#and he said he'd pushed his first wife away being too possessive and that he didn't blame her

[pennyserenade]

i read that autobiography cary grant did for himself in 1963, and this part has haunted me since i read it three or so days ago:

I dreaded the bustle of packing backstage that last night, as I have at the finish of every show or film I’ve been associated with ever since. I am always content to stay doing what I’m doing wherever I’m doing it; only circumstances seem to propel me on. I seldom leave anyone or anyplace of my own conscious volition. When the meal or party or association is over, and the people or person close to me are no longer there, I seem unwishing to move; without urge to change the situation, even though it could be for the better. Perhaps death is like that. Perhaps it is better on the other side of death; but I’m in no hurry to get there to prove it.

[mon-blanchetts]

I Swear I Need You

Pairing: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Summary: You've been avoiding your husband. Aemond will do whatever it takes to correct that.

Warnings: possessive/unhinged!Aemond, time-travel, infidelity, period-typical views of gender and marriage, angst, murder (non-explicit), reader’s plans go awry real fast

When you mull over it further in the safety of your own bed, you realize just how unsurprised you are by your husband's actions. Tales of Targaryen madness have always been prevalent throughout the kingdom, and the prince’s own uncle was said to have murdered his first wife long before wedding his niece.

That's probably where he'd drawn inspiration from, you decide with mounting fury. Aemond must've taken a page out of his uncle's book and discarded you in a moment of aggravation. You were of little use to his present cause—whatever it was. Being the outsider that you are, you're not privy to his family's agenda.

Having come to with a violent start, heart racing painfully in your chest, you come to terms with what's happened—with what will happen, should you remain down the same path: your husband is going to murder you. He'll push you off the terrace overlooking Blackwater Bay after you confront him about his dalliances; the ocean below you'll plunge into while you scream your lungs out, knowing full well you know not how to swim—that even if you did, you were no match for the strong currents of Blackwater Bay.

But you're alive now, you remind yourself. Not because, by some miracle of the Seven, you survived the waters, but...but because your demise has yet to happen. 

You've somehow traveled back in time. The thought is as ludicrous as it is a relief, but you know not how else to explain it.

If you're alive now, it must mean you can still avoid the fate you've just met. But how?

You remember the confrontation you had with him, all the words that had tumbled from your mouth while he watched, his face impassive, one violet eye as wide as it was blank. The problem was that you never could gauge his mood, but what you're actually realizing now is that you just weren't worth the effort for him to emote to any extent. After all, you were never the prize; your enormous dowry was.

I have been nothing but an attentive and devoted wife to you—but you, you choose to spit it all back in my face—they say your father, may his bones rest in peace, would never—if you're this blind, then perhaps your nephew should've maimed your other eye for good measure—

Well, that’s it, isn’t it? You'd gone off on your husband when once you wouldn't have dared to. In your defense, you were drunk from imbibing too much Dornish red, your bitterness and neglect at a fever pitch that night.Here you were, a hare forced to dwell amongst dragons; some at court called you an upstart, others called you a tart with middling blood. You were craving.

You know your husband craves, too. You're just not what he wants.

Well. 

In the end, this is what you surmise: if you want to keep your head above the water, you just need to stay clear of your husband. Keeping on his good side means keeping out of his way. Where once you longed for his attention, you are now more than happy to do without it, so long as it means you can live.

After all, Prince Aemond can't murder his wife if he hardly remembers he has one. 

In your head, at least, it makes sense.

**************

The basket of white linen shirts placed in your bedchamber startles you.

You've just returned from a game of shuttlecock with your handmaidens,basking in the cool morning weather before the near-stifling noonday heat takes over completely. You're feeling light and invigorated, but the sight of that basket chases away your happy mood. It's Aemond's, those linen shirts. You completely forgot about them, but here they are.

Playing ghost with your husband comes surprisingly easy to you, but you suppose the foundations for your success were always there from the start; there was the fact that the two of you have always kept to separate sleeping arrangements, and Aemond has only ever sought your company at a frequency deemed dutiful by royal standards: there’s the few meals taken together each week with or without your in-laws, peppered with an occasional rendezvous in the evening that’s held before the hearth in your bedchamber. Where you once took these opportunities to please and engage him, now you keep mostly to yourself, mincing empty words when silence was unavoidable. Your quiet complaisance seems to please him enough, you think, but you'll never know for sure.

Under no circumstances do you accept any appointments with him on the terrace overlooking Blackwater Bay; you even turn down a surprising request to walk with him through the royal gardens, because you know one of the paths lead to that same fateful spot you were once pushed off from.

In short, you have no interest in gaining your would-be murderer's favour—though, of course, you're certainly not interested in gaining his disfavor, either. It's a thin line you walk on, and you're trying not to fall off before making it to the other side.

"You can take this back to the prince's chambers, Edyth," you order, gesturing toward the basket.

Your favourite handmaiden frowns at you. "But princess, you haven’t mended them yet,” she reminds. 

"You’re right, and I don’t intend to."

Edyth looks worried. "Prince Aemond will question this, won't he? You've always insisted on darning his shirts yourself. What am I to tell his page when asked?"

You doubt your husband remembers such trivial devotions coming from you. A truth that heavy may have once left you despondent, but now, with a spark of vindication, you realize just how well that works in your favour.

"You will tell his page that I've not the time to darn his shirts anymore," you respond. "Besides, Prince Aemond has important matters on his mind to heed who is darning his shirts, don't you think?"

The look on your handmaiden's face tells you she's not wholly convinced, but she obeys nonetheless.

**************

"Won't you dance with me, sweet sister?" the Princess Helaena asks, and you smile brightly at her. You've never excelled at anything in particular, but you do consider dancing one of your stronger points. The King need not bother the two of you tonight, thankfully; as you rise from your seat you spot your brother-in-law watching fair Lady Bridgetts with a less-than-lecherous gaze, surrounded by his like-minded coterie. The King these days doesn't care much for small family gatherings, as was once the norm, you were informed; he prefers the more boisterous and wine-soaked kind, attended by courtiers he knows will keep him entertained. 

Despite her marriage to King Aegon, your sister-in-law has yet to be crowned queen, but she doesn't seem to mind in the least. Her steps are light and airy, cheeks red with excitement. You match her enthusiasm with your own, realizing that your feelings of joy are, in fact, genuine; Aemond is absent tonight, as he has been for the past few days, and so you've been able to breathe a little easier because of it. Your husband has been charged with mending frayed ties with the lords of The Reach, taking him away from the capital. A blessing, that—you wouldn't have attended tonight's amusements had he been in attendance.

And so you dance and dance with the Princess Helaena, the two of you spinning in delight as the music picks up its tempo; your surroundings blur while you move, eager to be rid of your present worries for a night or two. While you've taken it easy with the wine—you learned your lesson when you drunkenly confronted Aemond on the terrace that fateful day—you've indulged on the candied fruits that accompanied tonight's supper, the sugar elating your good spirits even further.

But perhaps you've been too eager to forget, it seems, that the gods have sought to correct this.

As you ready yourself for another spin, someone catches your eye—pale blonde hair and garments as black as night instantly betray his identity.

Aemond is watching you as you stumble lightly at his appearance, just as the music halts.

Your husband's gaze remains firmly upon you as a Kingsguard standing watch by the entrance announces Prince Aemond's arrival. You look away with haste, cursing beneath your breath. This wasn't what you anticipated; your husband isn't expected back for a few days still.

His mother voices as much after greeting her son warmly. "Nonetheless, the sweet air of the Reach has done you well," she comments, and you refrain from rolling your eyes. In your opinion, Aemond looks exactly the same, his pallor just as it was when he left King's Landing. You wonder, more with curiosity rather than bitterness, what fleshly delights he had sampled on there.

"For all of its riches, The Reach lacks what I truly desire," he says, casting a look at you over his mother's head. You're forced to hold back a scoff. You have no time for flattery.

"Then you will happily greet your wife with open arms, will you not?" the Queen Mother asks, turning to lead her son towards you.

With a smile painted on your face, you offer a quick curtsy in greeting. "Welcome back to the capital, husband." The last word tastes foreign in your mouth. 

The Prince must’ve changed into a fresh set of clothes before appearing before them all, by the pristine look of his leather doublet and hose. He doesn't respond right away, his expression impassive.

"You look well, my love," he finally says.

You actually want to agree with him because it's true, but you’re sure that would be in bad taste when you've been apart from each other for such a while.

