sort of rash action. And in his mind, as long as you're confined, other people are no longer an issue.

If he feels someone is becoming enough of a threat in the pre-captivity stage of his obsession, being aware of any affection another person has for you or vice versa will simply serve as a catalyst in your abduction, and almost certainly expedite that process, out of urgency to get you away from a perceived threat. Provided you are secured, though, he sees no reason to risk the potential consequences of taking any action against a rival, even if he does harbor resentment for them.

Do not, however, mistake that for instinctive reluctance. It doesn't mean he's the sort of person who would be to afraid to kill someone, or, as you might initially imagine he would be, a person who would feel an innate sense of guilt and wrongness, who is averse to doing anything truly wrong. No, he's more than confident in his ability to successfully pull off a homicide if he were to try, and honestly, he's really not that naturally guilty, that is, in the sense of the sort of person who would be haunted by their actions and feel guilty by instinct. Rather, he has to intentionally hold himself back, tell himself he can't do such a thing no matter how much he wants to, as a matter of dignity.

Homicide would, after all, be more or less entirely antithetical to his universal occupational creed. And while again, he doesn't have an instinct against it, he values his own self-image. He wouldn't feel guilty, but he'd feel disappointed in himself, ashamed to have failed to uphold the idea of sanctity of life and all that. And perhaps even more importantly, such an act is one of petulant spite, if you ask him, and he would be somewhat embarrassed to see himself committing such an act, as if it's an admittance of having let someone else's presence bother him so much. It's a matter, thus, of self-respect and dignity more than anything. Therefore, with you secured away, he'll simply leave them be... although he's not above perhaps a bit of pettiness if the opportunity presents itself, such as being able to mildly inconvenience them somehow without it being connected to him.

That being said, there is a limit to his inhibition for the sake of self-image.

There's one circumstance under which he would see it fit to kill: said rival is looking for you after your disappearance, and he gets the very strong sense that the individual in question knows something they shouldn't, or otherwise seems to have some correct suspicion of what has occurred. He feels their eyes linger on him, this narrow-eyed sort of glare. They ask some rather odd questions. Or perhaps they're foolishly upfront about it, asking if he wouldn't happen to have seen you on the day you were last heard from, an accusatory edge to their tone.

Baizhu is actually quite masterful at keeping calm and maintaining an innocent act in such situations. He doesn't get defensive or hostile, rather, he pretends he just doesn't perceive the subtle tone of accusation. No, I haven't. Terrible thing, that. I hope there's some good news to come out of that situation soon...

But to himself, this confirms that he can't afford to leave this individual undealt with. It's not his fault, really. They forced his hand. Not that he's overjoyed to finally have a reasonable self-justification to kill off the person that has secretly always bothered him more than he lets on, though, no, nothing like that.

His method is perfectly simple, although he may have to wait a while to be able to enact it. But no matter, he can bide his time. Everyone gets sick eventually. They'll come to him. And if it's too urgent, they clearly know far too much and he can't afford to wait, he simply makes an invitation, says he has something he heard or saw that may have some connection to you, and that he wishes to discuss it at once.

If it's the former, and he actually has the chance to drug them, he'll easily take that method, as it's the cleanest and the one he's most adept with. And if he invites them to speak with him, well, he'll still poison their tea and all, but he's not going to get his hopes up that it will actually be consumed, given they have every reason to suspect him. Unfortunately, this may mean he's forced to take more unpleasant means.

As much as he enjoys having them out of the way, it turns out the act of killing someone via means other than poison is actually quite unpleasant. He knows he's not healthy and strong enough at the moment to risk being overpowered if he attempted strangulation or drowning, so he just has to go full-on old fashioned and come up behind them and stab them to death. It's a very brutish act, really. Probably looks very awkward and ugly from an outside perspective. Ugh. Blood on his hands and face and the floor and the table... and now he has to wash this shirt, too... at least it will make a decent addition to the compost for herbs. Sigh.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Baizhu is largely defined by a sort of passive attitude, although it does have its limits. But for the most part, he's very tolerant and patient. Part of it is just a natural disposition, while it's also in part due to years of having dealt with a wide variety of people of varying, and often unpleasant, temperaments, in varying levels of discomfort, and thus not always pleasant to deal with.

This can be to your benefit, in terms of the fact that he's forgiving and somewhat lenient towards you. If you put on a sweet act or a pitiful apologetic act, in particular, after getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to be, it turns out to be a weak spot for him. He knows full well you're doing it intentionally, but in his own words, he just can't bring himself to be too upset when you have that look in your eyes.

While beneficial under most circumstances, his patience and slowness to anger can also be incredibly frustrating if you're the bitter type who tries to make him mad. He knows you're doing exactly that, and he knows that not giving you the reaction you want will infuriate you further, and to be honest, it's rather cute watching you get more and more upset. He can hold out for quite a while like that, as long as your behavior is not something harmful to anyone.

Be careful overusing or abusing his lenience, though, or pushing the boundaries. If you take it a step too far, do something one too many times, that patience meets its end. You can tell exactly when you've crossed that line by the look on his face, narrowed eyes and a stern, unamused expression. He speaks in a firmer tone than usual, and is far more blunt with his words.

That's enough, now. I've been very patient with you. Do not test me further.

The sudden shift and stark difference to his usual demeanor is enough to make you freeze up, and deters you on its own, far more than it would coming from someone who usually speaks in that sort of voice. Should you nonetheless, perhaps out of spite, continue your defiance, it goes a step further.

He's still not the sort of person to show anger very outwardly. Quite the opposite. You know you have truly, royally fucked up because he goes dead silent. Takes a deep breath in, heavy sigh out. Puts down the pen or closes a book or whatever else he's handling with a harsh sound, stands up without a word. You can feel a twisting in your stomach from the aura coming off of him, feel a sort of dreadful tension in the air. When he does finally speak, it's in that same cold, firm voice, as he latches a hand onto your arm and begins to pull you off into another room.

Alright, then. I see you don't intend to make this easy.

You can start to sputter out apologies at that point, but you're not going to get any further words out of him. After all, you've made it clear that words aren't enough to get through to you anyway.

How do they express affection, or attempt to endear themselves to you?

Baizhu is very fond of pet names. Dear. Darling. Love. Even if it embarrasses you, he doesn't really care. It takes a while to get used to, he throws those terms around so casually, it makes you flustered and feel all warm and you're not really sure how to react. But it just comes naturally to him, really, he wasn't initially intending for it to have any effect, although seeing that it does have an effect is quite amusing.

Otherwise, he likes to just spend time with you. The activity doesn't really matter, in fact, you don't even need to be doing the same thing together or anything. You can be doing your own thing while he does his, that's also fine. He just likes being in your vicinity.

Doing things together, though, is very nice. He's fond of doing mundane, routine things with you. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Helping him restock by handing him jars while he puts them in their proper place, or vice versa. The little things, the things that don't require a great deal of thought or exchange of words, yet allow him to bask in your warmth and the bliss of simplicity in life with someone you love.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Baizhu is a fairly humble man. He's also objective, when it comes to such matters. Love you as he does, he still acknowledges your weaknesses and strengths.

Considering a person to be "greater" or "lesser" as a whole, he would argue, is in and of itself a concept that could only be born from a rather simple brain to begin with. Such a generalization fails to consider the complexity of the individual human existence. It is frankly impossible, or at least distasteful and lacking any respectable extent of intelligent thought, to take a single person — who has a unique skillset, physical and mental attributes, experiences, and a whole array of knowledge unique to that one individual — and condense all that complexity into one simple lump sum of "value", them do the same for another, and compare the two. The very notion itself is lacking intelligence, and only a person equally lacking intelligence and rationality, or perhaps simply a person of a neurotically grandiose nature, would try to claim one person is inherently of greater value.

But he can recognize those individual traits. If he's more intelligent than you are, he's very open to acknowledging it. If you're in better physical shape and health than he is, he'll readily admit it.

A person is what they are, they each have their strengths. If you ever get into the subject, he'll likely start philosophizing a bit about human nature — how tragic it is that so many humans obsess over those strengths that they are lacking, and in doing so allow the strengths they possess to go to waste. It is human nature to be discontent with oneself, perhaps—

Ah... am I boring you? Haha. No, no, it's quite alright.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He fully acknowledges before ever taking you to be with him, that doing so will be detrimental any hopes of mutual affection. That's part of the pros and cons he heavily weighs before going through with that. But alas, it's a necessary hurdle to face, part of the price of having you to himself.

For the short term, at least.

He's not unfamiliar with psychology to some extent, seeing as it and his own field are somewhat related. He's very well aware of the known effects that prolonged isolation and exclusion from the rest of society, as well as forced dependence, will have on a person.

So he's not too worried about it. Sure, you may be resentful now, but he can wait. As he always does. Patient, calculated. He knows eventually there will be a shift, and then a decline. First comes anger, then that will die down, then a period of quiet despond, and eventually, as the soundness of mind deteriorates, you will come back to him, feel the same fondness you did before. It's predictable, linear, like clockwork. The human mind and the human body are alike in that way, often following patterns that can be accurately predicted far before actually reaching that stage of progression. Just as he can heal various diseases and ailments by referencing existing knowledge of the body, so he can "fix" your mind and your sentiments by utilizing the knowledge of the mind.

If you start to become exceptionally discontent and disagreeable at any given time, he'll just go with the foolproof method that works every time — total isolation besides him, dark room, no stimulus, bound hand and foot or kept immobile by drugs. A few days of that and you usually crack. The cycle repeats, but he always knows just how to get you back to the way he prefers you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Firstly, as aforementioned, he's almost amusingly transparent. He explains a good deal of what he does to you and exactly why he's doing it, what affects it will have, etc. Most captors would probably keep quiet on exactly how they intend for their actions to induce a bond with you or force you into this or that, but not him.

You're smart, see. He knows you'll probably figure it out anyway. What's the point of withholding it then? Besides, he has a habit of thinking out loud sometimes, so it just comes natural to him to sort of mutter about what he's doing as he goes about his tasks. No point in refraining from that when there's no real reason to.

It's not as if you knowing what he's doing or what the intended effect is will make it any less effective. Maybe you'll develop a bit of spite and fight the effects, thus prolonging the procedure, but it will work all the same in the end anyway. If anything, seeing you resist is rather cute. But you'll succumb nonetheless, so, no need to be secretive.

Another obstacle he faces that others in a similar obsessive predicament do not is, well, himself. Baizhu is forced to take his own health and physical capacity into account to a degree most others never would have to give a passing thought to.

You'd think that his frailness might serve as an advantage to you — and you'd be right, sort of. It would serve as an advantage to you, were he to not account for it.

Unfortunately for you, he does account for it, and goes to great lengths — paranoid measures, even — to ensure you cannot take advantage of it. These chronic problems sometimes follow patterns and cycles, and usually have warning signs before becoming worse, so if he knows he's going to be in a weakened state, he gets much heavier on the restraints, and goes ahead with drugging you into immobility, even though you haven't done anything to deserve what is usually used as a punishment. It's also one of the few times he'll give you a very sincere apology. I know it's unpleasant, but I don't have much of a choice right now. You know it's serious from the lack of his usual warm whimsical voice of his, instead speaking in a very blunt voice laden with discomfort. You suppose you can summon a bit of pity, even if you're frustrated.

You also notice, though, that he's always insistent that he's fine and doesn't need help, even if that's blatantly untrue. The man will sound like he's coughing his lungs up for a minute straight and when you rush over with a concerned look on your face, he forces a chuckle and smiles and waves his hand dismissively. No, no, it's fine, really, that's a regular occurrence, it will die down in a minute or s— and breaks out coughing again.

He doesn't want you to see him in a state he feels looks pathetic. You figure that out eventually, given that he always stands up and goes into another room if the coughing fits get too bad, and how you can tell he's forcing himself to act as if he's not in discomfort or pain when he cares for you during his episodes of poorer condition.

It's something he's very stubborn about too. Usually he's so transparent, but even if you push him, tell him you're well aware he's not well or that you're fine and he should lay down, he continues to downplay it and insist it's not that bad. Just a bit of an ache, he says, or just a bit drowsy. He's relentless on this, no matter how much you push.

There's another unique factor to your captivity, but it doesn't have much to do with Baizhu himself.

See, there's plenty of captors or obsessed lovers you might end up with who have companions or accomplices you would meet, but no other quite so... slithery.

And few quite so cold, either. Changsheng, and the dynamic she takes in relation to the both of you, is a very odd experience.

Firstly, she is of no help to you. You weren't really sure what to expect from a literal talking snake, but you at least figured that if she possessed human thought capacity, she would perhaps possess a sense of empathy as well.

But she never brings up or even really acknowledges the circumstances of your situation. You tried once or twice, but she immediately shuts you down if the conversation is headed in that direction.

These sorts of interpersonal relationships are no business of mine. Know that I have no intention of interference.

While a bit disappointing, you did more or less know that even if she empathized, she wouldn't likely be of much help.

She still takes some getting used to. To be honest, she moves so quietly that for the first little while, she nearly gave you a heart attack on several occasions. You'll be going about some idle task, turn your gaze to look at or reach for something, only to come face-to-face with a snake in very close proximity.

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

N-no, I just... uh...

You are at unease due to my presence?

No! No, I just didn't... see you there...

She has a bit of a sharp tongue and stern nature, and you initially do feel very uneasy, both out of not wanting to upset her as well as some primal instinct telling you that the creature that sits next to you is a dangerous one, even if your conscious mind knows better.

She does feel the need to comment on whatever you're doing, especially when trying to do tasks to help (or just to have something to do) by doing some work in the storerooms.

By what system of organization are you determining the order to place these jars in, hm?

You are not plotting anything nefarious back here by yourself, yes?

You there... these counters are slippery. I instruct you to place me on the surface over there.

At first, you feel bullied and bossed around... but over time you come to realize that despite the criticisms, she's intentionally seeking you out, whenever Baizhu is busy. In fact, whenever he goes off to a house call by himself or to take care of some task, it's usually only a matter of minutes before she shows up.

And truth be told, over time, you do bond. It's an unspoken sort of thing, something you think she might have started doing without consciously realizing she's doing it, but she begins... scaling you, climbing over and on you in the same way she does her contractual companion. The first time, you were reading over some piece of mail slid under the door when you felt a slight weight on your shoulder.

What is that? Oh, I see...

Gradually, it becomes an unspoken norm, a habit that neither of you really acknowledge out loud, but you understand it's a significant milestone in your relationship to each other, whatever that relationship may be defined as. You'll be standing around, working on whatever, when you feel the cold scales brush against your ankle... and now that cold sensation is spiraling up your leg, then your waist, and she positions herself around your shoulders just as she would Baizhu himself. Often commenting on or criticizing whatever you're doing, but sometimes just... relaxing there. She likes being on a person — humans are warm, and while she wouldn't admit it, she just sort of enjoys the company sometimes. If Baizhu is unavailable, you're the next best option. And sometimes, she's merely using you as a means of transportation, telling you to go somewhere else so she can get off, with you being able to get wherever it is faster, especially if it involves stairs.

Or sometimes, you'll be sitting down and she sees no reason to go around you to get where she's going, instead just slithering right over your lap without so much as a word, either to cross over you to get elsewhere, or to rest on you for a while. Then there was that time you were laying on the couch, trying your best to take a nap when you stiffened and nearly felt your heart stop for the umpteenth time when a cold sensation spread as she slithered her way underneath your shirt, curling up into a ball on your stomach.

It is cold outside and there is a draft. You will have to suffice for the moment.

And you also notice that, although it may feel harsh, oftentimes her criticisms and advice are genuinely helpful, either making a task significantly easier or preventing you from potentially hurting yourself in a specific process. You still can't quite let go of a bit of bitterness over her essentially being cooperative in your captivity, but you can't say you don't appreciate her.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's actually quite touchy from the start. It's one of the few things that sort of unsettles you and gives some sense of something being "off" even early on. You're pretty sure you don't know each other well enough for him to have just brushed his fingers over your arm, or to rest his hand on your shoulder, or to clasp your hand between his for a moment as he tells you he'll see to this or that that you've requested. The touches continue to grow more noticeable with time, and they're just so very perfectly lingering for a time that's long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough for you to feel like saying something is a warranted reaction. No, you'd be overreacting if you said anything, right? It's not that bad, it's only for a few seconds, so perfectly timed as if he's knowingly releasing his touch at the right second. Always right on the edge.

