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crazyinlovewithbucky · 8 months

Text

"My Girl"

Pairing: (tfatws)Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sam took Bucky clubbing one day to ease Bucky's tension and bad temper then Bucky met you and since the moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew that he wanted you to be his girl.

Warnings: flufffffffff, smut, Sam & Bucky being sarcastic, alcohol, alcohol consumption, making out, nudity, dry humping, oral (f receiving), protected/unprotected sex, d in v sex, drunk friend, sergeant kink, Bucky being obsessive, lipstick stains and marks, cum eating, overstimulation, lots of fluff + smut.

This smut was somewhat inspired by the song Girl by The Internet (feat. KAYTRANADA)

AU/N: hey guys, I've been having the worst writer's block and I've been writing this piece for almost 3 months now. My job is taking all of my time and consuming my days that I barely have time to write so this is the reason why this piece might be a little longer (5.9K words) than my previous ones lol. Hope you enjoy it and I'd like to remind you that English isn't my first language so excuse if I misspelled or mispronounced anything.

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It was a somewhat normal Friday evening. Sam and Bucky just finished another successful mission in Europe, and they needed time to relax. Sam knew about that great club in New York and begged Bucky to come and blow off some steam. Eventually, Bucky agreed to drink, spend time with his best friend, and maybe see how people nowadays party. They entered the club and headed to the bar right away before the club owner himself came and greeted them and told them he had a private VIP table for them on the east side of the club. The two Avengers thanked him but wanted to have a few drinks at the bar first.

"Gosh, Steve would've hated this," Bucky shouted due to the loud music, feeling a little uncomfortable as he's not used to loud music, not used to people drinking and dancing around wildly like this, and also not used to crowded places like this. Sam laughed at his comment and gave him a glass of whiskey.

"Believe it or not, buddy. I brought Steve and Nat here a couple of times, and they didn't actually hate it. They were uncomfortable at first, yes. But after a few drinks, I kid you not, Steve almost went home with three blondies who promised to show him "how grateful they are for him saving the world" until Nat and I had to actually grab him by his shirt and drag him out of there." Sam chuckled while telling the story, and Bucky almost spat his drink out of his nose, laughing.

"Yeah Yeah. That does sound like Steve." Bucky kept chuckling as he swallowed the rest of his drink. He put the empty glass on the bar and asked the bartender for a refill. His eyes roamed the place, looking at the people on the dance floor, then his eyes landed on you.

You were dancing your heart out and wearing that new short, tight black dress that had no sleeves, feeling kind of tipsy from the three or four drinks you had. Your hair is all messed up from the heat of dancing, which made some of your baby hair stick to your forehead due to sweat. Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off of you; he didn't know why, but for him, you were so attractive, with that tight short dress hugging all of your curves perfectly, your hips and body swaying to the music, and your shiny, beautiful hair swaying and moving with your body too.

He kept staring at you, lost in your beauty until he felt a rough hand hitting his shoulder. "See something you like, Barnes?" Sam raised an eyebrow at him, following Bucky's intense gaze at you. "Go dance with her," Sam chuckled, pointing at you with his glass.

"No fucking way, Sam. I don't dance." Bucky took a deep breath and swallowed the refilled glass in just one sip. He put the glass again on the bar table and motioned for the bartender to refill it again. Somehow all that built-up and buried sexual energy in him started to resurface as he got reminded that the last time he had any sexual interaction with a woman was in the 1940s. He really needed to take it out of his system and ease that sexual tension inside of him. He knew that he had to do that one day or another. Hell, Sam even knew and noticed that too, as Bucky's anger issues and frustrations were getting out of hand and Sam had enough of this attitude. He thought that maybe with a few drinks and a nice night out, Bucky might be less tense. But when a pretty lady gets Bucky's attention and he starts to act all frustrated again, it all clicks for Sam now, as the reason behind Bucky's frustration is just built-up sexual energy. Poor Bucky hasn't gotten laid since the 40s; he must feel like a virgin now, Sam thought.

Bucky kept staring at you and the way your body moved to the music until he saw you moving toward him with one of your friends. You were headed towards the bar while laughing with your friend, and you moved and stood very close to him and shouted the names of some drinks for the bartender. He could smell you. You were sweaty as hell, but for him, you smelt so nice and sugary; your body and hair smelt like a mix of coconut and jasmine, and he loved it so much that his body stiffened and he stood straight, trying his hardest not to look at you and the way you kept scratching your scalp and flipping your hair from the heat you felt from dancing. You took out a scrunchie from your purse and tied your hair up in a messy ponytail, and he almost fell on his knees as he saw drops of sweat running down your neck. You were so hot and beautiful, he thought he'd lose his mind.

Sam was standing on the opposite side of Bucky and you, watching Bucky's reactions with a smirk. "Hey ladies, can we buy you some drinks?" Sam said this to you and your friend, startling you both out of your conversation. Your friend looked at him and Bucky and gasped loudly.

"Oh my god! You're the Avengers!" Your friend screamed, which made you get confused, and you looked carefully at Sam, then turned your head and found very hungry blue eyes looking back at you. Your mouth opened a little at the sight before you. You thought that this was literally the most beautiful and handsome man you'd ever seen in your whole life. You both kept holding that intense eye contact; you didn't realize you were so close to each other until your friend pushed your shoulder to grab your attention, and you almost fell on him. Bucky was quick, and he held you by your waist and helped you stand up straight, never breaking eye contact.