"Won't you dance with her, Aemond?" It's the Princess Helaena, speaking from across the room. "Those who dance and tumble, dance and tumble, will always discern," she portends, a faraway look blossoming on her still flushed-face.

You glance at your husband. "Perhaps some wine would be a better idea after such a long flight," you suggest instead.

"Only if you join me as well."

You can't just skip out this instant, you realize; that could raise Aemond's suspicions, and you don't want to deal with that. No, you'll make your exit when the moment's right, but now isn't it.

"If it pleases you, then I will."

His violet-eyed stare is unsettling, as it normally is. "It would please me very much."

You look back at Helaena with apology and affection. Here, at least, there is no bad blood to smooth over; your sister-in-law continues smiling at you in that otherworldly, enchanted way of hers. You also have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. 

Things fall back into place again as the two of you both seat yourselves at the dining table; the music winds itself back up again, but it’s a new tune this time. You smile knowingly at a trio of courtiers you’ve caught trying to scrutinize you discreetly by one of the stone columns. Tongues never stop wagging at court, and you suspect the grapevine will be plenty fruitful on the morrow, now that Prince Aemond has returned. 

At the head of the table, your husband holds out a cup provided by his servant. "To your health," he says, watching you. 

You raise your own cup before bringing it to your lips. You sip cautiously, as you’re wont to do now. 

Tonight’s retinue of courtiers gravitate around you both, but none dare approach close enough for discourse. From your vantage point, adjacent to the Prince’s own seat, you can see the Queen Mother’s tapestries on display along the gallery’s wall. She was forced to relinquish some of her favourites to King Aegon, he who has a penchant for life’s finest things. It’s mainly what you think about while nursing your wine, saying little to your husband.

"What have you been doing here in my absence?"

You shrug. "Things, here and there."

"Such as?"

For a moment, you consider telling him about your day traversing through River Row. Despite having never lived there for a day in your life, being surrounded by fishmongers and sea captains grips you with nostalgia you didn’t realize you yearned so badly for. More than once you’ve even had a selection of fish brought back to the Red Keep for your cook to try his hand at preparing. But why in the gods would you tell him all that? You want as little to do with your husband as possible; it’s as if the more you give, either with words or actions, the easier it will be for him to use against you, to lure you to the terrace you avoid like death itself. 

"Trifling things, husband," you finally say, fingers dancing around the rim of your cup. "I doubt you’d be interested in the courtly pursuits that maidens and ladies participate in to wile away the time."

"Hm. And yet my shirts have come back to me unmended each time they are brought to your chambers. My page insists you’ve been occupied."

Your fingers stop moving. "Oh. I didn't think you'd mind, to be honest. And besides, I realized I was too poor a seamstress in the end," you add for good measure.

"I ought to be the arbiter of that."

You know his gaze has barely left your face since he’s arrived, and it’s beginning to make you nervous. Instinctively, you open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off, his voice low and commanding in that calmly dangerous way of his. 

"I will ask you again, wife: what have you been doing in my absence?"

As the minstrels segue into a new song, you shift your focus entirely on him. The Prince sits with his back erect, one hand on the table; his face is, as far as you can tell, an attestation to his boredom and the company present. 

His gaze on you is another story, altogether. Beneath his stare, you’re reminded of the madness all Targaryens are supposedly capable of—that conquering dragons is madness itself. How else to explain wedding and bedding your own kin, or murdering them for sport?

Your husband has killed. He has killed his nephew, and once he has killed you. If you let him, he could do it again. You don’t know what he wants to hear, or what he even wants from you, but you know you’re right to try and stay clear of him.

One of his long fingers taps sporadically against the base of his cup. Tap. Tap, tap. Tap—

"I've taken to the arts," you confess warily.

He blinks once, and only once. "What kind?"

"Well, ink paintings have taken the court by storm as of late," you explain, shrugging. "There isn’t one person I know who hasn’t dabbled in it."

"And you’re taken by it as well?"

You nod. "Yes, quite. Our teacher is a good one, and I’ve done well under his tutelage. He hails from Qarth, actually, but from what I understand the art of ink painting comes fr—"

"Your teacher is a man," he states, cutting you off. 

You huff quietly, slightly incensed from his interruption. "Of course he is. Women aren’t allowed to apprentice."

Another tap of his finger against the base of his cup. "And how often do you congregate with this teacher of yours?"

You’re really hoping that your husband doesn’t plan on taking an interest in ink painting. That’s just what you need, isn’t it, the Prince hovering about your space while you indulge in a past-time you’ve genuinely enjoyed pursuing, and not just for social purposes. "Our circle meets once a week," you lie. So what if it’s actually more frequent than that? With a civil war on the horizon, you’re not even sure if any of this will last, and you want to enjoy it as husbandless as you’re able.  

Boisterous laughter rings across the room. You realize it’s coming from the King and his coterie, but the source of their humour is unknown to you.

"You must show me your work, then," Aemond voices. "I very much wish to see your endeavours."

You smile nervously. "Yes, of course. Perhaps soon."

He smiles back at you, but there is dark mischief beneath it. "Perhaps now, my love. Let us rid ourselves of this company and find sweeter things to do in your chambers."

Your mind halts, fearful and mortified. This is absolutely not the direction you ever intended this conversation to go in—far from it. You have yet to find a plausible excuse to keep the prince out of your bed when your duty remains unfulfilled, but the experience is few and far between. Your husband does not crave you; the suddenness of his request throws you completely off guard. 

Say something, anything.

"The time is late and you’ve journeyed far, husband. Wouldn’t you prefer the comfort of your own familiar bed? You’re back in the capital now, besides; we’ve plenty of time for, um, things."

He says nothing to you, but you catch it on his face. That gleam of madness again.

For a moment you think he’s ready to let it go. And then, without breaking eye contact, he extends his arm and tilts his cup sideways, Dornish red spilling out over your lap like a bloody waterfall. You gasp loudly for all to hear, but you're too slow to avoid it; the wine has soaked through your skirts.

"How careless of me," he says without even a sliver of remorse, his face turned upwards to your own, one violent eye aglow with calm mischief.

You'd shot up from your seat as soon as the wine splashed onto your gown, your chair screeching against the stone floor. The music had halted again and the discourse terminated, all eyes turned towards you and the prince.

In the hushed silence that has descended, you glare at the prince, fingers bunching into the folds of your gown not soiled by the carnage he has wrought. You're flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment, face warm as you catch attendants approaching you from the corner of your eyes. How could he?

"I was very fond of this dress," you say, waving off the attendants. There was nothing they could do to salvage the garment.

"Then you must forgive this husband of yours," he says, standing. "We will need to have another dress made for my lady wife. A much finer one, so that it wholly befits her status and beauty."

"Yes, indeed," his mother cuts in as she nears, turning you towards her so she can examine the damage done by her son. "What a shame. It isn't like you to be so clumsy, Aemond."

Despite his misdemeanor—or, perhaps, because of it—the corners of his mouth remain tilted upwards in a mischievous smile. "It would seem that reuniting with my lady wife has made me soft and befuddled," he confesses, standing. You take a step back, alarmed.

"Come, wife," he says. "Unfortunately in this state, you're no longer fit for company like this. We will bid everyone a good night."

You consider disobeying. I'm not fit for your company either, you think to say, but there is a shadow lingering in his good eye that you're wary of. Aemond will broker no argument or negotiation tonight. Besides, the stain on your dress is too unbecoming for this set, yes; you look down at it, noticing how it resembled a bloody island in the sea of the blue fabric.

In the end, it is the Queen Mother who decides for you. "You'll not want to linger in that dress for much longer, my love," she comments with an apologetic smile. "I'll see to it that Aemond makes good on his promise of a new dress. You are certainly deserving of it."

So you bow your head in deference towards her before bidding your King and his company a goodnight. Helaena kisses your cheek affectionately before whispering something in your ear. You don't think much about it just now, not until you're lying in your bed, coming to terms with everything that had transpired tonight.

What will transpire tonight, that is.

**************

You make it a point not to look at your husband as you make your way through the Red Keep, back to your own suite of rooms. The few restless courtiers still milling about eye the two of you cautiously.

In the now-empty corridor leading to your chambers do you finally voice your anger. "You did that on purpose," you accuse, turning on your heel to glare at him. Even his close proximity cannot thaw your feelings.

His smile remains placid. "Yes, I did." Not even a half-hearted attempt to deny it, you realize.