Even after that, once you're living with him, he's very casually touchy. He'll run his fingers back and forth over your side or back when you're sitting or lying next to each other, runs his fingers through your scalp, rest an arm over your side or shoulders.

His drive, on the other hand, depends entirely on his current physical condition. Whenever certain chronic problems are flaring up and his health takes a negative turn, as you can imagine, his sex drive also plummets, and he's in too much discomfort to do much movement anyway. Other times, with other problems flaring up, it's particularly frustrating because he does still have a sex drive, but is in too much discomfort to do much... there's some creative ways to work around that, but nonetheless, it's irksome.

He's not particularly reserved about sexuality at all, actually, under the right circumstances. Of course, if asked about his reasoning for this, he acknowledges and understands the cultural sensitivity to such things, and concurs with the topic being something you don't just randomly talk about; that is, he obviously has a firm grasp on what is and isn't appropriate in various settings and doesn't violate conventions of appropriateness. It's just that when it's alone with you, he can talk about the filthiest and most intimate of things without batting an eye or any sign of embarrassment. It's just a natural part of human life, isn't it? If anything, the act is one that should be viewed as beautiful. The poetic sort of people tend to describe it as an ultimate expression of affection between individuals, and if you ask him, that's something that should be treasured.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He views forcing that sort of thing as a behavior that's more or less beneath him. Barbaric, brutish, uncivilized... brute force, that is. Other measures, though, that's another matter. Things like drugs and coercion don't have quite the same vibe of brutality and inhumanity.

Regardless, though, the key factor is your experience. He's the type that can't really enjoy a sexual experience unless you're also clearly enjoying it... the catch being that you obtaining pleasures and enjoyment is not exactly the same thing as outright consent. As long as you cum, it counts as being mutually enjoyed.

He still doesn't really like the thought of having to be physically forceful though, that would make him feel brutish. He'll be sure to sedate you early on. If you're sluggish and barely moving, you can't really offer resistance in the first place... and you're more pliable to his hands, too.

And yes, he will use your pleasure against you, telling you that you clearly don't hate it all that much — just look at what you've done, he says, holding up the fingers coated in your own fluids, pressing them against your tongue, your jaw too weak to prevent him from sliding his fingers in. The mouth says one thing, the body another... but the mouth is capable of lying, the body really isn't, so it's better to trust that which he knows is being honest.

What is intimacy with them like? What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He can't go too hard and fast... well, he sometimes does anyway, his efforts aided by adrenaline, which quickly catches up to him as soon as it's over. He's not particularly rough though, nor does he cause you pain. That's not to say he's entirely without a sadistic side — he does find himself enjoying seeing you in a state of humiliation and anticipation, he just prefers to use pleasures and intense, but not painful, sensations to do so.

Drugging

That is, of course, the one you likely anticipated the most. He's not at all shy about it. Even if you by chance had something consensual going on before being kept captive, he's very open about the desire to experiment on your body by triggering reactions to various substances.

There's a variety of different options to try, lots of combinations and records of the effects different traditional medicines have on the body. This one heightens blood flow and skin sensitivity, this one induced lactation... ah, but his personal preference is this one that gives you a buzzing, euphoric high, accompanied by a voracious appetite for pleasure and orgasms for the next hour or so. He gives you the full history of how ancients in this area used to use it for fertility ceremonial purposes back in the day, explaining it calmly while he ties your hands to the headboard, as you pant and whimper and gasp for breath underneath him. Quite nice, isn't it?

And if you're being less than compliant and agreeable, he can also go the route of sedation. Not entirely, no, he doesn't want you to be fully unconscious, nor forget any of it later. No, what he forces into your mouth makes you more... relaxed. You, after the fact and in an accusatory tone, use the word 'paralyzed,' but he insists that that's an overdramatization. Firstly, it's not the same medication he uses when he actually leaves you fully unable to move, and secondly, you can still sort of move your fingers and toes and head, your muscles are just relaxed and at ease, preventing movement of actual limbs. Your words slur, you feel dizzy and tired, yet you feel every little touch. And see, your abdominal muscles twitched when he runs his fingers over your stomach, so you still have some muscular control... Not to mention, he can still feel your insides spasming and clenching when he curls his fingers inside of you, too.

Oh, and even in general, he makes sure you take a daily dose of tea made from some cocktail of bitter herbs he put together. You're told it's a blend that boosts your metabolism and brain activity and blood circulation, so on and so on, basically like a multi-purpose medicine for overall health. Which is true, it does do all of those things. It just so happens that all of those things also are known to increase sex drive, not to mention a few of them boost hormone production. But that's just a side effect, of course.

Orgasm control

Baizhu has a very specific long-term goal in mind to train you for: getting you to cum on command. It's a fantasy he's entertained in his head quite a few times. No reason to not try to make it a reality, now that he has you here with him. The concept itself is fascinating, the idea that a largely involuntary bodily reaction can be gradually, perfectly conditioned to align with someone else's words. It's such an ultimate power trip and absolute control, the thought is intoxicating.

And of course, being as patient and dedicated as this man has already proven himself to be, you know there's no getting out of it. Hours upon hours of edging, being told not to cum because you can't without his explicitly telling you to. If you do, he pulls his hand away, ruining the orgasm itself, leaving you to whimper and whine, that much more so if, after a few failed attempts, he ends up applying an additional corporeal punishment to try and further the negative association with cumming too soon. If you're good and endure, cum when he tells you to, you'll be likewise rewarded in some way.

Over and over. It goes on for weeks, months, that you have these training sessions, until it's perfected. You yourself are almost shocked by the progress, to realize just how much your body and your subconscious has submitted — it's on one of his better health days, he has the energy and lack of any aches to be able to take you on your hands and knees from behind, and it does feel good, but you're not that close — and yet, when he pulls your upper half up, forces your back into an arch, puts his hand on your throat and tilts his head down to speak directly in your ear and tells you to in the lowest, huskiest voice you've ever heard him speak in to cum for me — and you spasm, it hits you like a punch to the gut with the way the high rushes over your body. It leaves you sputtering and shivering as you collapse onto the bed, wide-eyed in shock. Even he seems a bit surprised too, chuckling as he sees the stunned expression on your face.

Oh, that worked better than even I anticipated...

He can also use orgasms as a form of withdrawal and coercion punishments. Primarily at the times that you're immobilized. You'll begin to grow needy after a time, and that makes you far more compliant. He keeps track of how long it's been since you last got to cum, and makes sure to remind you, just so you know how long you've been missing it, and so you'll be that much more quick to crack under the desperation of need.

Instruction/Obedience

Sometimes, once you've reached a state where he's assured you'll be fairly compliant with him, he gets surprisingly passive when he comes to you for intimacy.

Physically passive, at least. Motions you over with a finger gesture, starts giving you instructions. His voice is always so charming and gentle that it's hard to call it a command, per se, but it's telling you what to do nonetheless. To take this or that off, to straddle his waist, kiss him, put it in your mouth, ride him, touch yourself, on and on as he walks you through each little motion he craves to watch with his own eyes. It gets more specific and lewd with each instruction, starting off with just take your clothes off and eventually progressing to telling you exactly how to touch yourself, rub in circles, curl your fingers, lower yourself down and take him in, roll your hips, bounce on his cock, look him in the eye when you cum, every little thing.

...Eventually, you figure out that he does this on the days where he's not feeling well enough to do the moving himself, yet is still in good enough condition that he still has a sex drive. What a clever adaptation.

Exposure

It's not something he uses often, seeing as there are other people than just the two of you in his residence, but it can make a suitable punishment whenever you're confined to one room, or when everyone else is out. There's something just endearing about seeing you all embarrassed and flustered after being forced into nudity, the way you try desperately to cover yourself with your arms, the way you get all pouty in your humiliation and refuse to look him in the eye as you demand your clothes back.

But this is your choice, he reminds you. If only you would be a bit more cooperative, that wouldn't have to be the case, but that's entirely up to you. Until then, if you want to get out of bed for any reason, you'll just have to walk around as you are. And no, he's not going anywhere. Why would he leave when he has such a nice view? He smiles when you puff your cheeks out and curl your hands into fists out of embarrassed fury. Eventually, you do have to give in, get up and go do whatever it is you need to — and you feel his eyes on you the whole time as you do. When you glare in his direction, he just tilts his head. Oh? Is something the matter?

Such a shameless pervert, you think to yourself. What's worse, you know if you say something, he'll pull some cheesy line about 'examining' you or another. Ugh.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He'd be a bit worried about having any biological children. One one hand, there's a lot to be gained by having something tying you to him on such a deeply emotional level, that would likely cement you in place by making running away that much harder, and suppress your will to leave to begin with, or even accelerate your attachment to him.

At the same time, he has to be realistic. Is he really in any position to be caring for children, a task requiring great stamina? There's also the possibility you could turn children against him, or something like that. And if you were to encounter some sort of gestational health problem and require medical attention, there's no telling whether or not you'd be so stubborn as to to refuse to comply out of fear he'd drug you or something, which could pose very real risks to your well-being if he couldn't get you to work with him. So as nice as the notion seems when pictured in the ideal, there's just too many risks and complications that could take place.

But, there's a solution. One that will easily provide the same psychological attachment, and thereby allow a subtle degree of manipulation.

Once he can be sure you wouldn't try to harm her or anything, he deliberately ensures you and Qiqi spend time with each other. Initially, he tells you to watch over her while she goes about her tasks, help her out a bit. She can be forgetful, you know. Regardless of your sentiment, you can't bring yourself to be cold or rude to what is ultimately, despite the circumstances, still a relatively normal little girl.

Although he does, before leaving you two alone, make sure to give you a very firm warning. Well, the words themselves aren't a a threat, but there's an edge to his tone, when he responds to you raising your eyebrows and asking if he's really allowing this.

It's quite alright. I trust you surely wouldn't try to get a child involved in anything you shouldn't.

The words admittedly do have a bite to them. Would it really be a moral wrong, for you to try and enlist her for help...? It's not like he would ever harm her, but still, you question the sort of psychological damage you'd be risking. There's an inherent feeling of wrongness when you think about putting the kid under a situation that, if you succeeded in getting her to help you, would result in a great deal of distress and confusion and even long-term psychological damage from what would ensue. And when you think about it even further, you realize with a twisting feeling in your gut that if you escaped your captor and got him locked up... what would happen to her...? It's an unpleasant thought, even if you tell yourself you'd make sure she was cared for.

Nonetheless, eventually, on one of your worst and most bitter and resentful days, in a moment of desperation, you do finally crack. It will be fine, you tell yourself. You're doing something good overall. Someone like that shouldn't be responsible for a kid in the first place, right? So if you just get her to run by the law enforcement when she's out herb-gathering...

Listen, I, uh, I need you to do something for me, okay?

Mm...? Okay...

You wait patiently as the hours pass, hoping you look like less of a nervous wreck than you are, hoping you're not actually as jittery as you feel, a whole swarm of emotions of dread and hope and anticipation swirling in your gut. You practically pounce on the poor girl when she comes back through the doors.

Did... did they say anything? Are they coming?

You're met with a blank stare, a long pause.

Uh... who...? Was I supposed to... do something...?

You're pretty sure you gave up either the third or fourth time that happened. Can't really remember which. You start to realize that the reason he seemed so unbothered by the thought of leaving you alone with her wasn't so much his trust in you as much as it was complete assurance there was never any real risk anyway. Sigh.

But you don't hold it against her. You continue watching over her and taking care of her when you can. And the most frustrating part is that you know exactly what the intent is, and yet, you also know it's working.

You find yourself caring more and more about the girl. There was that time she stumbled and fell flat on her face and before you even really processed what you were doing, you'd already rushed over across the room to get her back up. Hey, hey, are you okay...? Or the time everyone else had stepped away for a moment due to some issue or another, leaving the front of the pharmacy unmanned for just a few moments — just enough time to find some big, disgruntled-looking guy looming over the child (who admittedly didn't seem intimidated or anything, just the usual blank stare), going on about some complaint he must have found no one else present to give to, and once more, without really thinking, you found yourself rushing over, picking her up and pulling her away, holding her to your side as if to shield her, finding yourself growing immediately defensive, glaring back. The hell is wrong with you? The owner will be back in just a minute, you'll have to wait. You find yourself a bit surprised at your own sharpness of tongue.

You feel this caring, protective swell in your chest regrading her. You're not so headstrong as to deny to yourself the truth, that you know you've developed emotional attachment towards and even some maternal instinct for the child. That admittedly, you wouldn't want to leave her, and that you'd worry how she'd fare by herself without you, even if you know she was doing fine before you. And most upsettingly, you know that that was exactly what the plan was.

Maybe if it had been one-sided, then, at least you could have shaken the feeling off, but that's not the case either. You make a habit of taking some time to yourself in a specific room every day, a time in the late afternoon when there's always a rush of people coming in, leaving Baizhu himself quite busy, so you get some time to sit and read or whatever task you set yourself to. A routine quickly develops — there's a set of pattering footsteps in the hall, she pokes her head around the door to check if you're there, and quietly shuffles in and sits next to you. Silent, but present. She doesn't say or do anything, she just sits.

Not that that's the only habit that develops. It's one of those situations that progresses subtly yet quickly, so you don't really remember when each starts. You just become aware one day that each little routine or habit has been going on for some time now. That when you walk around the back of the pharmacy going about your day, there's often a little hand clinging to your skirts or pant legs, quietly walking alongside you while latching on. That when you make yourself something to snack on, you get out two plates or bowls and make two helpings of whatever it is without really thinking about it.

She doesn't usually have a lot to say, but it's always pleasant, she's not quite like the stereotypical hyperactive kid, no, she lets you do whatever you're doing and doesn't interrupt much, just seems to want to be around you.

You allow it, of course. You don't have the heart not to, even though you know you shouldn't, that you shouldn't allow the closeness and should push her away because you know it will inevitably lead to exactly what he wants.

You can still pinpoint the exact moment, though, that you knew it was already too late. Sitting there doing some idle task or another in silence when you feel weight leaning over against your side, head resting on your arm, and that soft, monotone voice.

I like having you here.

Dammit. You could physically feel that tug on your heart. If that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, nothing else could top the emotion that gave you. You resign yourself to finally acknowledging that you've already fallen for the scheme.

...Not that she's just an advantageous tool. The flip side disadvantage is that she's also a bit of a liability. He's given her the 'if you tell anyone about her, she'll have to go away forever' talk several times over, and the poor girl always widens her tired eyes and seems very distressed at that notion, but her memory is not exactly known for being that great. There was that time some law enforcement came by to ask about you, saying something about how someone claimed to have seen a young woman in this courtyard area on the night of the disappearance. When your name is spoken, the girl's eyes widen, her lips part and she's just started to raise her arm up to point to the back room and say the words 'oh, I kn—' when she's interrupted by being picked up, hand clamped over her mouth and carried out of the room—

Ah, why don't you go run along—

And unceremoniously set in the hall, the door shut behind.

...Not good for a child to hear something fearful like a disappearance, that's all. Could give her nightmares or something. Surely they understand that...?

Thankfully, the present officials do, just nodding and continuing on, seemingly not taking that as reason to suspect anything. Poor Baizhu, it's one of the few moments he actually nearly lost composure, slumping back into a chair with a heavy sigh of relief as soon as they leave. That surely did not do his heart palpitation issue any favors...

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

One of the most unbearable things is the wait and the dread. It's never immediate. He always says something to the effect of ah, I need some time to think about how to handle this..., which you come to realize is just intentionally dragging out your fearful anticipation. To say he has somewhat of a sadistic side would be a fairly accurate statement, he doesn't really want to cause you physical pain, but he does find himself enjoying watching you squirm and shudder and stiffen, consumed with anticipation, dread and fear, as well as reactions of humiliation and embarrassment. He tries to refrain to some extent, but finds himself indulging in invoking those reactions from you more often than he'd like to admit for the sake of his own perception of his self-control.

It's not particularly painful, though, so you can be grateful for that... although there is a sort of dull ache after a while. Getting the drugs into your system is the only difficult part, as you squirm too much to safely inject you, but refuse to open your mouth, so compliance is a bit of a challenge, forcing him to find some means of holding you still. From there, your body sort of does the punishing for you. It's unlike anything you've ever felt — an unbearable sensation of heat, so intense it leaves sweat rolling down your skin, leaves you panting and shivering and gasping for breath, limbs twitching as they desperately pull against the binds keeping your ankles and wrists taut against the bedposts.