"Are you okay?" He said that as your heart kept beating so hard and loud, you were very nervous, as you had never had that much tension with anyone before—even your friend and Sam sensed it. You nodded your head at Bucky while smiling nervously, then tried to breathe normally as you felt like you were choking out of air. You also felt that strange sensation of tingling between your legs. You couldn't help it; as per lots of previous experiences, you were well aware that alcohol makes you horny. But alcohol plus the hottest man you've ever seen—that was too much for you, and you felt out of breath.

"Y-You don't need to buy us any drinks, we were actually getting those last drinks and leaving afterward," you said nervously to Sam as you held your friend's arm. You smiled with a nod at the bartender when she put the two drinks you ordered in front of you and your friend.

"What? Noooooo, Y/N, I wanna stay," your drunk friend whined. "You can do whatever you want to me, Mr. Falcon." Your friend flirted with Sam and touched his hand and squeezed it while winking at him, which made Sam blush and smirk at her.

"Oh, I think you had enough drinks already." You cringed at your friend, squeezed her shoulders, and pulled her away slowly to leave.

"At least, let us drive you home." Bucky's voice behind you said that, and your breath hitched. You were trying your hardest not to interact with this man because, you swear, you were so close to jumping on him and doing very unholy things to him.

"Y-You don't have to." Your voice was shaky, and you tried to keep your friend steady.

"But we want to. Please." He touched your arm softly, and you got goosebumps all over, feeling hotter, and that tingling feeling between your legs was more unbearable.

"Okay," that's all that you managed to say, as there's nothing on your mind now except for the various positions and ways he could fuck you with. Yes, you were that horny.

Sam got his wallet out and paid for his, Bucky's, and your drinks. You kept holding your friend, afraid she might trip and fall. Meanwhile, Bucky was walking beside you, guiding you to the main exit and shielding you from the crowd. He was very gentle and kind to you, and you just couldn't stop looking at his strong, veiny hands and imagining them wrapped around your neck.

By the time you got outside the club, Bucky had guided you and your almost knocked-out friend to the parking lot, where Sam was already waiting there next to the black SUV. Normally, you wouldn't ever consider going out or taking a ride with strange men you just met at the bar. This is a never-in-a-million-years action from you. But your cautious side left the room when you acknowledged that these are the actual Avengers and they couldn't ever hurt you. And if they did, you're going to make a hundred percent sure to sue their asses afterward. You smiled at yourself at that thought, and that caught Bucky's attention.

"What are you smiling at?" Bucky said to you as he smiled too. Your smile dropped immediately as he caught you off guard, and you felt so embarrassed. Of course, you're not going to tell him you were just thinking about suing him if he did something to you, and that made you smile. What the hell are you? A psycho?

"Ummm, nothing." You smiled awkwardly. "I am just a little drunk." And you awkwardly laughed. 'Gosh, can this get any weirder?' You thought to yourself.

"Are you okay?" He said this in a concerned tone while opening the doors of the backseat in the car and guiding you and your friend in. You nodded at him with a smile, sat your friend carefully in the backseat, and seated yourself next to her. Bucky got in the passenger seat while Sam started driving and pulling out of the parking spot.

"So, do you ladies have a place, or are we going to drive all night?" Sam said this in a sarcastic tone while opening the Google Maps app on his phone. He gave the phone to Bucky to start typing your addresses in the search bar.

You laughed at Sam's question. "Yeah, but Y/F/N lives closer, so can we drop her off first, Mr. Falcon? Shit. Sorry. I mean Sam." You cringed at yourself for calling Sam Mr. Falcon like your friend did. You don't know if it's because you feel awkward, or the tension between you and Bucky, or the four drinks you had earlier.

Sam and Bucky laughed softly at Sam's new nickname, and that made you feel more awkward, and that made you laugh nervously. Bucky noticed that and said, "That's okay. I call him sometimes "Daddy Falcon," just like those girls on Twitter, just to tease him."

"Hey man, what the hell? You promised you would not say that again. Why are you telling her, you freaky cyborg?" You laughed so hard at the way they speak to each other and their weird nicknames for each other.

"Wait, What? Cyborg? Is that your actual nickname?" You laughed at Bucky while your friend was napping silently with her head on your lap.

"No, actually Bucky is my nickname," he overstressed the word 'Bucky' while looking at Sam, giving him a death glare, which made you giggle more. "But Sam just loves giving me a hard time."

"What? Man, who's giving who a hard time with that "Daddy Falcon" bullshit? I ain't nobody's daddy." Sam said while focusing on the road. You can't stop giggling at this point.

"Whatever, Sam. I'm sorry, okay? Truce?" Bucky said to Sam, smiling and looking at you from time to time through the rearview mirror.

"Fine," Sam said while still looking at the road ahead and rolling his eyes at Bucky.

"Shit, can I put the location on the map? because I think we're close to her apartment." You snapped out of your laughter and motioned with your hand for Bucky to give you the phone and type in the location. Bucky handed you the phone, and you started typing in your friend's apartment location, which was only five minutes away from your current location. You handed the phone back to Bucky, and he started directing Sam to the location. *

You made sure your friend was comfortable and sleeping well in her bed after you took her shoes off, tucked her under the blanket, turned off the light, and left. Buck and Sam were waiting for you downstairs outside the car. You walked toward them and smiled, saying, "I'm so sorry guys, we've been such a huge burden on you tonight. I really appreciate your help and kindness. Thank you."