"Why do such a thing? What have I done to draw such ire from you tonight?"

The warm light that emanates from the torches around you sets your husband aglow while he studies you for a moment, silent. You freeze in fear beneath his gaze; it’s a look not so different from that which he'd given you before shoving you off the terrace—but no, that hasn't happened yet, not in whatever realm you've found yourself in right now. That won’t happen, so long as you play your cards right, so long—

You fail to act in time; he already has you pushed against the wall, his warm body crowding into yours. His hands curl possessively around your waist, face a hair's breadth away from your own. And while you desperately try to claw yourself from his presence, unable to discern between this Aemond and the one who killed you, between the sturdy ground beneath your feet and the ocean you were once plunged in, he only seems intent to trespass, to enforce his presence on you the only way a dragon is capable of. 

"Something has come over you," he says at last with a gentle tilt of his head, his hands tightening over your waist. "Where once you seemed intent to occupy every moment of my time, you're now avoiding me as of late. Why is that, wife?"

Heart drumming loudly in your ears, you try your hardest to maintain a passive look on your face. "No, that's absurd," you insist with the lightest of scoffs. "What reason would I have to avoid you?"

"That, my love, is exactly what I plan to find out."

You shake your head vehemently, trying another tactic. "So what if I have been making myself scarce before you? You’ve been preoccupied with matters of state, don’t you see? I only wish not to add to your burdens!"

He seems to be mulling over your answer while you try to keep yourself together, but his grip on your waist doesn’t loosen at all.  

"Perhaps you’re right," he affirms. "I’ve been a poor husband to you, haven’t I?"

"No! That’s not what I m—"

He doesn’t let you finish. "This needs to be rectified immediately."

You blink at him, throat parched. "I don’t understand."

A knowing smile blooms slowly along his mouth. "You will once the night is through."

**************

AN: Guys this was supposed to be like, 2k words, but here we are past the 4k mark and I have no excuses other than this plot escaped me. If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! It’s been a while since I’ve written GOT fic, so I might be a little rusty. Let me know if you’re interested in reading more; I guess I could try my hand at smut or smth and I always planned to make our boy nuttier as the ideas flowed outta my head. 

Also, despite the sappy-sounding title, it’s ripped from Seulgi’s 28 Reasons which I had on full repeat because of its creepy, dark-pop vibe. Bye.

[bemylord]

ꜱ/ᴏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ │ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ

↳ characters: satoru, itadori, megumi, toji, nanamin, sukuna.

↳ warnings: it's fluff part, so there's no angst or hurtful things [some parts might be spicy].

↳ butler's remark: finally have dropped the last part of this angst theme.i don't know what kind of dr#gs i used when i was writing the last three.

↳ part one;

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴜᴊɪ:

he'd be very sad and angry at himself for screamed at you. he didn't mean to push you away because of his fatigue. as he recalled the phrase you dropped before leaving: 'i'm gonna cuddle with megumi-kun' this phrase goes on and on in his head as he runs into your room. he knocked first, hoping you're alone. he knocked again, but there's no response.

'my baby, i'm so-so-so sorry, baby.' he just jump to the bed, wrapping arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. 'no, don't cry because of me, i'm the worst boyfriend ever.' he kisses the top of your head.

yuuji will cry with you if you'd continue to sob your nose, burying your face as deep as it's possible in itadori's chest, unable to deny his necessity. he's comforting you in his arms, whispering praising phrases about you.

'i was a fool, y/n, please forgive me.'

'promise me you'll never scream at me like that.'

instead of words, but kissed your lips, nodded his head. yuuji will show his love and affection by kisses and hugs, holding you tight to keep you from running away.

'y/n, i love you.'

ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ:

you've decided not to leave but stay home, waiting as long as his malice calm down. you were waiting for him in the bedroom, still grieved by the last words. you know megumi wasn't serious - he hates being beaten up by todo or satoru, you also know that he'll be a puppy right after a bath.

he showed up in the room in the home shorts, aimlessly rubbing the back of the neck, breathing out what caught your attention.

'i shouldn't have let the anger gets the best of me, y/n.'

bruises and abrasions are coaxed on his upper body and face as it brings the pain when he sits on the bed. he again rubs the skin, nervous to ask you to heal him.

'i-i would like..'

'i'll heal you, 'gumi.'

he smiles, seeing you tenderly how you treat wounds. he thought you were going to kill him after the acuteness, but here you are, helping your lover.

'i don't deserve you y/n, you always have been so kind to me. i'm sorry for being a moron, my angel, i didn't mean it.'

you took him of guard by a quick, yet lovely kiss on the lips.

'i will make it up to you, i will change.'

ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴛᴏᴊɪ:

you may think it'll take days or weeks for him to the realization of what did he do. you were a naive one by leaving the gold wedding ring on the table, thought he won't notice.

'i am not a servant or errand girl, i'm his wife!'

perhaps, you thought he won't sniff as you're leaving the house, silly. he has a perfect hearing to hear where you're going and what you left.

'what a jerk i fell in love for, had the misfortune to marry that...'

'to marry that?'

he finished your sentences, turning your body by your arm.

'need a woman to meet your needs, toji? i've had enough.'

his strong arm didn't let you a chance to leave the place you stand, only pulling you by the chin to look into the loving eyes.

'fool, you're my woman, my wife, and the mother of my future children.'

'regret?' he gasped into your lips before kissing them, nibbling lightly on your lower lip.

'i'll do anything to make you forgive me. should i ea-?'

'home, toji, home!'

'by the way, if you ever take the ring off, ohh. doll~'

ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏᴜ: [i think i was h1gh, no hate on me after]

i heard about the woman that have called her boyfriend about thosand or more times, so.. it's satoru. satoru has been calling you since you've left the house, maybe, you'd pick up the phone if you weren't be fury at your boyfriend.

you were walking in the park where gojo first confessed his love. your first kiss and something more than a kiss. that place you will always remember is the tallest and oldest tree in the park. noticeable and stately. as you came to the tree you heard someone behind you.

'you knew it's my place, y/n!' what? is that a touchy voice?

'whatever i'm leaving.'

'where do ya goinnng~~'

'home.'

'fine, i'm walking home too. take you home?'

'we live in the same house.'

'that's better! wanna watch netflix and chill?'

i'd say you're mad at him, but i'll lie. he's so funny and cute, how can you resist?

'don't act like a clingy, gojo.'

'you began first. ok-ok, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.'

you had to gag him with a kiss because he would have continued talking nonsense. acting like a child. he lifted you by the waist, kissing you and whispering sweet phrases.

'i love when you're clingy, my baby, i was- i feel so bad due to the work, my angel. soon we'll be going on the mission.'

he lowered you to the ground, kissing you on the tip of your nose.

'let's pick some flowers and make a wreath, shall we?'

'we'll get arrested.'

'you can run, y/n.'

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ:

you were taking a bath on your own, drowning in the tears - as you've mentioned you're overly clingy and vulnerable and nanami had had known this. he knew you could be sticky when you haven't seen him in a few hours - but does it badly? he knocked twice on the door, waiting for your response.

'darling, mm-' he hesitated as if you'll reject him. 'may i come in?' you only made a quiet mumbling sound, but it was enough for him to enter the bathtub.

he took off his suit, joining you. no matter how much you try, he will see your weeping eyes.

'i shouldn't have yelled at you over a hard day. darling, come to me, tell me how your day went.'

'not before you tell me about yours.'

you sat on his lap, massaging his sturdy, tired shoulders, helping him relax.

'taking a bath like that with you after a day's work is what i like best.'

he kisses your lips as your palms still find themselves on his shoulders. anyway, nanami doesn't want his future wife to cry over him - he'll be the best husband.

ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ:

it has been weeks since you didn't interact with the king: neither you didn't come to his domain nor answer on his questions. when his sudden mouth appeared on yuuji's cheek, asking you to immediately come to his domain, you didn't feel the need to respond sukuna, irritating him.

you were waiting 'till the king will utterly be pissed off by your behavior, taking the possession of the vessel body to finally have a conversation with you.

'y/n, do something! sukuna has been so furious that i can hardly restrain him.'

'the king wants to see the stupid girl?' you crossed arms over the chest, letting out a sigh of relief - finally. 'i'm coming, sukuna.' you touches yuuji's chest to find yourself being instantly on sukuna's lap.

'you've been ignoring me for weeks, woman.'