He wouldn't leave you to suffer that alone, of course. Well, maybe for a short while, half an hour or so, to heighten the desperation, but after that, he's right there to help you, affectionately running his hand over the top of your head and speaking to you in a soft voice, all far too gentle to be one and the same as the person responsible for your present state of misery.

What do you need? Tell me how to help you.

You're not compliant at first, of course. You shake your head and clench your jaw and refuse to just make this so much easier on you both. It takes a little while. A little more urging and comforting, running his fingers over your thighs and sides and all the parts of your flesh just sensitive enough to earn a shudder, before you start to melt into his touch, and eventually give in, tell him what you want.

There we go. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Not that the torment ends there, of course. Just giving in to tell him isn't enough.

But you haven't been entirely... appreciative, have you? If I do this for you, it pains me to think it will only go unrecognized like everything else I do for you. If you ask with sincerity, maybe...

Once you've swallowed your pride entirely, then, you can get some semblance of relief. Although that itself becomes torturous with time. The intensity doesn't die down, the unbearable urge is still there, yet each successive orgasm begins to become painful, each erogenous spot on your body becomes sore and hypersensitive to the touch. You loathe to admit you end up in tears by the end of it. No worry, though, he's right there to comfort you through it... and ensure you this doesn't have to happen, but you continue to choose it time and time again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Curvature. It's not really any one specific spot, per se, but he would say it counts. The degree of it doesn't really matter, whether it's slight or pronounced. He likes the way his hands feel running over curved areas like your hips and waist, thighs, shoulders. It's something he can appreciate even when his eyes are closed, late at night, just slowly running his hands over the spots and feeling the bends and dips. There's also, of course, the fact that it provides a nice sort of grip, a spot he can lock his arms or hands around and know you won't be able to pull away easily.

#qqi simultaneously being bzhu's greatest tool but also riskiest liability is amusing to me #yandere genshin impact #baizhu x reader

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 6 months

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Seeing as you opened and I love your writing, how about a yandere bully? His beloved is not his target but rather harasses those who get close to her.....Am I even making sense?I let you do it however you want anyway.

Yandere! Male! Bully x Fem! Nerd! Reader

Time to bring back the old bully x nerd archetype. But this time, it's not as painful to write since the bullying is not targeted to the reader.

I am a victim of bully = being liked mindset. I hated that part of my life lol

One song is stuck in my head when I was writing this though. dumb dumb by mazie. So I guess I made darling a bit arrogant too lol.

I think I need to do a TW for this one. I know I usually don't do TW's since it's understandable that my blog is filled with yandere men, but this time, I need to do one.

TW: Bullying, harassment of PWDs, mentions of suicide. Uno is genuinely an upsetting character for some people, so do be warned.

Yan! Bully name: Uno

He's always the greatest.

Who?

Of course, Uno.

Just like his name, he was destined to be number 1. Nobody can stop the indominable spirit that is Uno.

It's always Uno, Uno, Uno.

GOD YOU WERE TIRED OF HEARING HIS NAME!

Why do people like an asshat like him? He's so arrogant, rude, and only thinks of himself. He belittles people who are of "lower status" than him, and sometimes, when he felt like it, he would physically fight them.

Uno's also someone with a silver spoon shoved in his mouth. His family, well known in the sports community, sponsors athletes. Investing in them greatly. And usually, these sponsored athletes end up successful. And those who did not end up successful, still brought enough rapport, moolah, and reputation that it ends up a good investment anyways.

And, with Uno being an aMaZiNg basketball player, his family invested in him too.

That also was a great investment as he's legitimately a prodigy when it comes to sports, not just basketball.

If only he wasn't a spoiled little shit who thinks the world must bend to his will.

Looking at him overtaking the social world in your University like a hurricane made you pissed off more than anything.

You hated bullies. And you thought that they would be gone once you stepped in senior high school but noooo he had to come and ruin the life you envisioned.

He would sport his stupid letterman jacket, those jeans that was tight fit to his toned legs, the tank top that forms on his abs a bit too well, and god that slicked back hair and snarky smirk. You want to wipe the sweat off-- YOU MEAN WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF.

You stomped your feet and pointed at the sky, screaming that you don't like him.

Yeah right.

Why were you so attracted to the man?

When all of your life you were bullied by people like him?

As a nerd, you devoted yourself to academics. You were born in a family filled with high achievers, and naturally, you were one too. You excelled in everything concerning subject matters of intellect, even indulged in a bit of geekiness with your habits.

Uno's not the only prodigy.

Medals upon medals, a trophy cabinet, and a mountain pile of certificates. You were an unstoppable force when it comes to intellectual contests. May it be quiz bees, or debates.

That resulted in you being bullied though. Of course, you were the nerdiest of nerds, Queen Nerd even (they're not that bright to come up with a better insult). They reveled in you getting pushed over, getting spoiled milk poured over you, getting used for their projects, and getting hopeful for an actual friendship. Just because you're smarter than them.

They're dumb, you're smart, they're strong, you're weak.

All of this pent up anger against bullies made you angry at Uno.

With days passing by in that godforsaken University, you had to hold back from biting back at Uno as he arrogantly tripped, threatened, manipulated, and hurt your fellow students.

You wonder when will be the time of your demise.

You shiver at the thought.

Speed walking towards your locker, you grabbed your things for your next class. Not knowing a certain pair of eyes were watching you from afar.

Watching your every move.

Always.

Uno, the greatest amongst the senior high, had always looked down upon people.

He's someone destined for greatness, why would he not squish the bugs under him? He's far superior than them.

He held his head up high. And with a standoffish smirk, he pushed away the people who are useless, and kept the people who wants to mooch off of him at an arms length.

But because of how much he tries to distant himself from people, he ended up with no genuine friends.

Always hiding behind fake smiles and forced brotherhood, he indulged in shallow relationships that's just filled with carnal desire and a connection easily severed by words.

He's bored.

So, why not ease the boredom by bullying?

It's not like the University can do jackshit about him. He's too far above to be disturbed, let alone suspended or expelled.

He's done awful things.

Flipping trays, ripping up artists' works, flushing down assignments, tripped up people in crutches, drove away people in wheelchairs, cut up or threw away earphones, broke phones and laptops...

Not just property damage, even mental damage.

He spreads rumors just because, he verbally assaults people who have "weird tastes" in fashion (it's literally just goth and emo), he blackmails teachers pets, and even pushes down suicidal people more.

He even made a student almost attempt. And he's fucking proud of that.

Just because he wants to ease the boredom in his heart.

He's too cruel for his own good.

If one asks if he's guilty, he just replies with:

"They fucking deserve it. They shouldn't live at all lol. Fucking losers."

And his parents? Blind and deaf to his bullying.

The school administration? Useless. Don't even try.

Everyone feared Uno.

But you do not.

You're openly hostile to the man, glaring and rolling your eyes at him whenever he harasses another student.

But he can also see how you shiver whenever he stares at you.

How peculiar.

You didn't cower, you didn't feign admiration...

You're genuinely and openly upset at him.

And he loved this fresh breath of air.

So, he didn't target you. At least somebody is not stupid enough to try and not get targeted.

Weird as it may, he started going around places that you normally would be.

The library, where he would cause havoc and topple down books, grab other students notebooks and throw them away, and play loud music, The park near your college building where he would steal food from the students, snip off plants, and break the chairs by slamming them, The rooftop where he would smoke and have regular fight offs...

You don't get to escape this man at all.

It was so amusing to him, seeing your panic and fear stricken face as he barges into your safe spaces and wreck havoc. He loved seeing you glare at him at the corner of his eyes as he harassed people, and how your face shifts to shock and nervousness whenever he caught your stares.

He loved it.

The weird one-way powerplay between you both was arousing this twisted man.

He was starting to crave you more and more.

He wants your eyes on him only as he committed atrocities, he wanted your disgust, fear, anger, and...

Was that affection he see?

"Holy shit..."

Do you, little miss prodigal nerd, have a crush on him?

He shakily breathe out, his hand gripping his face as it reddens. His eyes, hazy, intense, and crazy, revealed the deep emotions he had for you.

You're so cute.

His little nerd.

Emphasis on his. His and his only.

How hypocritical of you. You hated bullies but here you are, falling for him.

How fucking twisted is that?

And he reveled in that feeling.

The deep feeling of obsession with all of your emotions and feelings on him was more than the drugs he seldomly consume. He gets so high every time you loving him.

Love made him crazy.

Yeah, he loves you too.

And, with him making sure your "friends" are out of the way of his grand red carpet towards your heart and soul, Uno waited with bated breath at the right time to claim you.

That's it.

Your last friend, your supposed to be best friend, slapped you, dumped soup on your head and left you with words that stung deep in your soul.

"YOU'RE SO ARROGANT! JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE SMART, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK ALL OVER ME?!"

But you didn't. You swore you didn't.

But you only held your cheek as you watched them run away.

With a slump on the floor, you cried in the empty cafeteria.

You were so lonely.

You just wanted somebody to connect with you genuinely. No pity, no camaraderie due to being bullied, just genuine connection and friendship with another human that shares the same interests as you.

You didn't wish to be born.

You didn't wish to become this genius.

If it meant to lose the human connection you craved desperately, you don't want to be a genius at all.

You felt so cold, numb.

Your mind was only filled with what if's and what could have been if you didn't go to school here, or just...

You sighed.

You were struggling. So bad.

All of your friends left you, with the apparent reason of just tolerating you.

They never wanted to be your friend. You were like a collateral to them, a friend of a friend that squeezed into their friend group.

Who knew that all of them never really wanted to be your friend.

A pair of sneakers filled your vision when you cried your heart out to the ground.

Familiar basketball shoes.

Your head shot up and so does your heart as Uno smirked in front of you. A flash of mixed emotions run past by your eyes as you tried to back away.

"Nerd, how are ya?" He asked, a smirk that looks down on your situation situated on his face. "Saw your little friend run away from you."

You didn't say anything, just bit your lip as you looked away.

"Oh fuck. You're not friends anymore? Shit, you're so fucking lonely." The curses that slips past his lips were nothing short of mockery of your misery. "God, you must be so insufferable that even an unstoppable force like you get dumped."

"SHUT UP!" You finally screamed, eyes filled with pain and suffering seared into his brain. "YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING YOU FUCKING BULLY!"

But he only howled in laughter, as if it was the funniest shit he ever heard.

"I don't? Boohoo, I'll cry like you then. Wait, let me just..." He pinches himself before exaggeratedly crying into his hands. "OH BOOHOO! MY FRIENDS LEFT ME BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW~!"

You gritted your teeth, eyes ablaze with a newfound courage to confront Uno.

With shaky steps, you stood up and met him eye to eye, despite being shorter than him.

"And you're an unmovable object." You spat out. "Always doing whatever you want without any repercussions. Tell me, does it feel good to cause misery and pain to others?"

He scoffed, the annoying smirk widening. He grabbed an apple from your tray before biting into it.

"Yeah. So what?"

You want to punch him so bad.

"How did I even like you..."

Words slipped past your lips as your rage inhibited your cognitive and physical abilities to only say things in your mind.

Silence, before Uno doubled over laughing.

"Stop laughing!" You screamed, appalled by his behavior. Heartbreak imminent.

"It's just that... that was so straightforward, nerd!" Uno said between fits of laughter. "God, you're so fucking cute."

"Huh?"

Uno stopped, before clearing his throat and standing up straight.

"Hey, you know... I could take revenge on your behalf, little nerd." He whispered. His voice sending jolts of electricity down your spine. "I know you feel so betrayed right now. And I can just..."

Uno crushes the apple with his bare hand, making you shiver from fear and... Arousal at the display of raw power.

"Crush them. Just be mine." He offers, shaking off the apple chunks.

He made eye contact with you, before opening his mouth and licking the apple juice that dripped down his hand, seducing you.

"Both of us, prodigy in our own fields, are bound to be lonely. But we can be lonely together, ya know." He laughs a bit. "What we need is genuine human connection. No pretenses, no bullshit. Just us."

Your eyes shook at his words before it fell down to the apple chunks he dropped on your tray. With trembling hands, you grabbed one and ate it, not looking away from him also.

It was his time to shiver.

"Alright."

Bit into the forbidden fruit, the unstoppable force met with the immovable object. This meant doom for this godforsaken University.

What you didn't know that it was Uno's fault why your friends broke their friendship with you. Blackmailing them, making their lives living hell if they didn't pull back from you.

And as they shook with fear, tearfully crying for you and their future, they watched you become Uno's girlfriend.

Two humans, two prodigies, craving real and unfiltered connection.

It was the start of a relationship that will leave blood in their wake.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #tw yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #lizzaneiaelizalde

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emeritusemeritus · 27 days

Note

Hi! Love your answers and fics 💕

I would love to ask a fic with reader being a bff's with Ginny or Ron and the twins not really liking her but being forced to share a tent with her while camping (yes, one bed trope in nature with enemies to lovers twist 🙏🏻) , hope you like this idea, love ya!

Hi my love! You know I’m a slut for the one bed (tent?) trope but with their ages in the timeframe I tried to keep it a little PG (and failed miserably) 😂 I’m so very sorry this took so long to get out, I hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: sexual themes and references, enemies to lovers, confessions of love, humour, Fred being an absolute menace, George is the sweet one as usual. Set during a slightly canon-altered Quidditch World Cup (no mentions of mouldy voldy or the attack)

Word count: 1.3k

You didn't know where your dislike for the Weasley Twins had stemmed from, but it seemed to be completely mutual. Perhaps it was the fear of being the recipient of a prank, maybe it was their constant overbearing nature, their natural ability to be the centre of attention at all times- all of which was indisputably annoying. You just couldn't relax around them or let your guard down, which you supposed was the overall reason that you'd never been friendly. They also seemed to take an instant dislike to you almost as soon as you became friends with their younger siblings, though what possessed them not to like you was a slight mystery. They largely ignored you but you’d often catch them glaring at you or doing their very best to look away and avoid you entirely, until you became a prime target for their pranks once or twice.

You'd been so excited to attend the Quidditch World Cup, even though you didn't have the biggest passion for the sport, it was going to be the highlight of your summer, attending the world cup with your best friends. Arthur had been so kind to invite you, Harry and Hermione along but you couldn't deny that your enthusiasm wavered slightly when you realised that Fred and George would also be joining you. You thought they might have broken away at some point, causing havoc wherever they chose to go but much to your annoyance, they had stayed firmly within the group the entire time from the moment you left the Burrow at the crack of dawn until you finally reached the campsite.

So how you found yourself sharing a tent with the two of them was a complete, unfortunate mystery.

Furthermore, how you ended up between the two of them in the tent with their lips kissing every inch of your skin and their big hands wandering your body was even more of a mystery the wisest auror wouldn’t be able to figure out.

Mere hours ago after the World Cup had finished, you’d contemplated casting a protective enchantment around yourself regardless of the underage magic law, claiming it was self defence or self preservation so you didn’t end up with a face full of boils, blue hair or no eyebrows courtesy of one of their ‘pranks’. Now, those thoughts were long gone as George turned your head towards him with his finger tucked beneath your chin, his lips chasing yours as Fred slips behind you, not hiding the evidence of his arousal against your backside. It was like a tug of war between them with you being the toy in the middle; a constant divide of attention and affection.

You break away from George to gasp out a sorely needed breath and take a second to look into his eyes, seeing his dark, fixed gaze upon you. You don’t doubt that Fred would be wearing an identical gaze but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to check for yourself.

“I don’t understand,” you say breathlessly, knowing that you were almost definitely going to ruin the moment but you couldn’t deny your need for answers. “I thought you hated me.”

You hear Fred snort from behind you, a sort of involuntary noise that escapes him as soon as he hears your words.

“If this is your idea of hate, I’d love to see how you think someone who loved you would act,” he mumbles, pulling your hair away from your neck to press butterfly light kisses to your neck, making your eyes close on their own accord. But you fight to keep them open, to implore George with your eyes so he’ll give you a straight answer.

“Never hated you,” he says with the hint of a frown, as if he’s offended by the notion. His hand slips to reach down for your hand , entwining his long fingers with your own and you can’t help but glance down, marvelling at the size difference between your hands. Fred pulls on your shoulder gently, sensing that you wouldn’t give in to him without answers and pulls you down until you’re laying on your back, free to look between them.

“You see princess,” he explains, “Georgie and me made a pact that you were out of bound for both of us. Both fancied you like mad.” His hand cradles your hip whilst George keeps a gentle but firm grip on your hand, thumb swiping delicately over your knuckles.