They both smiled at you, saying stuff like "Don't mention it", "It's okay," and "We're happy to help." The three of you went into the car again, and Sam started driving to your house. The distance from your friend's apartment to yours was around fifteen minutes, so you started chatting with them and getting to know them better. You learned that they were staying here at the Avengers Tower and that Sam is not from around here usually, but Bucky is from Brooklyn. He kept telling you about his life back then, in the forties, and how he was adjusting to this new world. You and Sam joked a bit about Bucky's age, but he didn't mind it. He actually laughed at some of your jokes.

You were startled by the voice of the GPS lady saying, "You've arrived at your destination," and you felt upset for leaving them too soon. You exchanged numbers with Bucky and Sam and promised them to hang out with them soon and have brunch.

Out of politeness, you invited them over to your apartment for some coffee, and Sam agreed right away, while Bucky was just thinking about it. You were kind of surprised by his immediate agreement, which made you question if they had other intentions towards you. But you brushed these thoughts away when you saw that kind, loving, and gentle look in Bucky's eyes when he looked at you.

As soon as you got out of the car and were guiding them to your building's entrance door, Sam stopped in his tracks and exclaimed loudly, "Oh shit man, I forgot." You and Bucky stopped and looked at him, worried.

"I promised Sarah I'd call her tonight, and I completely forgot. Man, I hate when this happens. She must be worried, thinking something happened to me or else. I've got to go. Sorry, Y/N. It was very nice to meet you. We'll catch up soon, okay?" He gave you a small hug and pulled away. “Sorry, Buck, I've got to head home. You have Uber on your phone, right? Remember, I taught you how to use it." He smirked and winked at Bucky, who was, by the way, giving him the most deadly glare ever as he connected the dots and figured out Sam's plan to leave you and him alone. "You finish that cup of coffee first. I think you need to sober up a little." He gave Bucky a small hug too and whispered something in his ear that you couldn't hear, even though you tried eavesdropping. "Again, Y/N, very nice to meet you. See you later. Bye." He sprinted to his car, went in, and started to drive off.

"Okay, so I think it's just the two of us then." You smiled at Bucky and turned your head away from him to open the building's door with your keys. You guided him inside and went to your apartment, which was on the third floor. You opened the door to your apartment, invited him in, and apologized for the mess, which was not so messy, but you just felt awkward. Especially in the presence of him and the fact that both of you were finally alone in the privacy of your own house, which made the very unholy thoughts about him grow wilder.

You both took off your jackets and sat on the couch. You excused yourself to go make the coffee, but as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, you forgot that you ran out of coffee this morning and that you were supposed to go buy some the next morning. You cursed at yourself and felt so embarrassed. You went back into the living room and found him texting on his phone. Little did you know that he was texting Sam "very uncool" for what Sam did and for that lame excuse to leave you both alone.

When he noticed you were in the living room with empty hands and pouting lips, he asked if everything was okay. "I forgot I ran out of coffee this morning; I'm sorry." You pouted your lips and dropped your shoulders. He smiled at how cute you looked right now. "I have tea if you like." You smiled at him, and his gaze turned so softly toward you.

"Tea would be great. Thanks." He said it, smiling. You hopped on your feet, turned, and went to the kitchen, making tea for you and him. After six or seven minutes, you returned with two hot mugs of tea. You handed him his mug and sat next to him on the couch.

You started chatting and talking about everything and anything. Despite all the talking and chatting, without your awareness, you both started to get closer to each other. It was like your bodies were magnets for each other. The tension thickens, and both of you can't help but stare at each other's lips while talking, drinking tea, or doing anything else. You noticed that he licks his lips before saying anything, and he noticed how you bite your lips when you're concentrating on what he's saying or when you're staring at his lips.

After an hour or so of talking, you noticed that you were so close to him now that you could feel his hot breath on your face and how he was controlling all your senses now, with his hands touching your leg, his musky and minty scent surrounding you, and his blue eyes gazing softly at you. You were snapped back to reality when you became aware that you both hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes, and you even forgot who stopped talking first or who said the last word. You were just staring and looking at each other with very hungry eyes for one another.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered while looking at your lips with his lustful blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat at what he said as you became too excited and became more aware of the wetness growing between your legs.

You nodded as you tried your hardest to hide your grin. "Words, Honey. I need to hear you." He said this while looking at your eyes, then moving his gaze to your lips again as he moved his hand up and held your chin up while moving his thumb on your lip, pulling the bottom lip down and freeing it from between your teeth. You didn't notice; you were biting your lips the whole time.

"Yes, please." You whispered, but it came out more as a whine. He smashed his lips against yours. Kissing you passionately and hungrily. He poked and licked your lips with his tongue, asking for permission, which you happily granted him, and you opened your mouth to him so he could devour you more with his kisses and tongue.

You were so lost in the moment and in him, and you kept tugging and pulling his shirt, asking and wanting more. He pushed you down on the couch with his body and laid on top of you, making out with you fiercely. Needing you more than you need him. You started lazily pulling his shirt up while bending and lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist. You felt his erection poking and rubbing your inner thighs, which made you moan into his mouth.

He pulled away and started taking his shirt off while you were lifting your short dress up to your hips and waist, exposing your black lace underpants. Suddenly, you felt like you were rushing into things, and the situation between you two escalated too quickly. You don't want him to have the wrong idea of you, just as you don't want this to be a one-night stand. You want more. You want him to be yours.

"I-I just want to say that I don't do this at all." You said this while panting from the heat of it all and from that passionate make-out you just had.

"Do what?" He frowned and was confused. He thought you were backing out, and he was just embarrassing himself by taking his shirt off, thinking there could be more to this.

"I don't take guys I meet in the club home and sleep with them; I don't do one-night stands." You helped yourself sit up with your elbows while he was sitting and straddling you.