'i wonder why? because i'm stupid and clingy?'

sukuna pulled the loose strands of hair out of your face carefully, so as not to hurt you with a claw. he cups your cheeks, making you stare directly at him in the eyes.

'i won't say it twice, so hear me out.' he kissed your lips with fondness, which was not characteristic of him. 'i'm sorry, okay?'

from now on, you can show off that the king of curses said sorry to you. be proud of yourself, 'till his eyes are cast dark hue, palms found themselves on your hips.

'i've been alone for days and days, y/n,' you could feel something raising underneath you. 'and why through all bastards you've chosen satoru?'

someone is jealous..

however, i have a feeling that there will be some sort of sequel...

tag my cuties <3

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[sweetestlamb]

Lighting Up Your Life- A teaser

A/N: I won't say sorry because I really needed a mental break from writing and I hope you all understand that but I'm back now with a lil teaser for the IOTNBO present I'd promised. Full story coming soon, this is part of the Lightning Up Your World storyline. Thanks for your patience. Sorry for typos I wrote this at a party lmao it got boring so my mind started wandering oops.

BMTL coming soon too for those waiting that just takes longer because it's a chapter fic I need certain things to connect so I'm rereading old chapters and slowly getting it together❤️

Contrary to what he's seen in idyllic movies, marriage is not the serene happy ending that's depicted. They fight, her screaming and him walking away; his defense mechanism since young and he's changed plenty since meeting her but some habits are hard to break. He doesn't get far though because at her first cry, with shiny tears running down her pretty face he crumbles, "Don't walk away from me, you're my husband!" She's always been possessive and since they met on that faithful bloody day she has considered him hers. But hearing that title, one that he hasn't shouldered for too long wipes away almost all of his annoyance with her.

He loves being her husband, adores calling her his wife. After all these years of loneliness he finally has someone who waits for him and waves him off in the morning, his person. He'd once called her a firecracker spitefully- stupidly- but he's learned that she's actually a volcano, once it erupts it changes everything in its wake. His very fiber has been enriched by her presence.

"I love you."

It depletes the flames in her eyes, another fight about him not being home enough. Between work and school he can barely find time to breathe much less entertain a certain author and she does not hide her dissatisfaction with him. No, she's never been one to hide her anger. But this time he's said the right thing and she scoffs before slinking across the distance they placed between each other, melting into his arms her small face disappearing into his chest. He snuggles her closer, planting a soft kiss on her dark head which is longer now, flowing down her back. Her mother no longer having a hold on her. He'd been proud of every inch.

"You're just trying to stop me from arguing," she whines, but he takes it as a silent victory when she doesn't push him away.

"I don't want to fight. I'm sorry I fell asleep yesterday, I'll give you more attention." He'd taken a day off tomorrow to take her on a date, but that's a surprise. Despite their fiery rows he has never grown tired of her wanting him around all the time, he feels the same but it's harder to express that. Expressing himself in general still an uphill battle.

"Mmmm what to you mean by attention?" She replies coyly, tongue in cheek.

That innocuous sentence is all it takes to make all the blood in his head rush downwards. She's not the only one who has missed that.

He groans into her dark jasmine scented hair, louder when she chuckles deeply scratching manicured nails against the sliver of skin exposed by his hip.

"I'm hungry. Feed me first before you suck me dry."

He spaced out for a second imagining just that, him sucking her dry and her squirming under him squeals and breathy moans drowning the room. It's a beautiful image. His blood boils to a simmer.

His voice is thick when he responds, "What do you want to eat?"

Deja vu hits him recalling the last time he asked that question and her raunchy reply, you. He'd almost crashed the car on that day, clamping his legs together in order to hide her affect on him with those straightforward words.

She smirks as if remembering the same moment. Damn minx.

"I want noodles."

He takes a deep breath, calming his body before releasing her. Rearranging the hardnes digging into his denim, he purposely ignores her satisfied grin. He's not ashamed of her affect on him, he's just a man. Or so he tries to tell himself.

"Okay that sounds easy enough-"

"And curry. Oh and those eggs I like and do we have brownies I want that too! And two bowls of rice."

He stands mouth gaping taking in all the food his very petite girlfriend has requested.

But in the end, he doesn't question her appetite feeding her everything she demanded to not do so would only lead to another unnecessary argument and little Gang-tae whimpers in frustration when she promptly passes out on the couch after devouring it all, barely chewing in between. He had to force her to drink water lest she choke.

It's not completely unusual he has seen her put away more food than her body weight before, yet she remains as slim as ever. It's quite the mystery.

He's able to easily lift her slight body off the couch and barely contain his coo when she automatically snuggles into him with a sigh, she can be cute when she's not raising hell. So about forty-five percent of the time give or take.

He undresses her, forcing himself to look away from the lace and silk adorning her seductive figure noting a slight bump in a belly. Maybe the food is going somewhere, finally. He pats her little belly, it's adorable.

His beautiful wife.

He strips himself down to his boxers and slides into their bed, dragging her into his arms before letting the fatigue of the day wash over him and knock him into a peaceful slumber.

When he is later jolted from his sleep, he has no idea why at first a quick check of the clock reveals that it's far too early to be awake, 5:45 the numbers flash. Pushing his hair off his face he finally realizes that he's alone in bed left with only a small indent of where his wife should be.

Then the grogginess begins to wear off and a gut wrenching sound reaches his ears. Instinctively he leaps out of bed, following the sound and winding up in the doorway of the bathroom peering through the darkness at Mun-yeong squatting on the cold tile floor retching into the toilet.

His heart instantly drops shattering into pieces.

Please no. She can't be sick. I can't lose her.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-Five

Words: 4k

Warning(s): explicit language, domestic abuse, violence, drug abuse

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"Hey, Nikki, c'mon!" The sound of Fred shouting on the other side of the bathroom door pulls me to my feet, making me swing the door open and catch myself on the side of the doorway before I can face plant. 

His expression is neutral, but I see it in his eyes...he knows they're losing me. "Three more nights to go," he reminds me, "make it count." 

I wipe my mouth, following him down the hallway, catching a glimpse of Vivian talking to Izzy while Steven's got his arms around her hips, pulling her to sit in his lap and she does, patting at his arms while he rests his cheek against her back and closes his eyes to rest a second as her conversation with Izzy doesn't skip a beat. 

Maybe she's sleeping with all of them. 

Not like it matters at this point. 

We're over anyway and I'll probably be dead before either of us can even file. 

She looks like she's about to look at me but I make sure to cut away from looking at her to avoid being caught, grabbing my bass from the tech as Tommy starts in on the drums, the screams of our fans echoing backstage as Mick, Vince and I head under the stage, my fingers lightly brushing against her crucifix around my neck for a split second. 

I'd stolen it when I found it in Duff's bathroom...when people asked me, "dude, how'd you take that news? You kicked his ass, right? You showed that cheating bitch, right?" 

Well…

The Night Before

"Hey, Nikki, man, can you help us with this?" Slash asks me once I get my room's door open, and I raise my brows. 

"With what?" I reply, confused. 

He motions down the hall, and I peek my head out to see Steven and Duff trying to push a desk out of Steven's room.

"We're fucking with hotel. We need help getting the desk, chair, lamp, and night stand from Steven's room into the elevator before someone needs to use it." He explains. 

"So they can have a more comfortable ride." Stevie pipes with a grin. 

I've been locked in my room all day and I won't get to see these guys until the end of next month starting in a few days, so…

"Hell, yeah." I agree, stepping out of the hall. 

"Where's your clothes man?" I ask Duff when I get to him and Steven, helping them push the desk along the carpet, to the elevator. 

He's in his boxers and a pair of his cowboy boots, and he replies, "me and this girl got in an argument and she stole my clothes."

I can't help but laugh. 

Poor Duff, he's probably never dealt with crazy, vindictive, mind-screwing women before. 

We get the desk and chair into the elevator before the doors try to shut, signaling someone needing to use it, and I'm snatching Steven out of there before it goes down. 

Whoever the fuck uses it will probably shit a brick once they realize it's gonna be impossible to get inside without crawling over the desk. 

After that, we get the elevator back pretty quick and finish the job before pressing every button in the elevator to make a stop at every floor, just to make people in need of it wait longer. 

"What're you guys doing?" I hear Viv's voice and turn to see her standing in the hallway with her room door open. 

"None of your fucking business." I snap at her, just as the elevator dings and the doors open to reveal all the fucking furniture, Izzy, and a groupie. 