“Thought that if you showed an interest in either of us, then we’d know who you preferred.”

“But you didn’t seem to like either of us.”

“So then the pranks started. Figured any attention from you was better than none.”

“I had pink hair for weeks!” You interjected, still simmering with annoyance.

“Honestly? I thought that if you looked different maybe I’d stop getting a hard-on every time I looked at you,” he says with a smirk, “didn’t work. Quite the opposite actually.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, causing him to drop down onto the makeshift cot beneath you all, earning a hearty laugh from him and his twin.

“You set this up didn’t you?” You break the silence with a gasp, realising that it wouldn’t be a coincidence that you’d been relegated to the small tent whilst the other guests were all sharing the big, much more comfortable tent.

The shy smile that George shoots you, mixed with his slightly pink cheeks tells you everything you needed to know.

“Might have pulled a few strings,” he mumbles through his sudden onset shyness.

“But if dad asks, you snore like a roaring Zouwu and we just so happen to be the deepest sleepers.”

“Fred!”

“We’re just so selfless, couldn’t have you disturbing the others could we?” He teases, tickling your hip.

“Yes it definitely feels like you’re being selfless,” you say with a smirk, rolling your hips to brush your ass against his still very obvious erection, earning a deep groan from him.

“So you don’t hate us?” George asks somewhat nervously, his hand slightly squeezing yours so your attention is diverted away from his very tempting twin.

“Could have done without the pink hair,” you argue, stating your point, “but I don’t hate you.”

“Elaborate,” Fred urges, his hand resting on your hip again, a sudden uncharacteristic nervousness hovering in his voice.

You sigh, knowing that you’d ruined it now.

“You both just make me nervous, like I’ll never know why you’re going to do next,” you say, averting your eyes slightly.

“Well if you want a full commentary of what I intend to do, I’d be happy to oblige,” Fred smirks, running his hands over your body, purposefully manipulating your answer.

“Fred,” you groan, half annoyed and half tempted.

“No more pranks,” George says suddenly, making your eyes flash to him. “Not on you.”

“Agreed,” Fred says suddenly, pressing his rather impressive tent to the curve of your bum as he shuffles closer. “At least now we can double down on the blokes trying to talk to her.”

“That was why Cormac fainted in the hallway on the way to Potions?!” You gasp, suddenly piecing it all together, realising they were the perpetrators all along.

“Your ours,” Fred says simply with a shrug, as if there’s no reason to argue.

“If that’s what you want,” George adds, throwing a quick but powerful glare at his brother.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #weasley twins x you #anon answered #answered asks #request closed

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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Panacea.

Yan Kazuha x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mentions of blood/injury (not on Reader). Word count: 3.5k.

If you were to associate any one color with Kazuha, it would be red.

From the odd strand that stands out against his otherwise snow-white hair, to the depths of his eyes, and the long, billowing details of the various fabrics and tassels on his person. The hue impressed itself upon you and made itself unsuitable for prolonged viewing. He had stolen the pleasure you once experienced when gazing upon fiery sunsets, or in observing the leaves change when scorching summers came to an end. How could you derive enjoyment from that which you associated so intimately with your tormentor?

Indeed, Kaedehara Kazuha was red in your mind’s eye, the two so closely intertwined that they could not exist apart.

However…

Has there ever been this much red?

He’s trying to stand. It’s futile in every sense of the word. He grimaces, one bandaged hand clutching where he’s bleeding the most, the other struggling to remain wrapped around his sword’s hilt. The blade has been thrust into the ground so he may use it as leverage to lift himself up. This is his fourth attempt, you think. Perhaps the number is higher than that.

You wouldn’t know. Thinking is a luxury you aren’t currently blessed to have.

Kazuha’s usually fluffy hair clings tight to the edge of his face, sticking to his perspiring skin. Each breath he takes is a battle — one he’s losing at that — heavy and audible even from over here where you stand. Observing. Waiting. For what exactly, you couldn’t say. When was the last time you held the reins to your own life? The feeling is so surreal, so beyond your comprehension, that you find yourself at an impasse when the path ahead should be the clearest it’s ever been.

Illuminated in bright sunlight, all signs pointing with arrows pointed big and bold for you to see.

Get away from him while you can.

You made it a few paces in the opposite direction but haven’t dared to venture further, past the invisible line he wouldn’t want you to cross. You must be teetering on it already, teasing him with your hesitation, for he’s using what remaining strength he has to try and close the distance. If his attempts at standing continue to fail, he’ll likely try crawling next. Pride is a useless obstacle he’ll cut down if it clears the way to you.

The bodies of the nobushi littering the ground beside him are seemingly endless. Their ambush was brutal, a nightmare playing out in reality with you thrust onto the stage. Metal clanged against metal in a cacophony composed to the most dreadful melody. It still reverberates inside your skull, the sounds, sights, and smells of battle. Even if Kazuha had been in full health, the sheer numbers on their side would’ve proven to be a challenge.

You’re not exactly sure when he had fallen ill. You guess he did what he could to conceal it for you, for it was his strength that forced you to remain by his side. He hadn’t been eating as much of the foraged meals he’d fix for you both, he struggled to rest at night, and his complexion had taken on a dull pallor. Whatever ailment he’d contracted was likely to fix itself with a little time and rest, had it not been for the nobushi’s machinations. He fought around you, parrying endless waves of blades, leaving openings in his stance so they’d target him instead.

It’s no exaggeration to say Kazuha saved your life, numerous times at that.

You shake your head. He’s the reason you were in danger in the first place. Had it not been for him taking you away, you would still be in your family’s estate on the outskirts of Inazuma City, safely tucked away behind tall walls and screen doors. What would you have been doing now, anyway? Koto lessons alongside your childhood nanny? Tea ceremony with Kamisato Ayaka? It’d be something tedious, but something safe.

A soft rustling coming from behind earns your attention and horror in equal amounts. Sharply, you turn your head, expecting to see a towering figure clad in armor. Instead, you spot an inquisitive rabbit emerging from the forest’s verdure. A shaky sigh leaves your lips and your shoulders drop. While you might not know exactly what to do, standing here and twiddling your thumbs probably isn’t in your best interest either. Nobushi tend to stick together. Any patrols that happen by would witness the massacre of their comrades and desire revenge.

Meanwhile, Kazuha has managed to stand on his unsteady legs. You go stiff as a board, unsure of what to expect, as he stumbles toward you. Does this mean it’s useless to flee? The last time you made the mistake of trying to run, he tied your wrist to his for days to keep a closer eye on you. The restrictions and lack of privacy had shattered what little remained of your dignity. He had been so apologetic too, explaining in that calm voice of his that he ‘only wants to ensure your safety’, when what you need safety from is him.

While you consider what to say in case he accuses you of trying to run, his knees give out, forcing him back onto the ground.

Could this be a ploy? A way to test your loyalty? Such petty schemes seem beneath him. Then again, the man you thought you knew had proven to only be a pretty veneer that hid festering rot within. Your trepidation causes you to take a step back, your unblinking eyes never leaving his form. When no condemnation ensues for your boldness, you take another step, then another, your heart writhing in your chest.

He isn’t trying to stop you. No… he can’t stop you. Not in this state.

A choked sound leaves his lips. It’s only when he repeats himself, in between coughs this time, that you realize he’s speaking your name.

“Y-Yes…?”

You don’t know why you bother replying, the word leaves you almost as if you were in a trance. This should be where the curtains close. Without the threat looming over your head of his pursuit, you should be able to make your way to civilization. You might not have any valuables on your person, but your surname alone should be enough to incentivize others, granting you passage back home. You’ll have to leave Kazuha behind for your freedom to be secured. Gazing down at him now, you consider the power dynamic that has shifted overwhelmingly in your favor.

This is how it has to be. No one would blame you — would this not be considered appropriate atonement for his crimes? Maybe… maybe some kind soul might wander by and give him aid. Then he should be smart enough to know better than to try this again. Your father would undoubtedly increase the security around the estate tenfold after this stunt. That’s right, your father, he would demand the death penalty on the last living member of the Kaedehara clan if he were to learn who was behind your disappearance. He held enough sway in the Tri-Commission to make it happen.

There’s no way the potential consequences of his actions were unknown to Kazuha.

You think back to the moonless night he took you away. His soundless footsteps that rivaled the most well-trained Shuumatsuban, the scent of saltwater on his skin.

“Would you be willing to accompany me for a while?”

Never had the scale of his nefarious plans crossed your mind. This was an almost ordinary occurrence since you had both entered your teenage years; Kazuha sneaking into the courtyard where you often stargazed. He’d whisk you away for a few hours then return you before anyone caught on. It was the lone thrill in your otherwise mundane life. There had been many nights where you’d purposefully stand in plain view, hoping that he might come by, every little breeze rousing your excitement. However, he was as unpredictable as a conniving kitsune. He couldn’t risk tipping off your family to your little late-night ventures.

The Vision Hunt Decree put an unexpected stop to this long-held tradition, since Kazuha chose to flee Inazuma rather than give up his Vision.

You had all but lost your usual decorum upon his silent return. You would’ve personally thanked each of the Archons just to know he was alive and well, never had you dreamed you’d see him again in person! Emotions seeped through the cracks of your perfect, well-bred façade, you wept loud enough that he was forced to cover your mouth with his hand to keep his presence a secret. Your consent was readily given for what you thought would be another bite-sized adventure.

Would you get to sample mouth-watering street food from vendors Kazuha paid off in return for them acting like they never saw you? Or maybe you’d run barefoot again through the cool waters alongside Amakane Island, then retire to a secret spot that offered the most stunning view of Inazuma City’s silhouette?

Your exhilaration quickly morphed into all-encompassing terror when morning came and he showed no signs of taking you back home.

The sensation weighing down on your shoulders presently is much the same. Elation is fleeting, like grains of sand slipping through your fingers. There is no fairytale ending where some good-natured samaritan swoops in, saving Kazuha, allowing him to come to his senses and see the error of his ways. He won’t repent and swear to never involve himself in your affairs again. That isn’t how this world works. How reality works.

You have two options. Leave him and let him die, or stay, a part of yourself dying as recompense.

An eternity seemingly passes before he has the strength to speak again, his voice croaky. “Hurt… are you… hurt?”

It’s a wonder you don’t fall as well. Not a single hair on your head has been harmed, yet you feel cold pangs all over, his words slicing you to the bone. Why? Why is he concerning himself with you? Why has he always concerned himself with you? Why couldn’t he have been like one of those evil spirits your nanny used to tell you about growing up so you wouldn’t misbehave? Oh, how easy it’d be then, to curse him and turn your back without a care over his inevitable fate. His face would fade from your memory like ink dipped into a river.

Of all the wrongs he’s committed, making you care about him might just be the worst.

Maybe there is a third path, hidden past the overgrowth. You must risk dirtying your hands by moving it aside to know for sure.

You act without thinking. The ringing in your ears is loud enough to cover up nature’s ambiance, your spirit too heavy for the nearby thrush’s song to lift. Your shadow encompasses Kazuha while your frenzied mind considers what to do next. Staying here is not a viable option, you need to get moving now. You doubt you’re strong enough to carry him, you’ll have to settle for helping him walk. Crouching down, you secure his limp arm around your neck.

“On three, I’m going to need you to stand, no matter how much it hurts,” you mumble, uncertain if he even heard you. “Okay… okay… one, two, three!”

Hoisting him up puts your muscles to the test. He boasts a fair amount of muscle despite his lean body and you’d never done heavy lifting in your life. Kazuha must have somewhat understood your words, for he does what he can to make your task easier, his Vision radiating a soft glow. Wind currents far weaker than what he can usually produce aid in getting him to rise. He’s panting softly, his body slumping over onto yours once this strenuous task draws to a close.

With some difficulty, you lead him beneath a natural overpass, decently far away from the battlefield. You prop him up against some mossy rocks and assess his dire condition more clearly.

He’s lolled his head to the side, his skin as white as a ghost. There are a few cuts and bruises marring his person, but the most concerning is the deep gash on his lower right side. Your frown deepens at the sight. The fight had mostly been an inscrutable blur from your perspective, aside from how he sustained this damning injury. He had ordered you to stay put, to not move an inch from where you stood, yet the horror you were forced to witness was too much. You’d never witnessed the light leaving a person’s eyes, the pungent odor of death. Shrinking into yourself, you mistakenly took a step backward, losing your balance in the process.

To a former samurai, that was the only opening they needed.

Kazuha was blindingly fast — so much so that you barely realized what had happened — the hit intended for you digging into his flesh instead.

“What do I do, what do I do…?” The sheer desperation in your voice comes as a surprise to yourself. The man lying before you had kidnapped you and deprived you of your basic autonomy. Still, all you could think about were days from a bygone past. When his father was alive and there were negotiations of your potential betrothal in the future. The unfair collapse of the once illustrious Kaedehara clan benched those discussions forever, though Kazuha never voiced a single complaint.

“It’ll be okay, [First],” he had told you then, his little arms wrapped around your form. His voice had always been so gentle. “That just means you get to choose to marry me. It won’t be commanded of you. I much prefer it that way. So please, don’t be sad.”

Fortune was not kind enough to acquiesce to a child’s wish. Neither of you voiced this mutually understood sentiment as you both grew older — that someone of your standing couldn’t ever wed an individual with no prospects. You locked away this silly wish deep down and assumed he did the same, for he never brought it up again. The seed had been planted and the roots had taken hold.

Your hands shakily hover over his wound.

What would be necessary to treat this? Antiseptics, stitches, clean bandages; you have nothing like that. Do you apply pressure, like he had been before you brought him over here? Or would that make it worse? There must be something you can do. You’re not asking for a miracle. So long as it holds him over long enough for you to get more qualified help, you’d take back every awful thing you said about the gods these past few months.

You don’t know who is struggling to breathe more, you or him.

Something comes into contact with your shoulder. Wearily, you look up, discovering the unknown offender to be Kazuha’s fingers. They brush over the fresh blood that’s begun to sink into your fabric. His eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth contorting in displeasure.

“When did this happen?” He whispers, leaning forward to inspect you better regardless of the agonizing pain the movement must cause him.

You gape at him, at a loss for words. The blood loss must not have him in his proper state of mind. “It isn’t— isn’t mine. It’s from when I walked you over here.”

“Ah…” he trails off. His eyelashes flutter shut and he smiles softly. “That’s a relief.”

Your teeth begin to chatter from how hard you’re shaking. “Kazuha, please, tell me what to do. How do I fix this? How do I make this better?”

With some effort, he manages to open his eyes again, the tenderness nestled within them overshadowing the pain. “I thought… thought you were mad at me.”

Had it not been for the severity of the situation, you’d say he almost sounds like a petulant child, pouting after getting scolded. You want to wrap your hands around his shoulders and shake him but think better of it. Tears pierce the corners of your eyes, building up yet refusing to fall. Despite the cold numbness enveloping you from head to toe, your face flushes with raging heat. You attempt to extinguish it by jabbing a finger against his chest accusingly.

“I am! Of course I’m mad at you! None of this was supposed to happen! If you had just… taken me home, like you did hundreds of times before, everything would be how it’s supposed to be. I don’t understand you. Why you did this to me, why you went from the one person I looked forward to seeing to the one I dread the most. None of it makes sense! None of it!”

Kazuha attempts to take your hand in his but lacks the strength. His arm falls back down, and he coughs, sputtering up that damnable shade of red that’ll forever be burned into your mind forevermore. His breathing is getting softer and softer whereas yours grows more labored. He isn’t going to last much longer. Throwing caution to the wind, you press your hands flush against the wound, praying with all your might that applying pressure might buy him some more time. Then you could go get him help. It might not be a fairy tale ending, but it’s better than the alternative.

Time itself distorts in the moments that follow. A second, minute, or hour may have passed, you’d have no way of telling.

Your hands feel soaked. Whether it’s from your tears, or his blood, you don’t know, for you don’t peer down to check. How could you, when you’re transfixed on the sheer bliss engraved into his face? It isn’t right — it’s as if the entire world had tilted a few degrees and you were just beginning to notice. This sensation swirls around you like a whirlpool, drenching you in its abnormality.

“You’re crying for me again,” he sounds truly blessed, as if he were on top of the world. “You don’t know how happy this makes me. To share such a special moment with you.”

Is this the mad, final mumblings of a man rapidly approaching his demise? For this reason, you hold your tongue, allowing him to speak without reproach.