"I don't do one-night stands either." He smiled at you and cupped your cheeks as he kept moving his thumb on your lips. "I just can't help myself around you and can't help how my body reacts to you. I never had this feeling or attraction to anyone before." He pushed you down and started kissing your exposed neck. "Fuck, you're so beautiful. I've never seen such a beauty like yours before." He looked into your eyes while grinding his hardened length into your clothed core. You moaned slightly, which was an opportunity for him to bury his tongue in your mouth again.

"Can you be mine for tonight?" He groaned against your mouth while still grinding into you. "Can you be my girl for tonight?" He started leaving wet and sloppy kisses on your neck and collarbone, moving down to your chest.

"Yes, please, Bucky. I'm your girl." You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist again while your hands kept rubbing and playing with his hair.

You noticed the scars on his left shoulder near his metal arm, and you suddenly remembered who he really is and his dark past. You wanted to reassure him, so you started kissing the scars on his shoulder and paying more attention to them. "You are perfect, Bucky. So perfect, I could just eat you." You said this to him while grinning and tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. You could clearly see his gaze soften and his cheeks turn bright red as he chuckled shyly.

"Look who's talking." He smiled and started kissing you passionately again. "Can we take this to the bedroom, plum?" He kissed your cheek and kept moving down, kissing your neck and collarbone.

"I was about to tell you that. The condoms are in the bedroom, anyway." You said that out of breath. You felt his arms wrapping around you and hugging you tight to his chest as he pulled you up in his arms and held you tight as he stood up, and you directed him to your bedroom while filling his neck with kisses and noticed the red marks of your ruined lipstick on him. You took a look at his face and found his mouth all smeared with red lipstick. You smiled at that sight. "This shade looks very flattering on you, Sergeant Barnes." You giggled and swiped your thumb on his lips while cupping his cheek in your palm as he was smiling like an idiot at you.

He turned on the light in your bedroom and threw you gently on the bed. He threw himself on you after taking off his dark pants, while you removed your ruined dress and threw it on the floor, leaving the two of you bare-chested. You kept making out more with him while he kept grinding his length on your clothed cunt and moaning in each other's mouths. "Can I?" he panted as he hooked his fingers on the elastic band of your underpants, asking for permission to take them off.

"Yes, please." You breathed out and lifted your hips off the bed, making it easier for him to take them off. He removed it gently and threw it across the room. He placed both of his hands on your knees and opened your legs widely. He gasped a little at the picture in front of him—your soaking wet cunt bared to him as you're fully naked underneath him with your perfect-rounded breasts moving up and down because of your panting and your perked nipples being so tempting for him to just suckle on them all night long. His mouth was open, and his eyes were full of nothing but hunger and lust as if he were eating your body with his gaze.

"Fuck, you're perfect." His hands slipped so nicely and easily from your calf up to your hips, and he started circling your sensitive bud with his thumb. "I want you to be my fucking girl forever." He started kissing your body all over. From your hips to your arms to your belly button to your breast, he kept sucking on your nipples for a little bit. All of that while his metal hand never left your cunt, as he kept rubbing it and toying with your sensitive clit with his fingers. "If you let me in, doll, I don't think I'd ever be able to leave." He looked into your eyes while saying that.

Seeing the look on his face and the way his eyes were lost in yours, you got the feeling that it wasn't just some dirty talk and that he actually meant it. "Then don't leave, sergeant. Make me yours." You pulled him in for a long, deep kiss that left you both out of breath. You gasped loudly as you felt his finger enter your hole suddenly and stretch your it.

He pushed another finger in and kept pumping them slowly inside of you, curving and scissoring them and stretching you.

You can't control your need for him and his throbbing cock inside of you, as you can already feel it nudging your inner thigh and feel the wetness caused by the precum. "Sergeant, please, I need you. Stop teasing." You whined and pushed your hips up a little, signaling to him how desperate and needy you are for him.

He chuckled and asked you about the location of the condoms, and you motioned to him their location in the drawer of your bedside table. He lifted his body from on top of you, took off his boxers, and went to the condom drawer. He took some, threw them on the bed next to you, took one in his teeth, unwrapped it, and put it on his cock.

You looked at the four or five extra condoms next to you and looked at him, confused, with an evil grin on your face. "Don't worry, plum. You're my girl now, remember? And tonight, I get to fuck my girl as much as I want. And I really want to keep you impaled on my cock all night long. Is that okay with you, doll?" He was massaging your inner thighs and mirroring your evil grin.

"Yes, sergeant. I'm all yours to fuck." You teased back and opened your legs more, giving him more access. He smirked at you and lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. He started to push in slowly while you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, which made him push half of his cock into you. You cried out at the burn and stretch of his cock, which you thought was carved by the gods because of how magnificent and big it is.

He pushed his cock into you until he bottomed out. You felt so full that if he switched the angle, he'd be able to touch your cervix with the head of his cock. He was that deep in your cunt. "You're so tight, doll. So perfect for me. Fuck, I won't last long." He groaned as he started moving and thrusting slowly. You just can't control your moans or cries at that moment, and you don't care. His name was falling out of your mouth like a prayer as he picked up the pace and started to thrust faster and deeper.