They're sitting on the desk as if it's no big deal, and Izzy hops off of it and helps his lady friend down, the two of them looking at me and the guys. 

"Good one." Izzy tells us, nodding to the elevator and I chuckle as he passes by, lightly patting at my shoulder, saying, "goodnight, man." 

"Children." I hear Vivian mumble, shutting her door behind her. 

"She's not feeling good today." Duff tells me, trying to get me to drop it before I even pick it up. 

I don't listen, stomping to her door and banging on it. 

She opens it, and I sneer down at her. 

"We're having fun, what the fuck makes you think you can come out and shit on it when nobody even wants you on this fucking tour to begin with?!" I bark at her. 

"Nikki, all I said--"

"--I know what you fucking said because you've been saying it the past six fucking years. We get it. I get it. So just fucking drop it and mind your own goddamn business!" 

She shuts the door in my face, making me kick the door, before taking a breath, and turning to see Steven, Slash, and Duff, trying not to be too uncomfortable. 

"You guys got any booze?" I ask, knowing they do. 

"Yeah, man." Slash nods, motioning me to Duff's room. 

He hands me a bottle of Jack and I start downing it with no hesitation, wrinkling my nose at it's peculiar taste--more peculiar than usual.

"It's half Jack, half Vodka." Slash explains and I wrinkle my nose, my throat on fire as I cough. 

"What the fuck?" I ask, my head swimming, and he shrugs. 

"We got bored and figured we'd try it." 

"Don't let Viv know. She'll pour it out." I mumble, wiping my mouth, sitting on the foot of Duff's bed as he and Steven join us. 

"I know you two have a lot going on but go a little easier on her, man." Slash says to me, next.

"Yeah, you guys are our friends so seeing you fight is weird." Steven adds. 

"Like watching parents try to kill each other in front of their kids." Duff states and I sigh. 

"I know you guys are friends with her but you don't see what she's really like." I insist. "She's fucking nuts." 

"Trust us, we know." Steven scoffs. 

"She's a sweet girl, she's just going through a lot." Duff interjects, grabbing the bottle of jack/vodka from me, taking a sip for himself. 

"She was a sweet girl." I argue calmly. "Breakups just fucking make people unrecognizable. I don't see the chick I proposed to. I see a wicked bitch from hell that possessed her and just uses her body as a disguise." I add. 

None of them say anything, because they can't argue it. 

They see how we treat each other. 

It's a given I'll be an asshole, but when someone like Vivian starts spewing venom, it's because she's lost their fucking mind.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." I grumble, feeling my stomach wrench before I'm stumbling to the bathroom, vomit spewing past my lips into the toilet, my hand grasping the edge of the counter to keep myself from falling forward, the sound of the clink of metal against the floor as I accidentally knock one of Duff's necklaces to the bathroom tile. 

Once I'm done puking, I take deep breaths, closing my eyes for a moment before flushing the toilet. 

I reach for the necklace to put it back on the counter, before I get a good look at it. 

It's a small, sparkling cross a little too dainty for Duff...my stomach drops, my mind going back to the night I first met Vivian, when I first saw it around her neck and sneered everytime I looked at it. 

How she took it off before she and I fooled around for the first time, and everytime after that, until we got married…

My blood runs cold, another wave of nausea hitting me, bile rushing up in my throat before I can stop it, splattering onto the floor.

Maybe I would've been prepared had Vince told me what was going on. He'd found out after Sparkie got blacked out on smack and told him what he had discovered about saint Viv. 

It felt like a twenty-five pound weight had busted my balls. I didn't have time to think about it much in the moment.

"Gross." Steven wrinkles his nose a little as he peeks in to check on me. "I'll call the cleaning people." He adds, shutting the door, and I look at the necklace one last time before tucking it into my pocket. I'll confront her with it, later. 

I get out of the bathroom, Duff, Slash and Steven all looking at me.

"Dude, you alright?" Duff asks, smoking a cigarette, and I nod. 

"Yeah. I just feel like shit." I reply, trying to mask the fact I just found out he's been fucking my wife. "I'm gonna go lay down for a few minutes and see if I don't feel a little better." I tell them, stepping to the door. 

"Alright, man." Slash replies. 

"See ya." I mumble as Steven adds, "feel better, Sixx!" 

I get to my room, slamming the door, pacing, throwing my empty bottle of Jack at the wall and watching the glass shatter, my fingers raking through my hair. 

How the fuck could Vivian do this to me? How could Duff? My band gave his band a shot--a good one. I thought he and I were friends. You don't fuck your friend's chick. 

Okay, I fucked Roxy but that was different, I was high. 

Duff isn't into hard drugs and Viv's sober so neither of them have an excuse for it. 

A pit grows in my chest as I think a little more.

What if they were messing around back when she posed for Playboy? Maybe that's why he went with her…or maybe they've been at it since before Vanity let it out that me and her were together…that would explain why Viv hid him from me for so long.

My nostrils flare at the thought. 

Who the fuck does she think she is?! Cheating on me?! Does she realize how many girls would love to be married to me and here she is with my own fucking buddy. Heartless cunt. And he's an ungrateful bastard. I gave his fucking band a shot at getting what they've been hungry for and this is how he repays me? Nailing my wife on the very tour I invited him to play on? 

I take heavy breaths before stepping to the phone, dialing Tansy's room number. 

She's supposed to be back by now from her little break, and when I hear her answer, I sigh in relief. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Tans, whatcha up to?" I ask, grin on my face, knowing exactly what she's about to be up to, if she isn't already.

Tansy and I were like arsenic and cyanide. She was like Vanity--without the batshit craziness, or the sex. We'd hang out and just spend hours getting high together. I was one of her best friends, so it should've been my job to protect her, but if that were the case, I would've been encouraging her to throw her smack and coke out, instead of always wanting to hang out just so we could get high together like it was a bonding experience or something. Yeah, seeing each other at their fucking shittiest really bonds people to one another, right. 

It was a punch in the stomach when I found out about all the hell she'd gone through for years, that made her want to get lost in drugs, and eventually made her want to get lost past the confines of this life. 

A majority of her friends were protective "manly" men who would fist fight a pole if need be, well, Steven, at least. 

We were supposed to protect her. 

And I know, "Well, you didn't know." 

We would've known, had we paid more attention, and I wasn't paying attention because I was like a woodpecker with its head in a branch, except my head was in a pile of smack.

I hang my head over the toilet, vomit pouring from my lips as my head reels with dizziness, my veins aching as Tansy rests against the bathtub, slobber rolling down her chin from being in the same position I'm in only a few seconds ago. 

Our burnt spoons and sharp smelling foils are left to the floor as we're taken over by a monster bigger than ourselves, the sound of Slash, Steven, Duff, and Vivian's laughter from the hallway creeping past my door, slipping under the bathroom's door, pushing through the smoke and mirrors, nearly shattering my high before it even has its full start.

The next night results in the same outcome, only this time, I've decided to pick myself up with help from my favorite smoke, except the hit from the crackpipe comes with the expected.

Sweat beads down my back as I shake, curled up in the bathtub with the shower's curtain pulled, hearing the footsteps of my room's intruder. 

"Nikki?" A familiar voice calls softly, but the demon in my ear overpowers my want to go to her. 

I curl further into myself, squeezing my eyes closed, my shaking hand gripping at the cross around my neck that belongs to her. 

"If you're real just make it go away." I'm saying before I can stop myself. "Help me cut this shit, and give me my wife back." 

I knew I hit rock bottom when I prayed to a God I didn't even believe in…and I guess, in the end, my prayer was answered, but fuck if I didn't get in my own way.

I finally coax myself out of the tub after a few more minutes, seeing the light is off in my room under the door, before I open the bathroom door, my hair standing on end, my bare, ragged feet moving as quietly as I can move them as I pad onto the carpet, stepping to the bed where a figure is laid out, the shine of red hair across a pillow radiating from the bathroom light drifting into the room. Peaceful, sleeping features show no threat, but something wicked is beating in my head as I slowly approach her, my boney knuckle rubbing at her cheek, slowly, opting a tired, soft moan to leave her, her body shifting before stilling. 

I know it's bullshit. It's a facade. I know she's waiting for me to fall out so she can leech off of me. 

Fucking witch. 

If I pass out, she'll strike, and I won't make it out alive. 

Her nails are clawing blood from my arms as she gasps out, kicking her feet when my hands lock around her throat, my eyes glossing over as she tries to scream out. 