The next time he tries, he has considerably less difficulty reaching to intertwine your fingers. “I’m grateful to these hands of yours for giving us more time together.”

You have no choice but to look at your hands due to the angle he’s holding them at. What you see — or, to be more specific, what you don’t see — has you squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. Looking again confirms that you weren’t imagining things. There’s no blood. Your hands should be coated in it. You felt the wetness, you saw how much was oozing out even through his multiple layers of clothing.

Kazuha takes advantage of your stupefied state to continue speaking. He’s able to get out more words than he could before. “You chose to stay with me even when you could’ve left me for dead. I didn’t even have to ask you to stay. I wanted that to be a choice you made for yourself. Ah… I’m glad… I’m so, so glad… I would’ve been happy knowing you cried over my death, but this… this is so much better.”

There’s a light weight on your lap.

Pulling free from Kazuha’s grip requires all your might, but you manage, stumbling backwards in a scramble to make sense of what is happening. A metallic cling resonates in the air upon your abrupt movements. It doesn’t matter how much you don’t want to look. You know you have to. So you do. And your world becomes slightly more tilted because of it.

Is that… a Hydro Vision?

It doesn’t register at first. Nothing does. Not the flock of birds that takes off to your left or the grazing deer scrambling to your right. You think you may have screamed, but you never heard it, not when that metallic spinning is playing on a loop in your head. Hurried, you rise to your feet. The blue gleaming gem becomes even more unsightly than the red you’d sworn yourself to loathe.

The gods didn’t answer when you prayed for your sake, but they did when you prayed for his.

You didn’t want Kazuha to die, and now, you don’t know if you want him to live. Not when you’re so far away from civilization and at his mercy. This isn’t the first, second, or third option; it’s something far worse. Unspeakably worse. For you, that is.

“Please, don’t look at me like that,” he sounds far more like his usual self. He’s regaining his strength, slowly yet surely. You shiver. “I wouldn’t ever dream of doing you harm.”

Kazuha’s position against the wall is far more relaxed. His vivacity is returning in small increments, from the slight rosiness of his cheeks to the bright warmth in his eyes. Red. It’s on him everywhere except for where it should be. Had you been callous, had you been able to realize that what once was isn’t enough to risk what will be.

Whatever divine beings rule over this world must consider you to be the focal point of their amusement.

Presently, you’re faced with two options.

Do you want to find out if you’re fast enough to outrun him, or should you save yourself the trouble and never learn the answer?

#there is simply nothing i love more than dramatic irony #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #yandere kazuha x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

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yanderes-galore · 3 months

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I have brainrot and must get out another HOTD fic. NOT PROOFREAD, I WAS COOKING WITH THIS. THIS IS AN ADULT AEGON II FIC, WHICH MEANS IT MENTIONS PLOT POINTS FROM THE BOOKS.

Spoilers For HOTD and Fire & Blood

A short story based on this idea I had.

Baptism By Fire

Yandere! Aegon II Targaryen Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Mentions of intimacy, General Mature Content Warning (This is HOTD/F&B so-) Obsession, Murder, Violence, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Adultery, Consensual turned Forced relationship.

Aegon never liked his older half-sister. In his eyes Rhaenyra was a usurper to the throne. In his younger years he never liked the thought of being king... but now, as an older man, he has grown into such a role.

Since he was a young boy, Aegon had always had his fill of pleasures. However, he did have one true love... which was surprisingly not his wife, Helaena. A maid that served his elder half-sister, you....

You were Rhaenyra's personal handmaid. You were around his age, a maid who came from a family of servants. Originally you were just another target of his unusually insatiable libido.

However, Aegon felt he could cast aside his responsibilities with you. In you he found companionship he wasn't expecting. It wasn't just when he had you in his chambers... it was whenever you were around.

Your "relationship" was kept secret from both his mother and elder-sister. He had a feeling they'd both hate him if he admitted to growing fond of you. As a result of your nights together Aegon always had Moon Tea prepared to hide the "evidence".

Aegon always felt you reciprocated his advances. Up until he was married he saw you as at least a friend, if not lover. However, all good things must come to an end.

Reluctantly he was forced onto the throne as the event known as the Dance of The Dragons began to culminate. Ever loyal to Rhaenyra, you stayed her handmaid. An action Aegon found resentment towards....

Aegon had Helaena to give him heirs, but he didn't particularly enjoy it. Aegon always found himself lusting over other women instead. Oddly his choices often resembled you.

As king during the Targaryen Civil War, it was expected he'd go through many hardships. Even with his golden mount, Sunfyre, by his side... The Blacks still proved to be formidable opponents. He still hated the idea of you being loyal to them... even after everything you shared together.

Aegon's thoughts about you never left his mind. Helaena was not blind to the infatuation in Aegon's eyes. The king, even as a fully fledged adult now, still thought of you. Fate had been cruel... and kept getting crueler.

Aegon wondered if he'd even see you again. Throughout his time as king he had witnessed, assassinations, and the death of his children. He suffers all while you tend to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

He finds himself yearning for you.

His hate for The Blacks grows when he fights Rhaenys. Upon dragon back he was struck down, Sunfyre unable to win against Rhaenys' mount, Meleys. As a result he was left burned and twisted.

By the time the king reunites with you, his face and body are marred. He feels mixed feelings when he sees you stand beside Rhaenyra during the attack on Dragonstone. Even more so when he sees you with Rhaenyra's son behind you.

Aegon feels no remorse when he orders guards to pull you and Rhaenyra's son away. He doesn't give a damn when he orders Sunfyre to sear and consume the false queen. That woman has taken enough from him.

Her death brings a grin to his face.

You're all his.

While many suggested he kill Aegon The Younger, the king turns down such suggestions. The boy, and you, already seemed traumatized enough. Instead he takes the boy prisoner.

Which makes you his new handmaid.

You didn't dare look at him after that. You looked so broken after seeing the death of Rhaenyra, your queen. The Dance of Dragons was not quite done, as resistance still brewed within Black supporters.

However, Aegon could care less currently.

He spared the boy partially for you. He may look different now... but his infatuation for you never left. You stare at his burned and scarred face in fear.

Despite such fear he finds himself embracing you. He struggled to walk and is nowhere close to how he was when he was younger. Even just in his 20's he looks like he's seen hell.

You don't move in his grip. He merely holds you tighter against him. He has waited a long time to have you again.

You still look just as beautiful as the last time he's seen you, a young woman in your 20's who hasn't been through war.

He still wishes to kiss you and share that much affection and intimacy with you. Yet, he settles with easing you into it with a kiss on your forehead. He even tries to cultivate the old feelings you had with advances... even allowing you to visit Aegon the Younger.

Your relationship may not be like it was before... it may never be...

But Aegon is determined.

He has you all to himself now... in his eyes he's won....

The war isn't over, many still support the prince he keeps prisoner. But for now he'd like to ignore all the warfare. He's tired of the fighting...

All he needs is you now...

With you in his arms... he'll take on whatever they throw at him.

He doesn't care if he dies now... as long as he has you by his side during it.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere a song of ice and fire #yandere fire and blood #yandere westeros #yandere aegon II targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen

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creampie-capital · 6 months

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║𝘈𝘤𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ CONTENT

Promiscuous Masterlist ━━━➤ PROMISCUOUS

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Do not steal, copy, or repost anywhere. My work is currently on both CREAMPIE_CAPITAL on wattpad and Imtropicalbaby on Quotev. If posted on another account or website, please report and notify me immediately. Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳ᴏᴛᴛᴏ

snarls beneath its breath, which provokes shivers throughout your spine. That wasn't human, not even close to something even a god can produce. It was so quiet, like a whisper in the air, yet it provoked all hair to stand on end.

"Do not disappoint." Otto's words are hushed in your head, a mere quiet murmur that was nothing short of an order.

Before you have the chance to respond, your body is hauled upwards to your bare feet with the loincloth and skirt from before now adorning your bottom. You glanced around, noticing that you were alone before touching your cheeks which were void of tears and smudged eyeliner; however, the folds of your feminity still retained the thick, sweet slick from your arousal.

The ultimate being could have cleaned it away but had not, as if to torture you with that throbbing heat beneath. Or perhaps to provoke your head to cloud with desire and throw yourself to your new target like a harlot.

Another knock steals your attention, which spurs you to clear your throat and saunter over. It's another performance, another rendition to become the most desirable being to the god of death for the entertainment of Otto.

Upon opening the door to your room, you have to crane your neck to meet molten golden eyes shielding in the shade of the encrusted jackal headpiece.

Something tingles in the air; his radiance and unearthly presence suffocating. The pressure is nearly overbearing, thickening the air to spur you to struggle to breathe naturally. He is infused with power, an existence that should not even exist but does against all odds.

His expression is nonexistent, with a face impassive and stony. He refrains from speaking first as though he awaits for you to...

Oh...

"My lord." You welcome, head dipping down to bow in abasement. "I humbly greet you."

Something in the back of your head digs its claws into your brain, attempting to provoke your ankles to give out. It wants you to collapse to your knees, and grovel at the god's feet as if you are not even worthy to be in front of him.

Anubis is the patron deity of jackals, yet his own presence orders you to obey his silent command.

Lower yourself like a loyal dog to its owner.

You're sure it was on purpose, forcing you to acknowledge your place and the prestige of who you are dealing with this evening. He who stands before you is no normal human, no ordinary deity or being of comprehensibility.

He is the god of death, one of the nine Egyptian Enneads and he demands devotion.

"Rise." His voice practically drips with superiority, nothing less of his domineering presence.

You do as told, raising your head to look forward at his built abdomen. His figure is impressive, with a bulkier constitution than Apollo. There was no time to appreciate his figure when you first met or even the quick glance in the weighing room, but now you can appreciate the robust structure.

Not to mention, just like his mother, his limbs are long and lengthy, reigning at an impressive 8ft (243.84cm). Most of his dark skin is shown, scarcely covered in silks but more attired in jewelry.

Small and insignificant, it's what pours into your stomach and wails as he stands before you. The feeling is similar to something that dwells within, forgotten but remaining from a long time ago. Its familiarity is sickening just as it is welcoming.

Abruptly his thumb and forefinger snatch your chin and title your head upwards. His touch ignites tingles from the contact that swarm within your tummy. Your vision drifts from the built rows of his abdomen to the wide and flexing pectorals, before settling back once again on plump nude lips and golden eyes.

He's handsome and unbelievably gorgeous, and the power he holds is mouth-watering. Anubis is a god who reigns supreme, only surpassed by his own father.

There must be a plethora of goddesses that have thrown themselves to his feet, pleading for just a chance. Not to mention the number of souls who come to the underworld to have their hearts weighed only to be completely bewitched by his otherworldly magnificence.

"My birth mother practically adores you..." He murmurs more to himself as he tilts your head to the side so he can observe your jaw and the tendon in your neck tightening. "But I do not see the attraction of a mortal such as you."

There is something inside of you that twinges as if he struck your own pride. For a moment you feel your blood boil, seething beneath the thin layer of skin before inhaling deeply.

You're gorgeous, you're intelligent, you're alluring, you are that woman. You never took the Egyptian deity of death to be such a liar. For his words to be true, he would have strayed from your chambers instead of arriving.

He's ever so busy; death is never-ending, nevertheless, he took the time out of his absurdly busy schedule to visit your room...he may not want you now, but he's interested.

And that's all you need to get started.

"My lord~. Please forgive this unworthy one." You drop to your knees as your chin slips from his grasp. His height already far surpasses your own, but something within his stomach must tingle when you give him what he likes.

Submission

"Only the finest and most meritorious woman should be in the presence of a powerful god such as you." Your head rests upon the back of your hands that obscure a devious grin on your lips. "I would never think of myself good enough for such a deity but if you would let me...I'll do everything I can to please you, My lord. Just tell me what I can do; tell me what to do."

The way you react is demeaning, basically degrading by giving up your will. But that is the point; it nearly runs your blood hot with excitement at the prospect of 'offering' him that control. From his own radiant and domineering presence, you can tell he is assertive and commanding.

He is one of the Ennead gods! The deity who guides lost souls and kings through the afterlife, who protects and embalms the dead. He is one of the most important beings to exist in Egyptian mythology, and he knows that.

Anubis wants control; he needs it. How can he be a deity if there are no worshippers or parishioners that do everything to please him? You don't mind letting him believe that he has it, by offering it with complete 'submission.'

Even if you must resign your pride and push away your dignity, it's all an act because at the end of the day...it was your decision to let him do what he wanted. Plus, it feels like a dirty little secret knowing that you are just playing around and he is completely unaware of what you truly are.

"You know your place?" Anubis breathes outwards, and you can hear his clothes shift as though he is squatting down in front of your bowing figure.

Only slightly do you nod your head but you refrain from speaking; he has not permitted it just yet. It seems that your assumption was correct because he hums in a pleased manner and runs his large hand through your hair.

His fingers are coarse and rough and seething with an unnatural warmth. There's this soothing sensation, like a comforting reward that he is bestowing on you for being good.

If you were a sweet little cat, you'd probably purr and lean into his palm.

"No wonder my birth mother declared you as the perfect little bride. You are obedient, like a good little girl."

"Isn't that all you want? To be the perfect little girl?"

You disregard Otto's words and swallow the lump in your throat. It is imperative to perform just the way Anubis likes it.

"Stand, and you may speak to your god." The Jackal deity commands with a voice that could send trembles through the earth but definitely shoots electricity through your veins.

"Thank you so much, My Lord." Gingerly you raise your head and body, with his large hand still remaining in your hair.

His lips display a suave smile, marked with charm and confidence. You had his interest at first, but now you have his attention

You are that woman.

Abruptly his thick fingers tangle within your locks and tug, forcing your chin to the ceiling as a stinging sensation resonates in your scalp. Your hands fly upwards, unconsciously attempting to grasp his wrist yet you manage to squeeze them to your chest.

"Good." Anubis murmurs and leans down to bend at the waist and hover his lips by your ear. "You know already that you do not deserve to touch me. That is a privilege you must earn."

Oh, he really wants you to work for it. Apollo was easy; now it appears you must put in a little more labor to corrupt this being.

"Please, My Lord, My god, My Nesu-" The last part you articulated had not been translated though you could feel the importance of it. "Please tell this unworthy one how to gain that privilege. I'll do anything for you."

You are not conceited enough to feel shame for begging; in fact, you love it. You love the way it ignites some part of the other person's brain alive, the way it replaces their blood with excitement, and let's not forget the way it drives them utterly insane to hear it again.

Sure, Anubis can believe that he has all the power, but he'll find out what makes a b*tch.

"Anything?" He probes, warm breath fanning across your ear and tickling. "Do you understand the intensity of what you state?"

A grin wants to etch onto your lips; you can practically feel his anticipation, his eagerness in your own blood. The god probably desires to see how far he can push it, and how much you can endure.

He'll learn the hard way, literally.

"Oh, My Nesu~. Anything and everything. I know I do not deserve it, but I desire you so bad." You speak the sweetest honey, saturated with so much sugar as you tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

The Egyptian deity pulls away from your ear to lean back. His eyes beneath the Jackal headpiece observes your face, curiously taking in your appearance.

Does he see the humor in your (e/c) iris' or is it masked by your desperate hunger for gratification? Can he discern the growing smirk on your lips from the way he's already falling into your trap? Perhaps not by how his tongue sweeps over his bottom lip with anticipation.

How ironic when he exists as the god to weigh a deceased's soul, configuring how much sin they've accumulated through their lifetime, only for him to be consumed by it.

"How would you best like me to show my devotion?" Your question seems to rouse him from somewhere in his mind as he blinks slowly before meeting your gaze.

"Those are dangerous words, Hemet." Another word not translated, but the physical impact it has on your body proves that it must mean something of great importance. Or maybe it's just a nasty little nickname he has for his abrupt bride. "Can you take it?"

He has no idea what he has gotten himself into. "I can take you."

Anubis abruptly yanks your head back, pushing your body out of the way to enter your bed chambers and slam the door behind himself. From the moment he stepped in, he has become your husband in unwritten matrimony.

A slight yelp seeps from your lips from the searing sting before you are thrust toward your bed. You land on your stomach with your face bouncing against the plush mattress; the loose gold beads from the headpiece Nephthys gave you had clacked and rattled together.

Scrambling onto your back had barely been fast enough as Anubis' giant form swathes over your own. His knees dig into the round bed by your waist as a single hand holds up his weight above your head.