He lifted your legs up and placed them on his shoulders. This new position made him go even deeper, and as you thought, his cock is hitting your cervix and that deep spot in you that makes you scream like a woman possessed. He hugged your legs with his left arm, and the other one was pressed against your lower stomach while his thumb was moving in circles on your swollen clit. You were so close, and your throat started to itch and soar from your uncontrollable screams and cries. You've never been fucked that good, you thought to yourself. He was hitting all the right spots, moving at the perfect pace, and just being irresistible enough to make you fall in love with him. He stole your breath away from that first glance at the bar, but now? Now he was fucking you like he knew you, your spots, and what you wanted and liked. It's like you were made for each other.

Your orgasm crashed into you suddenly, and by then you were just a whimpering mess. Bucky didn't stop and kept fucking you through your orgasm, making it last longer and focusing on pleasuring you more. You were clenching around his cock like crazy, and he kept moaning and whimpering like a teenage boy losing his virginity for the first time. He snapped and emptied his load inside of you as his thrusts got sloppier. "Fuck, doll, I think the condom broke." He noticed that when he looked at where your bodies were connected and saw that big cut on the head of the condom. He chuckled softly and looked at you.

You pulled your legs down from their positions on his shoulder and lifted yourself up on your elbows to see how it broke. "What the hell? How did that happen?" You were panting, then you looked at him and chuckled at that dumb accident.

"I don't know. Maybe because of how hard and fast I was going and with your cunt choking my cock like a vase, I'd say I'm surprised it snapped like this instead of being taken off by the pressure." He giggled, moved his head down, and kissed you. "But don't worry doll. I got you." He pulled himself out of you and moved down your body until he was face-to-face with your swollen cunt. "I'll make sure you get all cleaned up." He said this before lapping and licking your mixed white liquid. Which didn't help your oversensitivity and made you get overstimulated quickly.

"God, Bucky, I'm going to cum again." You cried out, pulled on his hair, and pushed your hips up a bit, almost riding his face. He hummed and groaned while sucking your clit and shaking his head. That made you fall off the edge quicker and you came and gushed all over his face.

He didn't stop until he cleaned you up of everything, and you kept twitching and shaking from the overstimulation, but it felt too good to tell him to stop. After he fulfilled his promise and got you all cleaned up with his tongue, he pulled away and threw himself on the bed next to you after taking you in his arms first and hugging you closely. You lifted your leg over his and hugged him back. You both kept cuddling for a while in your bed, trying to catch your breath while looking at each other and smiling like stupid kids.

"Thank you." He said it softly and kissed your forehead. while stroking your arm gently.

"For what?" You smiled in confusion and looked deeply into his hazy blue eyes.

"I'll tell you later, but now my girl needs to rest for a while because I'm not done with her yet." He tickled you, and you both were laughing and enjoying each other's presence so much that you didn't want to leave each other for one second, and your hands couldn't get off one another.

Of course, the rest of the night you spent it talking and learning more about each other, and to take a break from all the talking and trauma dumping, you kept fucking like rabbits. You don't know how or when it happened, but you fell deeply in love with him and wanted him to actually be yours.

The next day, you woke up and found him making breakfast in your kitchen. You were so happy to find him discovering things in your kitchen and making food, and you wished silently to wake up every morning to this sight. Later, while you both were eating breakfast, he asked you out on a date and told you how much he liked you, enjoyed your company, and wanted to be your boyfriend. You agreed immediately and kept making out with him for the rest of the day until he had to leave because of an emergency meeting that occurred in the tower. You found it so hard to let him go and kept clinging to him, even when he was getting dressed, but he promised he'd come right back to you once he finished the meeting. You eventually agreed to let him go, and he told you he'd take you out for dinner tonight as your first official date. You gave him one last passionate kiss, and he left.

Later on, and after hundreds of dates and dating for almost a year now, he finally told you what he meant by thanking you after you both hooked up for the first time ever. He explained to you how this was his first time having sex since the forties, how he had that built-up sexual tension and frustration that almost made him lose his mind, and he started to feel insecure because of that, and how it all changed when he slept with you for the first time, and how you made it so easy for him and let him get back to his old self and feel like the old Bucky again, whom he thought was dead since that moment he fell off that train in Europe. Your relationship with Bucky was the best thing that ever happened to the two of you. You both changed each other, helped each other grow, and found out what being in love is actually like. He literally said "I love you" after the third week of being together and during a very hot love-making session, which was the best sex you've ever had in your life. Bucky was the best lover you could've asked for, and you were so grateful for him and for that night out with your friend in that Manhattan club that you were reluctant to go to in the first place. It was fate that brought you together.

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gremlingottoosilly · 4 months

Note

Omg I was just thinking about how you said in the monster au that you can buy the reader at a pet shop so like could we get a backstory about how the reader is in the pet shop was she like born into it or was she kidnapped and what was her life like in the pet shop before price bought her or even a story about price buying her lol I know it's a lot but you have me obsessed

Price never wanted a house pet. Always thought he is too damn busy for anything like this - besides, having three other monsters on his back as part of the pack also makes everything much, much harder. He doesn't want to pick up a girl from the street because all Human Resistance members are making really bad pack mates - you'd probably kill yourself and hurt one of his boys before he would settle you with cubs. He doesn't want anyone raised after the monster outbreak because you'd be too fucking young and he doesn't need that. He wants some meat on your bones and, preferably, some brain in your head. So, when he finds lil' ol' you, all curled in the furthest corner of the cage that serves as a house for captured humans, he can't help but break down in that warm, adorable smile of his. He listens to the monster that was selling you - something something, you were born before the outbreak, which doesn't make you exactly old - there were barely even ten-ish years after the revolution - but it makes you sweeter. More experienced. He wants to have you in his arms because you had a life before, and he wants to take it away. Give you a new purpose - take care of you as far from this place as possible. Price likes himself a pretty pet from the shop because you're sleepy and lazy and you don't fight him too much, but you have that weird sense of humor that makes him snicker. You'd do well with his boys - maybe, you would even be able to bear children from them too. You still remember the life when monsters were nothing more but fairytales, living in shadows - and you still can't believe that you're actually part of the pack now, a breeding mare for their leader. You're deadly fucking terrified of werebears, you don't want to be pregnant and you certainly don't want to be shared between four different monsters. It's better than the pet shop, you try to tell yourself. Price allows you to speak your mind about things, Gaz gives you shiny gifts and massages your tummy when eggs become too much, Soap likes to dress you up and Ghost is...not much, which is already a blessing. It's better than being with other humans because they are fucking psychos who are killing anyone who has ever been touched by a monster - and it's better than being with monsters from other companies. You fucking saw poor thing clinging to a hooded guy's tentacles and you don't want to be like her.