Her hand bangs, hard, against the wall the bed is against, her hands trying to fight me off as tears roll down her cheeks, her face beginning to turn a deeper shade of red. 

"Nikki, what the--Nikki, what the fuck?!" I hear Fred's voice, but I hear it as if I'm under water, my focus captivated completely as my eyes burn into Vivian's before I'm being snatched off of her and thrown into the floor. 

She's a coughing, gagging, gasping, crying mess. 

"What the fuck, Nikki?!" Fred yells at me and I look at Vivian. 

It's as if I'm coming back to myself, the reality of what I just tried to do…

What the fuck, Nikki? You already fucking shot her, and now this? If you don't get your shit together you won't have a fucking wife to patch things up with!

What am I saying? I already don't. She's fucking Duff. 

She's legally married to me, but emotionally she's already been single for months, now.

I didn't strangle her because I was pissed over Duff. I strangled her because in my fucked up paranoia I was convinced she was going to kill me, first. 

The truth was she wasn't. Duff, on the other hand, definitely considered it once he found out. But I don't blame him for it, now.

The next night, I feel my lip curl as I spot greasy, unkept hair, and scabbed, yellow skin. 

Sparkie's smoking a cigarette, his arm around Tansy. 

Its fucking pathetic. 

He's contributing to her demise--if not the reason it kickstarted in the first place--and she still looks at him like he's the only dude on the fucking planet and she can't get enough. 

My mind drifts to what would happen if by freak chance Vivian did decide to try something with him. 

It makes my skin crawl to think of Vivian in the same position as Tansy: doped up, exhausted to the point she can't fight back when she's pimped out by him, worn down…

The mere idea of it makes bile rise to the back of my throat. 

The fact Tansy's gone through it only adds to my nausea. 

I hold it in and step past them, glaring at Sparkie. 

"Stay away from my fucking wife." I threaten him and he flinches a little. 

Pussy. 

I spot Axl shooting a death glare at him from the corner of my eye. 

He looks pissed as a hornet, his sharp jaw clenching and unclenching as Vince and Tommy walk past him to get ready to go on stage. 

I hear Skylar crying from the dressing room with Sharise--they came down a few nights ago. 

I look back to Axl, tension getting tighter and tighter in his body. 

All it takes is Sparkie clapping his hands one good, loud, time, just to see Tansy's jittering, withdrawal-beginning, body nearly jump out of it's own skin. 

This does it. 

Out of fucking nowhere Axl is tackling him like a linebacker, not giving the walking incarnate of an STD time to think before he's beating the shit--literal, shit--out of him, the putrid smell taking up space backstage, making me and the guys gag as Fred, Doc, and Izzy try to get the pissed redhead off the junkie.

I expect Tansy to be screaming or crying like usual when someone gives Sparkie what his punk-ass deserves, but she makes no protest to Axl. 

I immediately look away when Viv comes into the picture, a look of worry on her face as Axl yells: "Bitchy little princess, I'll give you a fucking reason to go fucking shoot up!" 

The smell of Sparkie's shit continues to permeate the area as Doc and Fred get him away from Axl. 

Tansy just stands still, her big, blue eyes blinking at Axl.

I meet Vivian's gaze, noticing the cake of makeup covering her neck, and a pit is dug into my stomach. 

Fuck. 

"Dude, you good?" Tommy asks me, and I nod. 

"Yeah, just grossed out." I mumble, seeing Izzy leaning against the wall, dry heaving from the smell as Viv and Duff coax Axl down the hall to their dressing room.

Me, the guys, Emi and Donna all get into position, and I try to shake off all the shit that's happened, because we need to have a kickass show. 

As soon as mine and Mick's cue hits, and I'm face-to-face with thousands of people who all want a piece of me, I can't control uneasiness of my stomach, and when I take a moment to grab a drink of water, my throat ignites when I down a gulp of vodka, instead. 

What the fuck? 

I figure it's set aside for Mick, and try not to let it happen again. 

Only I do. 

Repeatedly throughout the show.

And that on top of smack, on top of the Jack Tommy and I chug during part of the show, leaves me sloppy as hell and stumbling off stage come curtain call. 

I see two Duff's stomping over to me, looking the most mean I've seen him ever look, Vivian on his heels. 

"Hey, man, wha--" 

I don't have time to finish my question. 

He knocks the shit out of me in the blink of an eye, and I stumble back, not able to react in time before he's shoving through Fred and Doc, giving another punch to my cheek, but I strike back this time, twice, before he just starts waylaying me relentlessly, Vivian screaming, stupid enough to try to get between us before Izzy's yanking her away. 

I feel my skin split under the pressure of one of Duff's rings, my vision spotty before he's thrown back by Fred and Axl. 

"You mother fucker!" He screams at me viciously as Doc comes to my side. "You stay the fuck away from her, you understand me?!" 

"Duff, it was an accident!" Vivian cries out hoarsely. 

"Look at your fucking neck! How is that a fucking accident?!" He's so pissed he's nearly in tears, too, and I feel my heart pound as I see where the makeup has been smeared off of Vivian's neck, revealing dark bruises in the shape of my fingers. 

"He was high!" Vivian insists.

"He was high when he shot you, he was high when he proposed to another woman, he's high everytime he treats you like shit, he was high when he fucking tried to kill you last night…" Duff rambles off, his face bright red. "...Stop excusing his bullshit with 'he was high', he's not high--that's just who the fuck he is, now!" He shouts, her feelings hurt from the looks of her expression. 

"Come on over here and see who the fuck I am, now!" I can't help but to spit out, even though I'm in no position to win a fight. 

"No, no!" Fred scolds as he and Doc are in front of me while Steven and Axl stay with Duff, trying to calm him down. 

First Axl and Sparkie, now me and Duff, all in one night. 

I bet Fred and Doc regret bringing them on tour, too, because I sure as shit do. 

If I felt like arguing anymore I'd ask Duff how my balls taste since that's where Vivian's mouth spent a good amount of time the past six years...if I wanted them to know that I know about them, I'd say it. 

If I knew it would make a difference, I would. 

But I know it won't, so I keep my mouth shut. 

[yetanotherreader]

One Day

Fic Type: Stand-alone/One-Shot

Genre: Drama (Heavy Angst)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N

Characters: Dean Winchester, Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Joseph Hughes (OC)

Word Count: 3,032.

Warnings: Angst, Depression, Anxiety, Marital Abuse, Mentions of marital rape, abusive marriage, physical violence.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS AND DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS IS TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

Mobile app doesn't support the cut, so pardon for the no read more thingy.

A/N: Hey guys. I know I went on this little(big) break and I haven't updated useful in a while. I'm going through a writer's block again, trying to write and stopping after a while. and I have so many college projects to do during quarantine. I hope y'all are keeping safe. I wrote this one shot in hopes of getting back at writing. Woke up all night writing this, so I really hope you all will like it. But again, since I woke up the night writing this, it may or may not be up to your expectations. Please heed the warning above, girls. I really do not want any of you going through more stress during these stressful times.

Also, I used the same tag list as Useful in this one too. I don't know if everyone of you will like to be added to any of my other works so let me know if you want your name removed or added. :)

-------

His eyes were locked on the big gates of the hall, both waiting for and dreading the moment that particular person entered who he'd been missing for months. He gave a once over to the venue. This place was gorgeous, a palace in fact. A big chandelier graced the double ceiling and there was a colorful fountain in the garden outside. The lights were the right amount of bright and the drinks tasted just about perfect. Even the waiters wore their uniforms more expensive than his suit. It was something Dean had always seen in those Disney movies which, don't tell anyone, were his guilty pleasure.

He and Sam had come here for a case—the only reason that gave them the privilege to get into a place like this one. People have reported weird occurrences happening around here, followed by the abduction of everyone who saw it. Turned out, it was a serial killer and the police had taken care of it even before they reached.

Something about that place, though, made him want to stay. For some reason, he didn't make a U-turn and go back. Maybe it was the fact that it was the annual ball of the city where only the rich and reputed were invited, that he wanted to feel reputed for once, or that here he would see someone he hadn't seen in a while, someone he missed everyday he lived. He knew it would shatter his heart when he saw her, but he was willing to take a heartbreak if it meant seeing her once. Sam didn't say a word against it, but Dean knew better than to think he was okay with him going through all that torture.