The bangles around his bottom and belly chains jingled from the movements as he grinned, sharpened canines displaying through his rows of white teeth. Walnut brown curls peek out from behind his headdress, and your fingers twitch with a yearning to pull them.

It's practically p*ssy throbbing the way this huge god straddles your little 'ol mortal body and shows you how insignificant you are to him. Oh, you are so tiny, so human in comparison to a deity.

What you would give to have him between your legs, reshaping your insides with that monster beneath his silks. Each thrust would knock the wind out of you, robbing it away with every pound, roll, and rock that jabs right against your sensitive little cervix.

He'd hurt so good, f*ck he'd tear into your nerves and control every sensation in the most commanding and demanding way possible.

"Poor little Nymph. Must be torture to only be able to imagine but never fulfill that desire, hmm?" Otto's ethereal tone only reestablishes that deep sense of arousal.

The memory of his bony hands touching you, caressing your body, is still fresh, and you're still soaked. At this point, you've fallen too deep into that part of your mind you like to disappear to, where shame, guilt, or any shred of rational thinking cannot penetrate.

Head empty, just big chocolate-skinned god ready to f*ck you up.

"You are cute, Hemet! With that look you bare-" His free hand ghostly skims over your face before ceasing by your lips and plunging his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. His slightly pointed nails dig into the gummy flesh of your cheek as he yanks at the corner. "-I would not have believed that your heart weighed lighter than the feather."

You want to speak, sweeten him up with some more sugary words however the opportunity right now is too good to pass up. Just like the little sl*t you are, your tongue traces over the rough skin and suckles.

A laugh snags in your throat, desiring to giggle out because it's funny how right now, he tastes like power.

Eagerly, practically desperately, you suck on his large fingers as if you've been starved for weeks, and you wouldn't dare let this treat evade you.

Unconsciously, your thighs are squeezing together with your hips raising and attempting to grind against the wet cloth of your undergarment. It's hot beneath, seething with heat warming the slick spread outwards on your folds.

It's probably humiliating, becoming so aroused by his mere presence and slender digits within your mouth but you cannot help it. The pressure of his radiance bares weight on your ribs consistently, as though it commands your own lungs when to breathe and when to choke.

He gives the orders, and you'll listen...for now.

"If only he knew of how truly disobedient you are. You would go from a submissive wife to a rebellious pet so quickly. We both know he could not handle it."

'Oh, Otto~. You speak as if you can.' Your 'words' prompt a rumble from its voice in your head that goes straight to your cl*t.

There's this throbbing sensation that is going along to beat of your heart. It's picking up the pace, growing in strength the longer you suck and taste the god's finger in your mouth.

You're clenching over nothing, begging for any form of relief.

Abruptly Anubis moves his fingers, no longer yanking at the corner of your lips but plunging down the back of your throat. The action was so sudden that you gagged with eyes enlarging and watering.

Your fingers almost grasp his thick thighs, almost touching that smooth skin that is nearly completely showing from the way the silks covering his bottom had ridden up. Instead, you grip the sheets beside your body and gurgle.

"Can you breathe?" The Jackal deity questions, yet the tone is laced with mockery. When you shake your head, he hums and pushes his fingers deeper to where the knuckles of his other fingers dig into your teeth. "Do not respire until your god allows it."

Your lacquered eyes shimmer in the light from the floating stars before trailing down your face. Make-up begins to smudge and darken around your lids just as the gloss on your lips smeared in such an obscene manner.

It hurts, your throat begins to ache from the constriction and blockage, yet you refrain from pulling away. Your pride is too vast to give in first and beg for freedom, not even when your head is spinning, and you feel your grasp on reality slipping away.

You're too arrogant, too conceited, and too f*ckin full of yourself to back down. It's been your greatest asset that you used and abused to get what you wanted. But it also brings some of the worst consequences that you say you don't deserve...

Anubis tilts his head and watches your collarbone jut against the skin, becoming prominent as your throat constricts from the gagging and choking. His golden eyes observe the flush of your skin, burning with heat that could rival even the god of the sun, Ra.

Oh, he's becoming aroused from this with the way his c*ck beneath the silk bulges against the cloth and enlarges. It's almost unbelievable. When his shaft was unaroused, it was already ample and presumably could have even filled your palm.

'F*ck you, Otto.'

"Only if you are good enough."

What an infuriating piece of sh*t. The ultimate being finds too much pleasure in your suffering. If only there was a way to really get back at him...but you'll think about that another day.

For now, you return your awareness to the tightening in your chest and vertigo in your head. Your fight-or-flight instincts want to kick in, practically begging you to yank his hand out of your mouth and crawl away.

But at the same time, there is this euphoria. Warm yet somehow soothing, the lack of air begins to diminish all the little nonsense thoughts. There is no hunger, no exhaustion, or even lust. It's as though you've been pulled beneath heavy, dark waters. With weightlessness and fluidity, it's the most serene sensation you can feel.

Nothing else matters.

"Breathe." The sound of Anubis' voice is muffled yet upon feeling his hand being withdrawn from your mouth, you are yanked out of those blissful waters and brought back to reality.

A cough sputters from your lips just as your eyes focus on the handsome face above yours. Your vision is blurry and muddled for a second before concentrating on his devilish grin.

"Good girl." You are praised softly with his hand cradling your face, the burning flesh of your cheeks nestled within his coarse palm. "Good little Hemet."

Yes, yes you are. The praise goes straight to your raging heart, kindling a heat that ignites all your nerves. "Have I earned it, my Lord?" Your fingers that clumped your bedsheets beneath from the hold now burrow your nails against your skin. "Is this unworthy one allowed the privilege to touch?"

Anubis hums absentmindedly, tilting his head and clicking the jewelry around his neck together.

"Please, My Nesu. Please grant me the privilege to touch you, to please you. I offer my entire being to you so that I may be able to gratify your ever desire." The words sound slurred in your ears, spoken off a gluttonous tongue.

The Egyptian deity stares down at your dazed expression, tracing the curves of your nose, the shape of your jaw, and the twitching in your lips. After a minute of silence beside your panting, he responds however with no words.

No, his large hands grasp the silks around his waist and remove them with fluid motion. Nothing shields his modesty; nothing protects your probing eyes from devouring the sight of his well-endowed length that drips with a pearly white liquid from the colored tip.

Oh no, you're salivating from the sight. It's gorgeous, holy f*ck it's deliciously exquisite. No wonder he exudes egotism and pretentiousness, the god of the dead has a d*ck that would surely kill you.

Its length was far longer than your forearm, rivaling something supernatural. The base where his crotch resides is hairless, with the beginning of his shaft straight and existing in a lighter, tanner color than his darker skin. There is even a gold band clasped around the base like a decorated bracelet that matches the ones around his wrist and waist. From there, the middle area thickens just the slightest to the side, but underneath it bulges out to a girth greater than your wrist.

And then there is the almost pointed tip, with the glands nearly blushing a vibrant red, as though all the blood within is just flooding inside. There are a multitude of veins jutting against the skin, nearly twitching at the sight of your eyes taking it in. But there is one that rivals them all, just right on the underside starting from the base and traveling all the way to the tip with the thickness of your finger. Humans were made in the image of the gods, yet what hangs above your face is nothing close to humane; it feels bestial.

It's a monster.

"Be a good little Hemet and please your god," Anubis exclaims while grinning coyly, presenting his sharpened canines in pride.

Yet before you can even reach up for the terror about to break your jaw, one of his hands grasps the middle of his c*ck to point it downwards, so the tip rests right up against your lips.

Hot, heavy, musky, and f*cking terrifying, pre-c*m already begins to dribble onto the soft flesh of your lips and infiltrate within your mouth so you can taste the power of a god.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"I'm actually a fairly dominant person. I don't like to have no control or be told what to do." Chin-Sun raised an eyebrow, even tilting her head in surprise as she lifted her eyes from her notebook. "Really? I would have thought that a promiscuous woman like yourself revels in it during intercourse." You waved a hand dismissively and leaned against the cushion in her office. "You wouldn't be wrong to assume, I can easily switch between dynamics depending on who I'm with, but truthfully I like to steer away from it." The therapist had not expected your response, still sitting there across from you with a perplexed expression. It prompted you to raise a brow. "Come on, what's so shocking about that?" "I know you can switch, but from everything I know so far, you'd be desperate to be a pleaser in a submissive role." Her words harden your expression while straightening your lips. Refraining from speaking, you observe her more intently than before. It's difficult to tell her expressions or feelings unless she outright displays them...which only happens when she wants you to see it. "Why would you say that? I don't need praise, I don't need recognition, I just need a good f*ck, and then I'm off on my way." There's a tightening in your throat as you meet her dark eyes. "What even gave you that idea?" She merely shrugged her shoulder before setting aside her notebook. You watch her closely, following every movement until she leans back and crosses one leg over the other. "Let's be honest (Y/n). After everything with your father-" She wasn't able to finish as you launched out of your seat and grasped the coffee table, flipping it over to desecrate the ground with shattered glass and broken decorations. "Don't you even finish that sentence or I swear I'll f*cking rip your throat out." Your threat did nothing to intimidate the short-haired woman, even though both of you knew there were no empty threats. You do what you want. Except when it comes to the therapist, she knows how to make you back down. "No wonder dear o' daddy abandoned you. Even after everything he did, even after ruining you, he just didn't want you anymore."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

I almost gave Anubis a monster c*ck, like an actual hound c*ck but I decided against it bc Promsicious readers aren't like TDMLM readers.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Next Chapter ━━━➤...updating soon

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

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deanwritings · 11 months

Text

Never Let You Go

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request:

Word Count: 2,609

Gif:

A/N: Just some fluff for your Friday! Big thanks to @deanwinchesterwifesstufff for the adorable request 🥰💍

Dean’s knee taps wildly under the steering wheel as the Impala waits at a red light. If he was someone who chewed his fingernails, he would absolutely be tearing them apart right now as he focuses very hard on trying to keep his breathing steady.

This was not an emotion Dean was used to. Sure, he usually got nervous before a hunt, but it was the type of nervous he was familiar with, one that helped keep him sharp before taking on the big bad of the week.

But this, this was full on panic. Dean hadn’t felt this type of anxiety since he was cursed with that ghost sickness from years ago. And that almost killed him. But the way his heart is pounding against his ribs, this might too.

“Uh, Dean?” Your voice rings out and he whips his head to you. “Light’s green.” You point out the window. Dean follows your direction and sees the light has indeed changed, and he completely missed it.

Without a word he lets his foot fall heavily to the gas, sending you both back into the seats at the sudden momentum.

“Jesus, Dean you okay?” You brace one hand on the dashboard in front of you with a frown. Dean never hit the gas like that unless you were being chased. Not to mention the man looked paler than a ghost. Something was clearly wrong.

“Fine.” Is all he offers you without letting his eyes leave the road. You continue to stare him down, hoping your targeted gaze would force him to look at you, but he continues to either not see you or ignore you.

With a deep breath you settle back into your seat as the car returns to a normal speed and turn out the window, a small smile gracing your lips at the passing scenery. You were happy to be back, even if it was for another hunt.

You were in Colorado, a small town in the northwest corner that you had visited years ago. You had been hunting a Cacus, and after dodging fireballs and decapitating the thing, Dean Winchester decided to finally share his feelings for you. Those three little words you never thought you’d hear coming from the hunter, directed at you.

Since then, you’ve been nearly inseparable. You moved your things into his room, you had movie nights in the Dean Cave, date nights at the local watering hole where you finally beat him at both darts and pool, and you two just seemed glued to each other’s side, completely unintentional, but like two souls tethered together that could never wander far from the other.

And when things were good, life was great. It wasn't always perfect, nothing ever was, but no matter how bad things got, you two always came back to each other. And that’s what mattered. Every single time, no matter the argument, or how bad a hunt was, Dean Winchester chose you, and you chose him.

It was more than most hunters ever got. Sure, some did the whole marriage and family thing, but those were outlying cases. Most ended up in a shallow grave or on top of a pyre. You were just happy to have Dean by your side, and you would take whatever you could with your time with him.

You had no expectations of marriage or settling down. That wasn’t Dean’s thing, and to be honest, it wasn’t really yours. Once upon a time, a younger version of you would have dreamed of a chance of marrying Dean Winchester, but years of hunting taught you to take what you have and enjoy it, because you never knew if it was going to be stolen away.

You shake your memories away as you pull up to a motel — no, a cabin — the facade covered in large birch logs and black shutters, and the roof slated sharply at both ends, meeting pointedly at the top.

You turn to ask Dean what you’re doing here but he’s already out of the car, his door closing softly before he makes his way to the trunk and begins unloading. With another look through the windshield at your unexpected stay, you step out, taking a moment to take in the greenery-filled property, pine trees hiding you away from the rest of the world.

As you look around, Dean steps up besides you, both of your bags in hand.

“This isn’t a motel.” You cross your arms at him. His lips part but then he shuts them and shrugs. You didn’t like being surprised. Dean knew that. And he conveniently forgot to tell you that instead of some run-of-the-mill motel, you would be staying in this charming cabin in the middle of the White River National Forest.

“Ask Sammy. Said somethin’ about the local place having reviews ‘bout bed bugs so he booked this for us instead.” Is all he offers you before he steps onto the porch and places a bag down to enter a code into the keypad lock.

Sam had found a case a few days ago, a suspected demon, based on the local crops and livestock dying. Though he had found the case, he decided to hang back at the bunker, stating his sudden, onset cold would make him more of a liability than a help.

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but the weight in your stomach was saying something was off. Between Dean’s odd behavior, this cabin, and now you realizing Sam backed out of this hunt, something was definitely going on. You just had no idea what it was.

After taking in the cabin and unpacking your bag, you head back out into the living room, leaving Dean to finish his very slow unpacking. He had to wait until you were gone. He couldn’t risk you noticing something unusual in his duffle. Then the whole trip would have been for nothing. Not to mention all of Sam’s hard work at faking documents and newspaper clippings.

It was a hard thing surprising a hunter. Hunters had to always be observing, aware of anything that was amiss, otherwise it could get them killed. So sneaking around and lying was a hard thing to pull off, but so far, Dean had managed. He was in the home stretch now, just a few more hours.

He peeks through the open door, seeing you in the kitchen, your back to him as you start a pot of complimentary coffee.

Dean returns to his bag and pulls out the small box, his thumb rubbing over the velvet. He doesn’t open it. He doesn’t need to. He knows exactly what’s inside, and he smiles, his racing heart calming just a bit.

He shouldn’t be nervous. He was never more sure of anything he’s ever done in his life. But when happiness has been stolen away from Dean so many times before, he has to wonder if he’s the common denominator. If by asking you this, he was asking you to sign your life away.

But you had told him so many times over the years that none of that was true, assured him through his self doubt that he wasn’t to blame, even when he was pretty sure you were lying to make him feel better.

So he wanted you to have more. You were his everything, and he wanted you to know it. He wasn’t the best with words. “I love you,” didn’t fall from his lips as often as it did from you. And it wasn’t because he didn’t love you, hell, he never knew he could love one person so much, it just wasn’t something he was used to. So he made sure, every damn day, to show you how much he loved you, whether it was cooking your favorite dinner, to holding you tight at night, to making sure you were safe after every hunt.

And there was no greater way to show just how much he loved you than this.

Anyone who had known him would have laughed, thinking it was a joke, that the perpetually single, can’t commit to anyone, Dean Winchester was going to propose. But you took away his fears and replaced them with love and comfort. Instead of running for the door, Dean ran head first to you. And he wasn’t going to let you go.

After you both got settled in, Dean managed to pull you away from the fake research to go with him into town to get groceries and supplies for your stay. He made sure to pick ingredients for your favorite dish and while you were buying wood for the fireplace, he snuck away to the liquor store to buy the best bottle of whiskey they had, neither of you enjoying champagne, even if this moment would call for it.

Once you got back, Dean nodded and hummed as you shared your plan for the next day over dinner; interviewing witnesses, checking out the fake dead crops and animals, and Dean had to bite back his smile knowing he had successfully tricked you. He was worried you may have started catching on, but you seemed to be status quo.

Once dinner was done and cleaned up, Dean built a fire in the stone hearth and convinced you to relax with him and put hunting away for the night.