#cod #captain price x reader #price x reader #yandere price #monster!price #monster!141 #yandere cod

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bella-goths-wife · 4 months

Text

How the yandere bowers gang love reader

I’m just a girl trying to be deep with her writing while very sick and in her feels so please tolerate my trash 🙏

Warnings: non-con mentions but not explicit, mommy issues, daddy issues, physical abuse, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, injuries, forced relationships, dead dove do not eat, yandere behaviour, obsession

I do not condone or romanticise abuse, the abuse I write about is purely to educate and entertain. Please do not romanticise the abuse that is occurring.

MDNI

Henry bowers:

Love is a strong word, it’s not the pure love that you’d dreamed about since you were a little girl

No, this love is deeply depraved and disgusting

He cares about you in his own way, he’d kill someone if they ever hurt you with the same hands that have carved his initials into your delicate body

But he does love you, for some inconvenience reason he does love you in his sick and twisted reason

He views you as someone who can take care of him, someone who can make his lunches and make him feel better after a bad day

He would never admit it, but he sees you as someone who could fill the void his mother left

He loved and adored his mother more than anyone else in the world and she left him, so he had no one to pour all of those feelings into until he met you

Except these feelings are increased and made more sickening

That’s one of the reasons that, unlike Patrick, he won’t force himself on you

He tried to, believe him he really tried

But all he could think about was when he saw his dad do it to his mom, and the look of pure horror on his moms face

He could definitely see himself marrying you one day, I mean, he’s the one in the group who deserves you the most after all

He’d kill the other boys if he had to, he may see them as his brothers

But you, he sees you as his wife and the person who will carry his future children

Patrick Hockstetter:

Patrick’s love is based in lust, but isn’t entirely consumed by it

He knew he was attracted to you from the start, he probably would have tried to drag you off at a party before Henry staked his claim on you

He is mostly obsessed with the way he can control you

He, as Henry’s unofficial second hand, has the second most control over you

And he loves you for it

He can control what you eat, how you dress and how you spend your time

He can control if you breath during the times he chokes you

He blames it on his mothers death or his ‘rough childhood’ but he’s just a sociopath

Genuinely, I know I’ve been adding in what factors to them being like this for the rest but for Patrick it’s simple

He’s a sociopath

You may be wondering how a sociopath is capable of love, and well he’s not fully in love

He’s obsessed with you and some part of him cares about you, the same way he would care if his car got scratched

Your a possession, he doesn’t care about your personality or your likes and dislikes

But you intrigue and entertain him enough to get his loyalty in exchange for what you can do for him

He doesn’t feel guilt for how he and the others treat you and he doesn’t feel bad for the fact that they are completely destroying you

He’s the only one to actually recognise that what they all do to you is making you slowly break, he just does not care

As long as your not hurting yourself or others are hurting you, he does not feel the need to care about what happens to you

He doesn’t even care about the fact that he’s sexually assaulting you

He would enjoy it more if you were actively consenting but he doesn’t care that you don’t

Because for him sex isn’t about pleasure, it’s about control and when he has sex with you he’s showing you another form of his control over you

So yes, in a way Patrick does love you

But it’s the similar way he would love a pet or a shiny care, as soon as you lose your entertainment value then you’d become nothing to him

Unluckily for you, as long as the rest are interested in you you’ll never not be entertaining for Patrick

And as you can see, that’s unlikely to happen

Victor cross:

Victors love is based in possession

He knows your Henry’s girl

Henry may share you with the rest of the group, but you belong to Henry

That’s always how it’s been in the group

Anything vic owned Henry would eventually take away from him

He views Henry as a brother, but some dark part of victor hates him

Especially when it comes to you

Victor sees how rough Henry is with his affection towards you, Victor could be so much gentler than him

Victor wants to own you, to possess you fully

He wants you to only think about him, to only speak to him, to only fuck him and to only be with him

He has fantasies of killing the others and locking you away so you can stay with him together

He chalks it up to having everything he’s over owned taken away from him by the others, but it’s more than that

He wants revenge

He sees how the others are obsessed with you and how they love you, the same way he loved all the possessions they took from him

He wants to take you away the way they took his things

And he’ll kill the others if he has too

Belch Huggins:

Belch loves you for your approval of him

His entire life he has lacked people being proud of him

He has a dead dad and an absent mom, he wasn’t really spoiled for choice when it comes to people who appreciated him

He thought his growth at such an early age would gain him approval, but it only gained him fearful looks

But you changed that

You may not remember the insignificant comment you made but he’ll always remember it

“Wow, your pretty strong” you had commented once after he had picked you up to take you to bed “you’d be good to practice lifts with”