Just when his eyes reached back to the doors, he saw, once again, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. The woman who made his heart flutter and break at the same time, the woman he loved the most. She was dressed in rose gold, the drape hugging her curves as perfectly as he remembered. Her hair was up in a messy bun, which only she could pull off that good, with few softly curled strands coming out to shape her face. Her lips were colored wine red, as tempting as ever, and her face was covered in a darker make up than he ever remembered her wear. In a better shape than when he last saw her, her posture screamed royalty. She looked breathtakingly gorgeous. The only thing was, she wasn't herself. Or at least, her old self. Does time change people that much? It took him all his power to remove his gaze from her, her arm entangled with the other man's, helped. 

She wasn't his to call anymore, she never was. Maybe the only woman who he liked but never kissed, the only woman who made him go all hot and bothered but he never dared touch her the way he desired. The only woman he loved enough to not make a move. He knew his feelings were mutual, he saw it in her eyes when they sat on the hood of the impala, chatting through the sleepless nights. He saw it every time she laughed at his piss poor jokes or narrowed her eyes at the women who flirted with him. He saw it when she cried for the first time in front of him and yelled at him because she thought he got himself killed. He saw it when he felt her heart accelerate everytime they hugged, like his own, and when she refused to leave him in the worst. He saw it when he saw her build walls to hide her broken heart after he asked her to leave. He saw it in her indifferent expression and a lone tear escaping her eyes when he told her he'd be better off without her.

And boy did he regret every word he said. He called her as soon as he realized what he did. That in order to save her, he might have just given her the biggest of the insecurities. It was a month later that it happened. He apologized to her, told her he never meant whatever he said, tried to explain why he did what he did. And she forgave. He couldn't believe his ears when he heard her say those words, he wanted her to yell at him, hate him, punish him for what he did but she said nothing more than a 'It's okay, I understand.'. And maybe that one sentence hurt him as much as he hurt her. She didn't even think of him good enough to be mad at. She shouldn't have understood, she should have argued. He might have lost the best thing that ever happened to him like that. And his fear proved right when he saw her photo in the newspaper, two months later, with a man. Joseph Hughes, a big name, apparently. The man he ran into, not so long ago, in missouri.

"Mr. Winchester." He heard the deep, masculine voice as it approached him, "Didn't know we'll meet again so soon."

If running into that man earlier made his heart heavy, meeting him with his arm around Y/N's waist made it fall down with a thud, "Mr and...Mrs Hughes. Fancy seeing you here, too."  He shook his hand with a firm shake, forwarding it toward the man's wife to do a similar action. Instead, she folded her hand in a namastey greeting, as she looked at him shocked, and scared. Maybe she didn't want her husband to know about him.

"I would ask how did you know she was my wife, but I guess you read newspapers." The man said in his smooth accent with a laugh, which Dean returned halfheartedly.

"Got that one right," he smiled at Hughes, his eyes lingering a little longer on Y/N, "Your wife is beautiful."

At the comment he saw her husband's hold tighten around her in sudden possessiveness, his fingers almost digging into her flesh as she flinched a little. He tore his gaze away from her, reminding himself she was someone else's wife and he had no right to be staring at her. But something about this whole situation felt wrong, that touch felt wrong.

She didn't look at him once after that. The tension in the air suffocated them both, and he was sure the shorter man in front of him felt it too, "Let's get you meet some of my friends, darlin'. If you could excuse us?"

Dean gave them the way, as he contemplated whether his decision of staying was even right. It crushed his heart seeing the woman he loved in someone else's arms. He felt like throwing up. Seven months ago, he couldn't have thought there'd be a day like this. He hated himself for that.

"Dean, do you want to go?" Sam's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"N-no," He cleared his throat when his voice came out rough and hoarse, "No, I guess I'll just go to the washroom. Go find some hot chick for me " he winked at Sam, who clearly saw right through it but didn't say anything. He stayed in the bathroom for a while, to calm his aching heart. People knew Dean as a man, as strong as an alpha, but here he was, falling weak. 

After splashing water on his face a few times, he got out of the bathroom just to see people frozen in their spots. His eyes went to his brother, immediately worried about his safety only to find him silently, but furiously glaring something, his hands were fisted like a beast about to attack its prey. When he followed his line of sight, he felt something similar inside of him. There stood Joseph Hughes towering his wife, glaring her down and his nails digging into her, now pale, arms, "I said, Tell. Me. The. Truth."

"I told you. He w-was a f-friend." Dean heard her voice for the first time in a long while, and his chest hurt at how small and scared it was. Y/N wasn't a hunter but she was fearless and brave. She had put her life on her palms so many times to save him and Sam without hesitating. That was one of the reasons he pushed her away, but here seeing her so helpless and terrified, he didn't know how to react.

"A friend, huh? A friend shouldn't look at you like that." His voice came out in a growl, audible in the pin drop silence, that sent visible shivers running down her spine, "That's why I don't leave you around men, you pathetic whore. I'm done being okay with you slutting around-"

Dean charged forward, enraged at the man's audacity to even let those words out of his mouth, but before he even took two steps, Y/N pushed that douche with enough force to make him stumble, pausing Dean mid-walk.

"You're done being oka-I AM DONE BEING OKAY!" Y/N raised her voice, violently shaking out of fear and rage. Joseph looked shocked, as if he never expected her to speak like that, as if she never spoke to him like that. The thought alone made Dean's eyes tear up, what had that monster done to her, "I am done being okay with the things I'm not okay with! I am done being okay with you touching me without my consent and I'm done being okay with getting slapped everytime I say no! I am done being okay with you locking me in and I am done being okay with you hitting me with whatever you find! I AM DONE WITH YOU!" She broke down into tears as she was done with her little speech.

"You are saying this here on purpose. You want me to lose my reputation." He said low, his eyes trying to scare her down.

"Y-yes, I'm saying this here on purpose because if I said it at home, you'd beat me to a pulp." She said, trying to sound low, but the eerie silence in the room making her damn well audible to his ears. Dean saw nothing but hot, white rage. Seeing Y/N so scared, so broken, Dean wanted nothing more than to break the bastard's bones, every single one of them. And when Hughes charged at Y/N, he lost whatever little control he had on himself jumping at the said man. Sam, immediately, went to Y/N's side as she hid in his chest, shaking like a dry leaf. Sam had never seen her so scared and so vulnerable. He felt a sharp pain in his heart seeing the sight of his best friend so broken, as he tightened his hold on her. Dean kept on hitting the man, like an animal that got out of its cage. His knuckles were bloodied, with which he didn't know was his blood or the other one's but he wasn't stopping. After what felt like forever, Dean was stopped by two strong arms around his own, from behind.

"Dean, stop. You'll kill him." Sam's calming voice fell into his ears, "stop"

It took Dean a while to register, as he tried to release his hands from his brother's still kicking the battered man that lied in front of him, "I don't care."

"Y/N wouldn't want you to kill him, Dean." And at that, he stopped. Y/N. Where was she? He stood up and searched for her, seeing her frozen at the same spot as earlier, zoned out and shaking violently. His heart hurt so bad seeing her like that, he couldn't stop tears from welling in his eyes.

"Y/N," he whispered as he took a few long strides to reach her and pull her into a careful hug.

She went stiff under his touch, as he loosened his hold on her, scared he might scare her before he heard her, barely, speak out, "Dean.." as she clinged to him for dear life. Hearing her say his name again wasn't as pleasant as he'd imagined a million times before, rather it was gut-wrenching. It was painful, because this was the last thing he had imagined that made her say his name. He wrapped his arms around her fully and spoke comforting words to soothe her.

"Let's go home, Y/N."

It had been a week she returned to the bunker, moving into her old room. Hughes was arrested, and divorce agreements were signed. He got to know that the thing between Y/N and Joseph was more of a business arrangement than a marriage proposed by her father, who had no idea about his son-in-law's abusive habits. Sam and Dean kept a positive atmosphere around the bunker, not going out for any cases, but there was no change in Y/N. She, mostly, kept herself locked up in her room, not talking to anyone. They thought it was necessary to give her her space but that was just deteriorating her health more. She ate too little for survival.

Dean stepped into her room with the plate of her favourite food. She loved it when he cooked for her, he just hoped to God, she still would. His eyes fell on her form, lying down on the floor, her back resting by the bed. She looked into a distance, zeroing her vision. As he went and sat beside her, keeping the plate on the floor, she spoke up, "He'll come back for me, Dean. He'll take me and he-"

"He won't," Dean cupped her cheeks and made her look at him as he met with the broken sight. Her eyes had sunken in, dark circles forming around them, face paler and her natural blush around her cheeks gone, "I promise I will not let anything happen to you."