“There’s plenty of time for that tomorrow.” He falsely reminded you. Tonight, he wanted you to relax and enjoy not being in a motel that was older than the both of you.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw you?” Dean breaks the silence as the two of you cuddled on the couch, watching the flames with Dean’s arm draped around your shoulders, your hand holding his. You shake your head against his chest.

Dean licks his lips and takes a deep breath. This was it.

“Not gonna lie, I was pissed when you first showed up.” You both laugh. That was probably an understatement. “I thought what the hell is this lady doing here and she’s just going to screw everything up and get in the way. Which you did.” He looks down at you pointedly.

“And then I saved your ass.” You remind him with a cheeky grin. Dean just scoffs, but he knows it’s true.

“Anyway, after it was over, I looked at you and I remember thinking ‘god damn now that’s a woman.’” You laugh again, your fingers tightening around his.

“I never thought I’d see you again. Figured it was one and done. Besides, I could already tell then you were too good for me.” This time you take in the deep breath, familiar with Dean’s self deprecation. To you, that’s always been his biggest enemy, one you regularly fought so he would finally see the amazing man you saw every single day.

“But then we ran into you in Alabama, then New Mexico, Indiana, North Carolina. It’s like I couldn’t escape you.” Dean takes a breath. Again, he wasn’t one for words or feelings. But he’s faced Heaven, Hell, and everything in between. He could do this.

“Every time I saw you, it got harder and harder to say goodbye. And these last few years, well, I couldn’t imagine my life without you by my side, sweetheart.” He smiles down at you, and you return the gesture.

Dean lets go of your hand and unwraps himself from around you, turning in his seat to face you before taking your hand, your left hand, back in his.

“We don’t get a lot of good things in this life, but you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’d do everything again, if it means you ending up right here besides me.” In the light of the fire, Dean can see the glossiness in your eyes. You weren’t a crier, so he must be doing a good job.

“I know I don’t say it much, and I’m not the best at words, but I love you, more than anythin’ in this life. And I’ll take on heaven, hell, and whoever else to make sure you’re safe. Because you mean everything to me.” Dean swallows as his eyes begin to mirror yours. He reaches behind him, sitting up slightly as he reaches into this back pocket, but instead of returning to the couch, his left knee rests against the floor and he pulls the box in front of him. Your eyes go wide and mouth falls open at the movement.

“So,” he pops the lid open, revealing the gold band and solitaire diamond, the same one his mother wore. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, any chance you wanna marry me?”

Without a word or a shake of your head, you fling yourself into Dean, toppling him over as you wrap your arms around his neck as you both hit the ground.

“Christ,” Dean wheezes from your sudden attack. “Is that a yes?”

“That’s a hell yes.” You beam before you crash your lips to his. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you tight against him, not wanting to let go. But after a moment he pulls away, there’s still something he needs to do.

He sits the two of you up, your legs stretching out behind him as you settle onto his lap. He grabs your hand away from his neck, his fingers rubbing along your knuckles before he gently pulls the ring from the box and slides it up your finger.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, bringing your hand to your face. You never imagined a ring would ever be sitting there. Let alone his mother’s ring, and you feel warm tears run down your cheeks.

“Like it?” You look over to Dean. Though he’s smiling, you know him well enough to see the nervousness in his eyes.

“It’s absolutely perfect.” You assure him quietly, your voice getting caught in your throat. Because not only did Dean Winchester, the world’s most famous bachelor hunter, want to marry you, he was doing it with his mother’s ring, which spoke more words than Dean ever could.

You cup his cheeks, the cool gold an unfamiliar sensation against his skin, as you lean in and leave a soft kiss against his lips.

“Wait,” you pull back suddenly, still holding his face, and Dean frowns. “What about the hunt?”

Dean laughs and shakes his head and your eyes narrow.

“There is no hunt, is there?” There’s a slight edge to your voice, and you realize all those weird things you noticed earlier finally made sense.

“You tricked me!” You drop your hands and point at him accusingly. He just takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

“For a good reason.” He rubs the ring on your finger, giving it a little wiggle.

You huff, hoping your frown holds up, but you can feel the corners of your lips starting to give away.

“I suppose I can forgive you.” You make a show of shrugging your shoulders, acting like you’re doing him a favor. Dean just rolls his eyes and tsks.

“Well I hope so, cause I got another surprise for you.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and you catch the mischief in his green eyes.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and stands the both of you up. Your legs tighten around his waist and his hands grasp beneath you, giving an extra squeeze as he walks you both to the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot as the empty velvet box sits discarded in front of the fire.

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91 @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @deansgoddess @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean Winchester fluff #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean x y/n

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lunarw0rks · 11 months

Text

Through The Ashes | Chapter Five

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): my attempt at slow-burn, canon-typical violence, mild language, mentions of violence, injuries, blood, hurt/comfort kinda??

A/N: I've been using dialogue from the campaign for these chapters, so hopefully it translates well enough. Thank you for all the support :) | Word Count: 3.5k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

Kiss Of Judas

Valeria remained completely silent during the entire helicopter ride, refusing to look anyone around her in the eyes. She never expected to be caught, at least not by foreign forces. She was a complicated woman in your eyes, always nearly impossible to read.

You still felt jumpy and wired from the whole operation as the adrenaline began to dwindle, which was not helping your impatience. Valeria was the reason for your condition, but also the reason you didn’t get the life squeezed out of you. And yet, here she was, not giving your Task Force any reach on where to find the missiles.

You opened the door with your keycard and stepped inside, seeing her sitting in the middle of the room—surrounded by your team and the allies.

Her eyes flicked up at you when she heard the motion, mirroring the look she had in her eyes when you were the one in the interrogation chair. You ran your tongue over the cut on your lip, keeping a blank expression.

“Las Almas needs me,” she purrs, giving Alejandro and you a glance. She was searching for any sign of emotion in your eyes as if testing you. You weren’t going to give it to her, or anyone else in this room who tried the same.

Alejandro bends down closer to her, hovering his face in front of hers. “Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios… And you,” he begins, looking back at you before he speaks, as if referencing what she let happen to you. “You disgrace the Army, Valeria.”

She wasn’t like Hassan.

He was too emotional when backed into a corner—he was cruel. She always kept a cool attitude about her, always steps ahead of her enemies. And she harbored one skill you hadn’t mastered yet—keeping your enemies close.

Ghost remains posed against the wall, only keeping his eyes trained on the target. “You’re a narco harboring a terrorist.”

Valeria maintains a grimace, carelessly leaning against the back of her chair. “Terrorism is good for business, it’s insurance.”

“Innocent civilians turned to ash, all to protect your drug game?” You finally spoke up, crossing your arms to your chest. When law enforcement is more focused on maimed civilians, they turn a blind eye to the war on drugs.

She ignores what you’re implying, too intelligent to admit that out loud. “To find your terrorist and your missiles, you need me.” Valeria tilts her head, observing the tightness you were carrying in your posture.

Graves approaches her from behind, gripping one of her shoulders with a gloved hand. “I want the missiles, I want the targets, and I want Hassan. You’ve got ten seconds or I’m gonna show you the difference between the military and me.” For once, his combativeness might get you the answers you needed.

To get to Valeria, you needed to mirror her. Ladylike interrogation was not the way she did things, so the opposite was all she knew.

“I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I’ll tell you where Hassan is.” She never meets Graves’ eyes. “In exchange, you will let me go. And get the fuck out of Las Almas.”

“Deal.” Graves loosens his grip and nods his head to the rest of you.

Making a deal with her was not in the team’s best interest, not in the slightest.

Graves only saw the big picture ahead of him, and he didn’t pay any mind to the people he would trample to get to that goal.

—

The intel Valeria grave led your team to an oil rig miles out on the Gulf Of Mexico. Considering how horribly wrong your last mission involving water went, you were hesitant to see the team going along with it, even if it did lead to the missiles.

How could you be sure Valeria was being honest? She had no reason to. She had the entirety of your unit wrapped around her fingers, and that’s exactly how she wanted it.

Perhaps you were lucky you nearly died the previous night because you were going to sit the mission out.

You’re sat on your bunk, cleaning your pistol with a rag, being the only person left in the quarters. Your eyes flick up toward Ghost as he approaches. Usually you would ignore him, or have some snarky remark, but there were bigger problems everyone was facing.

“Do you think the missiles will be where she said they would?” You questioned, setting the rag on the mattress beside you.

“She knows if she gives us this, we’ll have no choice but to set her free.” He keeps his eyes on the ground, still refusing to look you in the eyes. “We’ve been through situations like this before. Terrorists are all the same—only out for themselves.”

You nodded and dropped down from the top bunk to face him. He turned around hesitantly, his face contorting in confusion.

You looked around the room, making sure it was clear before you spoke. “What about Graves? Is he only out for himself?” You muttered, leaning close to him.

“He’s an ally of ours, until we know otherwise, you need to act like it, Sergeant.” He grumbled while reaching for his pack. The truth was, Ghost didn’t trust any of them either. The way Graves forced you into the operation yesterday made him seethe.

Ghost blinked away the emotions that filled him. The flashbacks he had, hearing you struggle for yourself in his ear, the gunshot that followed with silence—all while all he could do was stay put on the hillside.

He grabbed his bag and looped it around his shoulder. “Just say put here, and don’t make any more enemies while you’re at it. Think you can handle that?” He added, looking down at you as if you were dirt on his shoes.

You knew you were right. The most spiteful people have their weaknesses, and Graves had one for sure. Even if no one believed you now, they would soon. You just hoped no one had to die for it to become clear.

—

You’re awoken by what sounds like a disturbance outside, and the voices are familiar. The team must be back from disarming the missiles. You look at the clock, seeing it’s early in the morning.

You sit up straight and gather your composure, curious about what’s going on. Whatever it was didn’t sound good at all.

“This is my base.” You press your ear to the wall, hearing Alejandro’s voice first.

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility, and I admire it.” Graves speaks next. “So, I’m taking it.”

You feel like your jaw dropped to the floor. You were right all along, and things were about to go very bad very fast. You climb off your bunk and put on your backpack, grabbing all of your gear.

“Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

“Are you threatening us?” Ghost asks. You can practically feel the tension building, even if all you’re hearing is bits and pieces.

You peer out the window, seeing them standing at the gate. Alejandro is inches from Graves’ face; Soap is in the middle of it; and Ghost preemptively has a hand on his knife, searching for any excuse to use it.

Where are the rest of Los Vaqueros? The realization came that you hadn’t seen any of them since the team left.

A burst of gunfire filled your ears, making you jump. You didn’t have time to sit around and watch, and you weren’t going to be the next person sent home in a box. You grab your pistol and make sure it’s loaded and ready.

The compound will be swarmed with Shadows any minute now—and there was no time to regroup with your team.

You hear Graves’ voice again, but this time through a nearby radio, followed by the stomping of boots. “2-0, cordon the compound. If you find Ghost and Soap, keep them contained. Find the other one, she won't get far.”

You kneel behind the large structural pillar, watching as one of the Shadows patrols the sleeping quarters. He turns his back to respond, “Sleeping quarters are clear, Sir. No sign of her.” You crept behind him, jamming your knife into his jugular.

He goes down quietly, only suffering for a matter of seconds. The Shadow didn’t deserve your brutality. He couldn’t have known what hand Graves was going to play up until now. Still, it was better for them to be dead than you. And there was no time for a moral dilemma.

You jog to the armory, finding it cleared out. Graves was thinking way ahead of just taking the building, he was taking the inventory too, leaving your team with nothing. “Goddammit,” you muttered to yourself, before dashing back to the Shadow’s body. You winced as you ripped the rifle from the corpse’s stiff fingers.

You need to keep moving.

You advance to the upper level, wagering that it would be less noticeable to take one of the side exits up top. You do just that, finding a window in one of the offices to squeeze yourself through. Your feet prowl down the metal steps, keeping your eyes peeled for any hostiles. Lucky for you, the backend of the base isn’t well protected.

Your boots crunch the gravel below you, even when acting at your stealthiest. You reach one of the tall chainlinks bordering the perimeter, and loop one foot through it, taking each ascendant one foot at a time.

You reach the top, using the fabric of your shirt to protect your hands from the barbed wire. You carefully swing your leg over, and follow with the other, now descending down the other side. You drop down once the distance is close enough, taking only a second to catch your breath.

The easy part's over—now you needed to find an area that wasn’t crawling with Shadows on the lookout for your face.

The previous night's injuries didn’t make the ordeal any easier. You found yourself having to rest quicker than usual, almost letting out pained grunts when you extended your limbs. You needed to push through it, just like you did when you survived the tunnels.

You removed one of the backpack straps off your shoulders, leaving it to rest on one side, while the weapon rested on the other. You need to get out of here before another Shadow patrol rotates your way again.

The only sound in the distance was chirping insects, and faint traffic pollution from the city and the base behind you. Things were too quiet.

“Commander, possible sighting by the North Tower, engaging now.” You heard faintly, making your eyes bulge. Your feet carried you before your mind could decide to, making some distance between yourself and the noise.

You felt the rush of the bullets whizzing around you as you bolted until eventually you were knocked down by a lucky one. Your body tumbled down, rolling into one of the ditches. You felt a fiery sting on the fatty part of your hip, flinching as you pulled down the part of your waistband atop the wound. It was a deep slice, bloody and jagged torn skin.

Mercifully, the backpack slowed down the force of the bullet when it zipped through. It grazed your skin instead of being buried inside it.

“Approaching to confirm the hit, Sir.” The voice from before carries, as it echoes through the vastness of the humid air.

“Don’t confirm it—Finish it.” Graves chirps through, sending a rush through your veins. Once the Shadow finds you, it wouldn’t be a graze. If there was any chance of making it out of here, you needed to either choose fight or flight.

You muffled the sounds of agony escaping through your lips, biting into them instead. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for your pistol.

The soldier’s radio static grew louder as he examined the ditch, expecting you to still be laying there. In reality, you were behind one of the concrete dividers lining the path. Before he noticed you, you fired off one shot, dropping the Shadow. You followed the lights of the city in the distance, getting yourself as far away from where you fired as possible.

When you made it several yards away from the compound, finding yourself on a sidestreet, you finally utilized the radio clipped to your collar.

You turned the knob, finding the correct channel so it would go straight to anyone in 141 and not the Shadows. “This is 7-1, how copy? Anyone?” You grew frustrated at the lack of answer. “I repeat, this is 7-1. Anyone copy?”

The voice glitched at first, before it finally came through. He says your name, his tone filled with defeat and worry.

“How copy, Sergeant? You injured?” The reception finally cleared, allowing you to hear it clearly.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “I’m hit, but solid. I got a dozen Shadows chasing my tail. What the hell happened?”

Ghost doesn’t answer your question, but deflects. You sense it has to do with what he spat your way before they left. He knew you were right about Graves, and he wasn’t, and he couldn’t handle admitting that right now.

“There’s a church near the plaza. I’m heading there now. Any sign of Johnny?”

“No. You’re the first I’ve come in contact with. Was he hit? I heard shots before I got out of there.” You continue down the backroad, approaching the main district of Las Almas.

“Affirmative. Keep your eyes peeled for him. And watch your back, Sergeant.” The line cuts after he finishes his sentence, leaving you to stay alive on your own. Soap must be somewhere in the shops in the same prickly situation you are.

There was no time to search for Soap, especially if he’s left a trail of Shadow bodies through the city. You’re of no use out here when you’re bleeding all over yourself.

You needed to find Ghost.

—

Each time a gun fired in the distance, you had to double check you weren’t hit again, even though it felt foolish.

You finally reached the outskirts of the plaza, where the Church was sitting on the top of a hill. It looked almost ancient, tilting to one side. You hovered your finger over the pistol trigger as you crept to the door. You pushed it open, hearing it creak loudly as you did so. There was no light inside, except for where the night sky peaked through the holes in the walls, and one large gap in the roof.

Finally, you spotted his figure near the altar, knelt beside it. You limped up to it, meeting his eyes, which were all you could see given the dark clothing he was wearing.

You slowly dropped to your knees next to him, placing your pistol in the holster. “No sign of Soap while I was out there. Goddamn city is infested with Shadows.”

He nodded at your update, grabbing one of the stray candles off the altar. He fishes out his lighter and puts it to the wick, illuminating your battered appearance, while allowing you to view him.

You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, studying him as he takes the backpack off your shoulders, and begins to dig through it.

“I didn’t have time to pack supplies. There’s nothing whole in there.” You comment, watching as his brow tightens in concentration.