He felt a surge of adoration after you said that

Finally, someone decided he was worth something

You decided he was worth practicing with you, you practically decided he deserved to live in his eyes

He’ll be anything or say anything to make you approve of him

Accept for defying Henry

Henry knows best, and Henry knows when you need to be disciplined for you own good

So no matter how much you look at him with those beautiful sorrow filled eyes, he has to do what he has to do to make sure you are given the best chance at the life you need

At least, the life that Henry decided that you need

He loves you deeply and with a sense of desperation

At times he would seem like a puppy desperate for your love and attention, the other times he would seem like a threat who could kill you at any moment

#slashers x reader #yandere bowers gang #yandere bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #yandere henry bowers x reader #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers #yandere patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #yandere belch huggins x reader #belch huggins x reader #belch huggins #yandere victor criss x reader #victor criss x reader #victor criss #yandere it x reader #yandere slashers x reader #yandere slasher x reader

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lyomeii · 8 months

Text

a little maid

・❥・warnings/notices: yandere themes, manipulation, obsession, reader dies in original timeline, reader is a servant/maid, female reader, cesare is obsessed with reader.

・❥・ request by anon! Question about the how to get my husband at my side You can do something where the reader protects Ruby and she becomes mega affectionate and in the end she comes to the north and everyone becomes affectionate(Yandere) for/to her

・❥・a/n: sorry for being missing :/ I got excited and inspired for drawing, writing some other projects (another chapter of wireless is coming soon!) and stuff from colleges, but no worries, here is the post for today!

・❥・way before ruby goes to the north to marry izek, you were at her side since the very beginning as her personal servant and beloved friend to anytime. the two of you were inseparable despite the differences of social classes, she being a noble girl set to marry the heir of the omerta dukedom while you were nothing but a simple servant ready to help her at anytime. a rare, but lovely duo.

・❥・that’s why you were so important to ruby! always helping her whatever she needed no matter how hard the task was and often. the way her blue eyes shiny when you are in the same room as her is more than enough to notice how the girl deeply cares about you since you are one of the few people that treat her right. despite yourself being treated in horrible circumstances too, the little bruises on your skins or when you force yourself to stop shaking when cesare is in the same room is noticeable to her eyes. specially when his eyes are settled on you, like he is watching a prey and he is ready to attack at anytime.

・❥・so when the news of ruby getting married to the heir of the omerta dukedom reaches your ears, you couldn’t be happier for the lady to get a better living life away from this place, away from the people who torment her daily and you got even happier when she told you that you are coming alongside her. the tears you dropped on her fancy and expensive dresses as the two of you prepared enough luggage to the long travel away from this living nightmare. away from the pope and cesare, even with the last one trying to make you stay in the manor to make him ‘company’, but luckily the pope told his son that ruby couldn’t afford to lose a loyal servant like you, so you quickly left with ruby towards the north.

・❥・the travel itself was a little rough, but nothing like the two of you couldn’t handle and so the day the two of you arrive at the north, things aren’t the best. the servants from the omerta dukedom were horrible to ruby and people often spoken ill things about your lady! oh, you were so ready to thrown fists and kicks everywhere to defend your sweetie lady when needed, however ruby told you to stay out and ignore them, after all, she only needs you, right? regardless of her now husband being cold and everyone treating her like nothing, you still here as her closest friend.

・❥・with days going by, it was hard to the local servants, knights and some others residents to not notice how the loyal maid of the lady rudbeckia followed her anywhere and how hardworking are you no matter the task you were given. clean the dirty windows? they are soon spotless. cooking to the knights? a delicious meal is ready to be eaten. serving izek after he is done with training? yes. ignoring the fact that you hold some feeling towards that man, you can’t deny that he is trying his best to become closer to ruby, even asking you for help. it was funny to seeing him nervous when questioning about the lady’s favorite food and sweeties.

・❥・so things get a little better, if you ignore the fact that you got in a few arguments with the headmaid and some others servants that tried to downgrade lady ruby and soon, people start noticing you even more. others maids that aren’t on your bad side, asking for advices in certain tasks. some knights becoming brave enough to hand you flowers and some little gifts that you thanked them and of course, you got to know elenia van omerta a little better. there is no lying in this part, you didn’t like her at first (the headmaid didn’t help with that too), but you give a shot and become somehow closer to her despite your heart telling not to do it.

・❥・ with more time passed, ruby’s life got better at the north. people aren’t that bad anyone with her, since you either threaten them or just because they rapidly become nicer to her :) and things between her and Izek got better. the two of them even act like a couple in front of the people and got to know each other. isn’t that sweet? now they are closer and some maids were replaced, you get more free time to get know around the dukedom, something you didn’t have the opportunity to do it earlier. and unfortunately, you got to know even more unpleasant people.

・❥・firstly, there was freyan. a sweet girl at first glance, but after a few interactions with her made you rethink about her entire personality. why is so evil towards ruby? ruby didn’t make anything for her to be so evil. and her brother, lorenzo? well, he is not that bad like you expected… before you could scold him for an accident at the training grounds, he quickly apologized to you and those involved, even getting you a bouquet as an apology gift with his cheek fully red. the knights couldn’t help, but make some fun of the boy for having a little crush on you and he went back to training to avoid even more embarrassment from his colleagues. a little weird, but at least you are happy that he isn’t as half bad like his older sister.

・❥・another person who you got closer in recent times is ivan. someone who at first, you wanted to be distant as possible, but turns out he is someone cool to be around. his carefree personality was the the main reason of how easily the two of got closer to become friends, also the many gifts he gets to you are also a little bonus of this friendship. you are to naive to notice his feelings about you, maybe it’s the fact that you are too busy working for ruby all the time.