She looked at him like she wanted to believe, but a sudden wave of anxiety stopped her, "No..no no no no, Dean! You don't understand! He..he will come back and he won't leave me. He'll beat me and...and those chains. He'll tie me up again and he'll...he'll-

She stopped mid-sentence, a horror coating her features. This new piece of information startled Dean, breaking his heart into two..enraging him, too. He didn't know how to react to it, so he did what his impulse told him to, he hugged her tight, hiding his face in her hair. More than comforting her, it was for himself. He wanted her close and safe, "He used knives, Dean. He said he loved seeing me bleed..it was so painful" Dean shut his eyes tight, trying to push away the horrifying images from his head, as he let the tears flow free. What all she had endured because of his one mistake. She sniffled as she continued in a small voice, "you won't be able to do anything, Dean. He's very powerful. You can save me from monsters, you can kill them..but him-"

"I'll kill him if he laid his finger on you ever again." Dean spoke with determination.

"N-no...No, Dean. You won't kill him. Don't kill him please, don't be like him." She shook her head violently in his chest, "not like him..no, no, no.."

"Hey, hey," he soothed her rubbing a hand on her back, "I won't. I won't be like him, okay? Shh.." It took Y/N a few minutes to calm down, while he rocked her in his lap, "You hungry?"

She shook her head, mumbling into his chest "I never feel hungry."

He sighed, "Okay. Eat a little, with me? Please? Because I'm starving."

Her eyes sparkled a little when she saw the food, "You made it?" He smiled and nodded, proudly, "Can I..can I eat the whole thing?"

He chuckled, heartily, "madam, all yours." She smiled up at him, hesitantly. As if trying to remember how to smile, at which his eyes softened, "when did you eat this last?"

She dug into the food, liking the taste of it. The taste of home, "with you. He didn't let me eat this, wanted me to look good like his wife should." 

Dean clenched his jaw at this, wanting to practically undo that man's existence. The things he did to her, he was sure if he saw him someday, that'd be his last.

Y/N looked at him, a little scared and a little more sheepishly, "Can I get some more?" Dean smiled at her and got her some more. He looked at her eating, his eyes filled with unshed tears. She was so, so pure, only if he could take away all her pain, make her forget those dark months. Only if he could give her all the happiness in the world, because there was no one he knew who deserved it more than her.

Later that night, Dean asked Y/N if he could stay with her because his nightmares scared him. He knew she understood what he meant, and the fact that she didn't deny made his heart flutter. Y/N hadn't slept in days. Either she would wake up from a nightmare, yelling, or not sleep at all. He just wished she'd have a goodnight sleep in his arms, and she did. But he didn't miss what she said just before she fell into the slumber, something the Y/N he knew would never say. Something that hurt his heart and made him make a silent promise to her, and himself. 

"Dean, don't send me away ever again. Please."

Never. He would never let her out of his sight again. He'd save her from every monster, supernatural or not. He didn't know long will it take her to fall for him again, or if she'd ever fall for him again. All he knew was, he'd shower her with so much love, she would forget every pain that son of a bitch caused her. He'd love her so much that she'd start loving herself one day. He would hold her so dear, that her scars would stop scaring her.

One day. One day, he'll make everything okay.

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Stockholm (Park Chanyeol/Reader)

it has been months since he kidnapped you and took you away from the life you had been living. it has been months since you're trying to cope with your new reality...

Pairing: Park Chanyeol/Reader

Word count: 1.1k+

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, implied rape, implied Stockholm syndrome, mentions of mental disorders.

You glance at the clock and with a pang of fear you realize that it is time for him to come home.

It terrifies you, the thought of him coming back. He had let it slip that today was going to be an important day at work and you hoped that everything had gone well. You always prayed for him to be in a good mood whenever he'd come to visit you. His black mood last week had been responsible for the smattering of the now fading bruises all over your body.

Today you had tried your best to make him happy. You had made bulgogi, his favourite. You had dressed in the baby pink lingerie set that he had given you, even though the lace of it clung to your curves almost uncomfortably. You wanted to please him, because you had learnt it the hard way that the path of least resistance was always the safest when it came to him.

When he had brought you in here first, you had fought back. You had fought tooth and nail for your freedom. But he hadn't let you go, unleashing the wrath of his rage upon you, breaking your mind, body and soul until you had lost yourself and surrendered to your circumstances, and to him.

The things he had done to you, the unspeakable brutality of it, it had taken all the fight from you. All that was left was a sense of despairing acceptance that no one was going to find you, that you were never going to be able to go back to the life you'd had before he had taken you.

His obsession with you was the only thing that was keeping you alive.

This feigned domesticity, pretending to be his girlfriend or wife, was keeping you alive...

_______________

You had drifted off to sleep, your mind tired from being in a constant state of tension and fear.

It was his touch that awakened you.

He was kneeling between your legs, which were slung over his hips, while he pressed himself into you, grinding into you.

The straps of your bra had been pushed down your shoulders, your breasts very nearly spilling out of the cups. He was kissing along the tops of your breasts, groaning into your soft flesh.

"Chanyeol..." you sighed sleepily, running your fingers through his hair.

He looked up at you, a smile spreading across his face as he realized that you were awake.

Your heart stuttered in its beat out of relief.

He was pleased.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to wake you up."

Lies. All lies, you knew. He had come to take his fill of you, and he was going to have you, no matter what. Even if it meant feeding you the sweetest lies.

You remembered that first month of your captivity, when he'd drug you to take away your resistance to his advances.

"Fuck..." he said, pressing his cheek against your breast. "You're so beautiful in this set..."

He was hard and rigid within his trousers, and you knew that he was aching to be inside you.

"You wore it for me, didn't you?"

Yes, you did, because feeding into his delusions that you were lovers and not captor and captive, was keeping you alive.

Cupping his face, you pulled him to your lips, kissing him deeply. Trying to entice him with every sensual stroke of your tongue against his.

He groaned into your mouth, grinding harder into you. The pink lace of your thong was soaked through with your arousal, sticking to you cloyingly. You hated how your body betrayed you every time, the evidence of it slick on your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets. The scent of it thick in the air.

He was gasping when he pulled away from you, a wild look in his eyes.

Frenzied, his hands undressed you, ripping off the scraps of lace that kept you from him.

You waited for him while he discarded his own clothes, legs spread, dripping onto the sheets like his good girl.

When he came back, the press of his skin upon yours, the warmth of your bodies mingling, your mind slipped into its own delusion.

You were lovers. Not a predator and his prey. Not a captor and his captive. You were lovers.

When he sank into you, you fixed your gaze on the ceiling above you, hearing him groan against your neck at how tight you were. When he bottomed out within you, your vision began to bleed at the corners because of how full he made you feel.

Both hands clutching at the sheets, your head fell back, mouth parting in an almost agonized moan, as you tried to accustom yourself to his size. Even after all these months of him having you nightly, you still hadn't gotten used to his size.

He was a storm against you, within you, fucking into you with all his strength, hands clutching at your hips to keep you in place, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Sucking fresh bruises into your skin, he kept murmuring in a reverent voice that you were his and his alone.

Earlier, you would've screamed and sobbed in disagreement, trying to push against his chest.

Trying to push him away.

Instead, your hands abandoned the sheets, finding refuge on his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Perhaps it was the pleasure of that every deep drag of his cock within you, or the feel of his lips against yours, or the fact that over the course of your captivity you had become just as fucked up as him, you told him that you were his too.

"I'm never going to let you go, princess..."

Perhaps you had given up on fighting back, or perhaps you had finally begun to acknowledge that you had become attached to him, too, you brought your lips to his.

"Don't ever let me go," you sighed.

The pleasure was making your head swim, a flush blooming in your cheeks and across your chest as you neared your peak.

"I'm gonna..." you moaned. "Oh, fuck, Ch-"

Ecstasy burst through you with the force of a tidal wave, your back arching against the bed as it flowed through you, fraying every nerve ending in your body.

His thrusts became erratic, the tight clinches of your walls drawing him to his own release moments after. He spilled within you with a shudder, his eyes closed and a look of rapture on his face.

Slumping against you, his arms grew tight around your waist possessively.

"I'm never letting you go..." he said, nuzzling at your neck, hands running through your hair.

You knew.

You knew that he wasn't going to let you go.

And for now, for just these few, fleeting moments, you were okay with it...