He still hasn’t uttered a word this entire time, simply returning deep glances through the warm candle fire. You flinch when he reaches toward you, but his hands are gentle and slow. He pulls up the fabric of your shirt only slightly, and pulls down the side of your waistband now turned a deep maroon.

You keep still as he examines the graze. He grips the sleeve of his jacket, and rips off a square of fabric with ease, beginning to pack the wound. You snuff out your struggles when he touches the tender parts, clenching your jaw instead.

For the first time, it wasn’t him saving you because he had to; he was because wanted to. He was showing an inkling of the tenderness buried deep within him.

He finished packing the wound with the tear of fabric, before carefully covering your bare hip with your waistband again.

You rise to your feet again, making sure not to put pressure on that side of you. You’re expecting hours of silence between you and him—hours of agonizing silence.

He finally speaks once his back is turned to you, as if he can’t look you in the eye. “You were right about Graves.” He sounded apologetic, like if he had just believed you before, none of this would’ve happened to you.

You tilted your head delicately, stepping closer to him. “Ghost… This isn’t on you. You couldn’t have known Graves would flip.”

He was looking down at the wood floor below him in disappointment, looking as if he wanted to curse himself. You reached out your hand, placing your fingertips on his forearm.

“Ghost,” you whispered. He shook his head and gathered himself before facing you, flinching away from your hand. His eyes had gone glossy, filled with angst.

“If this is about what I said, Ghost—It’s not a concern of mine anymore… We clearly have bigger problems.” You finished your sentence with a light smile, trying your best to lighten the mood. Your attempt to add comedy did nothing to ease him tearing himself apart inside.

“Did you hear me, Simon?” The first time you’ve said his name. He casted a look you’d never seen before. Not hardness, not anger, just torment.

“People like me don’t belong with people like you, Sergeant.” His exterior ran cold again, and he straightened his posture. “Everything that we did, everything you went through because of it, that was all me. Got it?”

You were stunned, completely stunned. You spent so long being angry at him, that you were blind to the truth of it. It wasn’t arrogance he used as a shield, it was his scars.

“Simon-” You repeat, feeling like you have been sucker-punched in the gut.

“Don’t say my name like it means something to you. None of it meant anything to me.” He snaps, stepping closer to you, using his frame to tower over you. The vulnerability he showed only last seconds before it quickly became a thorn in your side.

He lowered his voice to give his last blow. “I break everything I touch… I’ll break your heart, Love.”

You felt tears sting at the corner of your eyes. You tried to be stronger than this, but paired with everything you’d been through to get you to this spot, it was too much.

You quickly wiped them away and ripped your backpack from his grasp, slinging it back on your shoulder. You hurried toward the church doors, painting your face void of the emotions you were feeling.

Once you were outside, you radioed the frequency again. “Soap, how copy?”

He replied almost instantly. “Copy. I’m by the shopping district.”

Instead of following behind Ghost like usual, you led him. You ducked through alleyways, avoiding the Shadows rather than taking them out. There were still too many left to count. When you reached the shopping district, you and Ghost split off to take out each hostile one by one. With each kill, you followed the bloody trail that would lead you to Soap.

When you laid eyes on him, you let out a breath of relief. He was only hit on his arm, and it went through.

“Forgive me, Lass.” He was slumped against a brick wall, holding his injury. “But you look horrible.” At least you knew there wasn’t anything seriously wrong with him now. Focusing on him made you forget about your troubles with Ghost, even for just a minute.

“Well, it’s clear there’s no brain damage.” You said backhandedly, reaching out your hand to him.

You helped him to his feet and found an empty vehicle that was left behind, allowing him to climb inside. Ghost took the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes trained on the passing views as Ghost sped out of the city, showing no signs of slowing down for anything.

Las Almas was soon to be a distant memory—a memory that lingered within you nonetheless.

—

You craned your neck up at the aquamarine sky, your attention locked to it. You had to find the beauty of this place somewhere, even if the experience was only filled with violence and heartache.

The rest of your team was finishing up business with Valeria. You decided to sit it out. The closer you stood to the plane, the faster you would be climbing inside of it when they finished their business here.

Price and the rest of the Task Force approached the cargo plane you were standing by, making you break your gaze with the sky.

“Good work here, Private.” He patted your back and then returned his hands to the collar of his tactical vest.

“It’s not over yet. Valeria was privy to a third missile, somewhere in Chicago. Might be another long flight.” You acknowledged the update, following him onto the plane. It never truly ends, does it?

There are only moves and countermoves until there’s no one left standing to shoot at or bomb.

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee @ladyelissarose @almightywdm @glitterypirateduck

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost mw2 #call of duty

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avvail-whumps · 3 months

Text

Royal Bought: Upon Gates #2

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content warnings: hypnosis, mentioned vampire whump, threat

Luke was up early the next day.

The heavy weight of exhaustion tugged on his eyelids, a soft, weary sigh escaping his lips. He was sure he felt his shoulder blades and spine popping as he sat up, feeling the distinct burn from his hunting yesterday.

Stretching his arms leisurely, Luke ruffled a hand through his hair before swinging off the bed, pulling on his boots. When that awful, morning haze was shaken off, he took his time preparing himself for the day. As he absentmindedly followed his automatic routine, he couldn’t help but admire the fact that Ten hadn’t come storming into his tent yet.

Last year, the kid had launched himself on top of him while he was still sleeping, and made so much noise until he finally managed to drag his dreary self out of bed. Maybe the excitement had actually tuckered him out this year round. Unlikely, but he could dream.

Luke’s eyes drifted to his bow as he pulled his shirt over his head, narrowing slightly. The conversation between him and Emily nagged at the back of his mind, but he forced it away. He didn’t want to be thinking about that when it was Ten’s special day. So, he shucked his jacket on, left his bow on the table, and left his tent.

The sun was particularly bright today, and there wasn’t a trace of a single cloud in the sky. It was bright and blue, almost damn near perfect weather.

Luke smiled softly to himself, feeling the wind tickle his cheeks. Ten deserved a perfect birthday, and even though he had no intentions of taking him out into the Collared Forest or even outside of the camp, there were plenty of targets he could practice with. Luke passed Rian’s place, giving the man a stone cold expression on the way past.

Trust Rian to recongise the deers from the forest.

It was a dead forest. There were no other living things out there apart from animals, and there were very little. Not even vampires found the need to wander aimlessly through such a large acre of land when no humans dared step foot in there. But it made for such a good hunting ground - the deers and various other animals were complacent, and not used to being hunted, so it made them easy prey.

As much as Luke hated taking the life of those beautiful animals, there were mouths to feed.

No amount of apologising would ever make him feel better about it, though.

“You could’ve just kept your mouth shut,” Luke grunted as he sauntered past, and the man’s hard expression didn’t falter, choosing not to dignify him with an answer. Good - Luke didn’t want him ruining his mood today.

When he ducked into Ten’s tent, he was met with a sight that made him stop in his tracks.

There was a small crowd, maybe about a handful of people, gathered around a bed. When Luke stepped forward, he noticed it was Mary who was perched on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with sobs. Emily was stood in front of her, and she was the only one who titled her head aside to meet Luke’s curious, but concerned gaze.

“...no trace, I don’t know where he is!” The woman sobbed, her muffled voice cracking inbetween. Mary wasn’t Ten’s mother, but she looked after him like one. The sight of her grief-stricken form and the fearful, sympathetic faces from the rest of the crowd made Luke’s heart sink in realisation.

“What happened?” He snapped, his voice more urgent than he had expected. He took a couple steps forward, feeling the heavy weight of his heart slamming against his ribcage. Mary didn’t even look at him, leaning into the touch of a woman who gently sat next to her, comforting her. It was Emily that spoke, her voice like a dagger through the air.

“It’s Ten,” she said. Luke’s chest twisted.

“Shut up,” he breathed, disbelief raging through his ears just as relentlessly as his own blood. He barged past the woman, who sternly called out his name in warning as he rushed towards the kid’s bed, his eyes depserately searching for the familiar arch of the bow he’d crafted just for him.

He checked the drawers, boxes, cupboards, under the bed, under his clothes. It wasn’t here.

Luke felt the rising, crushing pressure hit him like a train, running a desperate hand through his hair. He felt dizzy, spinning around a few times for good measure as his gaze swept his living space one more time, ignoring Emily’s grab for him.

He twisted out of her grip, heading straight for the flap of the tent again.

“Luke, stop!” Emily growled, catching up to him easily enough and digging her vice-like grip into his shoulder. He hissed as she jerked him back, enough to make him stumble, and he angrily wrenched away from her with a scowl.

“I have to go find him,” he heaved.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Luke’s face twisted into a deadly snarl. “Emily, he’s missing. He’s out there somewhere by himself and I have to go find him.”

When he made another move to leave, she snatched his forearm this time, and when he went to pull away, she wasn’t budging. He was firmly locked in place, and it only made his stomach contort tighter. What was Ten thinking, running off outside camp? Luke was so overrun with emotion, that he was almost on the verge of doing something really stupid.

“He’ll have to find his own way back,” Emily gritted out grimly between clenched teeth. “We can’t risk anyone else’s lives by looking for him. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“Ten could be lost,” Luke snarled. “He’s just a kid, Emily. Don’t tell me you’re gonna leave him out there?”

“It’s the rules. It’s too dangerous.”

“Emily!”

“Do you see anyone else out there looking for him?” She hissed, her fingers twisting further into his skin and making him bite back a grunt of pain. “It’s suicide. Ten knows the rules, and he knows the consequences. We can’t have a band of our own people marching out in there and shouting across the damn hills for him. We’d be a walking meal for the vampires, and we’d lead them straight to us.”

Luke’s heart was pounding so hard in his ears, he could barely even hear her sickening justifications. And yet, there was still vengeful remorse eating away at his soul, because Ten would have never ran off if he hadn’t given him that bow. If he wasn’t someone Ten looked up to so much. His throat felt tight and hot.

“It’s his birthday,” Luke breathed, his voice cracking. “I’ll go alone. I can find him and bring him back.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “We aren’t vampire hunters, Luke.”

“You can spare one person,” he grit out. “He’s a child. How can you be so cruel?”

Mary was still sobbing. The tent had gone still, and when Luke’s eyes flickered to the small handful of campers, they were all looking away guiltily, their eyes fluttering with admission. He almost barked with laughter. Everyone was a coward.

“Maybe next time, you should be the one considering the consequences of your actions.”

Luke’s eyes gleamed. “Excuse me?”

Emily let go of his arm, and he roughly yanked it back. He could still feel the phantom sensation of her fingers digging uncomfortably into his flesh. “Go back to your tent, Luke. I don’t want to see you looking for him.”

Was he insane? Why was he the only person who thought this was heartless? Ten may have ran off on his own accord in the middle of the night, but he was eleven years old. Yet the hardened expression on Emily’s face, the ruthlessness in her eyes and the cowardice complacency from everyone else in the camp, answered that very question.

“Fuck you, Emily,” he breathed out, unbothered about her response. He turned and stormed out of there, leaving behind the faint sound of Mary’s bone wracking sobs to ring through his skull. His heart was hammering with a surge of pure adrenaline.

All he wanted to do was grab his bow, get his quiver, and go out there to find Ten.

To bring him back safely, so they could finally celebrate his birthday. Luke paused, releasing a livid, shaking sigh, his fingers twitching with the urge to hit something. As he passed the gate, he noticed a pair of beady eyed individuals staring intently at him. Luke walked on past.

It was clear Emily had no intention to let him leave.

Luke himself knew how dangerous it was out there. It was the reason why people didn’t look when campers decided to leave and never return. They could only imagine the sort of fate they’d succumbed to. Become lost, died naturally, killed by a vampire or snatched up by one of those blood suckers and whisked away to the kingdom. He knew Ten was a smart kid; smart enough to know that.

He found himself anxiously running his hands through his hair again. He couldn’t stop wandering, not wanting to go back to his tent, but unable to grab his bow and just leave with Emily’s lackeys by the gate.

News spread quickly around the camp.

There was this sullen shadow that fell over all of them, and it felt almost quieter. So quiet, contrasted against the raging thoughts that wouldn’t shut up in Luke’s mind, stuck in his skull. He’d avoided Emily and just about anyone who wanted to talk to him, as the day passed by too quickly for his own liking. People were on the lookout for Ten, but there had been no sign of him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was his birthday; they were meant to be celebrating. He was meant to be teaching him how to use his bow, chortle at him missing the targets and having a sulk over it, or claiming that one day, he would be a better hunter than Luke.

His fingers crept to his necklace, squeezing the metal tight. The symbol felt like it was scorching into his palm, making his eyes squeeze shut. He hoped Ten was being just as brave as he knew he was. That he was safe, that he was fighting to find a way back. Praying that he hadn’t travelled far enough for some vampire to find him. He shuddered at the thought.

When the sun began to dip under the horizon and the sky turned a dark blue, Luke had had enough.

He grabbed his bow off the table, grabbed his quiver loaded with arrows, and left his tent with conviction in his steps. If he had to fight his way past Emily’s lackeys, then so what? He would find Ten - or die trying. He wasn’t going to give up on that kid, no matter the circumstance.

Except when he went outside, the air growing chillier as the night crawled in, Luke was almost stopped dead in his tracks. All of the campers were gathered by the gate. He could hear hushed, high pitched whispering, and he instantly rushed over, not caring if he barged into some people to get past. When he finally made it to the front, his heart gave out.

The gate was open. But standing there, was Ten. It wasn’t what terrified Luke the most. Because stood leisurely beside him, pale hand pinching the back of the kid’s neck in a firm hold, was a vampire.

“Ten,” Luke breathed, and when he went to take a step forward, something grabbed his forearm firmly. He didn’t need to turn aside to see that it was Emily. He swallowed, throat burning, and forced his stiff legs back an inch. The vampire was tall, with short blond hair that he could have sworn was almost glistening under the remaining shreds of orange sunlight peeking over the horizon. Each strand looked perfectly placed, complimenting the smoothness of his pale skin. Those red eyes were dim, but intense.

Luke swore his breath was forced out of his lungs when the vampire briefly made eye contact with him.

“Is he yours?” The vampire drawled to the crowd of humans, patting the back of Ten’s neck gently. The kid was pale, his skin almost as white as the vampire’s beside him, and his eyes were fixated on…something. He wasn’t making any attempt to so much as look at Luke, or any of the campers, for that matter. He looked tense, and with a twitch of his brow, Luke noticed that his bow was broken in half, clutched in his arms to his chest.

No one made a sound.

No one dared to, and even Luke found that his throat had closed up considerably. The vampire cocked a brow, before his lips curved into a smirk. Luke saw the flash of fangs.

“Maybe I should introduce myself first,” the creature hummed, and Luke’s chest tightened, fixated on the way the vampire’s thumb was gently stroking the back of Ten’s neck. “I’m Justinian Roch. I would have come in and delivered him myself, but, well…”

He gestured to the air around them.

“You’ve got this place set up rather nicely. I’m almost impressed.”

Luke forced himself to look away, and hadn’t even realised he’d been gripping his bow so tight, his knuckles had gone white. The corner of his lip twitched, tilting his head towards Emily.

“Who opened the gate?” He murmured in a low voice, but he could have sworn Justinian’s head tilted slightly, as if he could hear.

“Ten was alone,” Emily responded quietly. “They opened the gate for him, but he wouldn’t come inside. I knew something was fishy. Then he showed up.”

His eyes drifted back over to the vampire. He was smiling at Luke now, and he felt a shiver hurdle down his spine. Those beady, almost glowing eyes drifted down to his necklace. He was sure the grin almost stretched wider.

“Do you want him back?”

Even though the vampire was speaking to everyone, he was looking directly at Luke, and it almost felt as if the conversation was directed only towards him. With the protective rituals surrounding the camp, not even the vampire’s compulsion worked on them. There was no risk of making eye contact and allowing the vampire’s influence to seize his mind when nothing vampiric could pass into the camp. It must have been why Ten didn’t come inside when they opened the gate for him; Luke suddenly knew the reason why the kid’s eyes were so transfixed and glassy.

He swallowed, his throat parched. Do you want him back?

Luke’s fingers itched around his bow. The arrows weren’t made for vampires, and he wasn’t going to risk Ten’s life if Justinian decided to hurt him. The vampire’s eyes gleamed, as if he could sense the internal struggle that Luke was battling with.

“Why don’t,” he drawled, flashing those fangs with a smug expression on his face,” you invite me in, hm?”

tag list – @whumpatize-me-captain

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