・❥・and speaking of her, ruby is someone who cares about you and always will. in the original timeline, where the original rudbeckia was the one who caused the entire destruction of the omerta empire and between the main reasons she did it, you were the main one. a maid who never left her side til the very end by the hands of cesare, the very same one who never told where he put your dead body to rest. that was her final straw to bring the world to a living nightmare and she did with fully happiness when Izek confronted her in that very same day where she took her final breath.

・❥・now, with a new person living in rudbeckia body and trying to change such fate, she can’t be happier to know that you still around here. the way you spend most of your time next to her is the reason she smiles and there is nothing in this world she would change for that.

@lyomeii stuff || don’t repost

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merakiui · 7 months

Text

boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills.

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t.

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame.

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more.

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake!

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath.

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult.

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists.

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite.

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t.

He had you.

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years.

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest.

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.”

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s.

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have.

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love.

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap.

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?”

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo.

She wants to kiss you.

“Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless.

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts.

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin.

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills.

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire?

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite?

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare.

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily.

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment.

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily.

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments.

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.”

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy.

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams.

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child.

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target.

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him.

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap.

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve.

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb.

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair.

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you.

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since.

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind.

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering.

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?”

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?”

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding.

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection.

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips.

“Riddle…”

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra.

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon.

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?”

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response.

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?”

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.”

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk.

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #yandere riddle x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

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im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/king’s innocent daughter omggggg

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.

(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you ☺️)

masterlist

For being the nation’s current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.

He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.

That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.

The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.

They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.

The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly.

Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.

You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored ‘chai latte’), he had asked to taste it.

Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.

“Stop it…! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!” You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. “A-Aemond…!” How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.

Aemond shook his head. “I don’t give the tiniest shit, babygirl,” he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.

The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.

And, well, maybe you should’ve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.

“If you can’t handle this, how will you handle my cock?” he tutted. “Poor baby, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. “And what did I say to call me?” before he gave your ass a hard spank.

You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry…s-so sorry, daddy!”

Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didn’t know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemond’s long, whitish-blond hair.

(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ‘new Habsburg jaw’. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)

His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. “Daddy!” you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. “Daddy…! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!”

“Yeah, that is right, pretty baby, I’m your new daddy now.”

Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughter’s bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.

It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.

After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.

You were his.

All his.

His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military.

One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.

“Truth is, son, you’re doing such a fine job at protecting her. I don’t worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,” he admitted, patting him on the back. “Would there be anything you’d like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.”

But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close we’ve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,” he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.

“Should I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?”

“Of course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.”

So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It should’ve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.

And if he really was smart, then he would’ve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #request #vic writes 🧸

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

Title: Tonality [3]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: more creepy dream fuel, Geralt being slimy and having ulterior motives, and a little more tension with reader and her mother. all in all, i think you guys will enjoy this latest addition. as always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics

The doe’s coat is as yellow as spun gold, and she blinks at you nervously as you approach. You cannot hide your childish squeal of delight, though it vexes her further. She nickers, shifting from hoof to hoof as she blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Papa, is she really mine?” You ask, your quiet voice heavy with awe. “She’s beautiful.” You hold out a hand, and her nostrils flare at your scent. Her long ears flick back, laying flat against her head behind her horns. They’re small—she’s young, barely a year old, perhaps less—and still covered with soft, velvety baby fur that you know will shed as she ages.

“Careful,” your father’s voice is ripe with caution. “She is new. Young, still, and a bit unwieldy.” You cluck your tongue at her, producing the sugar cubes you’d stolen from your mother’s tea tray from the sleeves of your dress. “I said careful—!” The doe leans forward, pressing her muzzle into your outstretched hand. You raise an eyebrow at your father, who shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh puffing out from between his lips. You stroke her head, running your fingers gently between her antlers and softly flicking ears.

“She about took Gaspard’s hand off this morning, she was so wild,” he says, shaking his head. “And yet she eats from your own as if you had weaned her yourself.”

“Did Gaspard try sugar?” You ask, giggling as her lips tickle your palm. “Perhaps she mightn’t have tried to amputate his fingers had he kept some of his salt to himself.” The wind shifts, and beneath the doe’s thick animal scent, there is something else.

Something like sulphur and rotting meat.

Your hand passes down the doe’s head, and her skin sloughs off beneath your fingers, leaving shiny, white bone behind. You gag, clapping a bloody hand over your mouth as fat flies buzz lazily out of her empty eye sockets. Wrong. This is wrong, it doesn’t happen like this—

How does it go, again?

Your father gifts you the doe, the golden doe, you are eighteen, you are a woman now, you will ride with him on the hunt, you will—

“Su—gar swe—et,” Your father’s voice is the buzzing of a thousand glistening black flies, his tongue is made from them, wriggling in his wide open mouth. His eyes are children’s scribbles, black and writhing, and tears like ink drip from their corners. “It tasted like sugar—”

It is then that you remember your father is dead.

He is dead. He is dead here, because he is dead everywhere, dead and rotting and gone but not gone and you mustn’t listen, you mustn’t—

You wake with a sharp gasp.

“—Princess?” The words dissolve into a static, meaningless drone as you are thrust suddenly back into consciousness. For a moment, the dream is still overlaid over the waking world like runny watercolor as you blink groggily in the dark. Beneath your trembling fingers, you can still feel the doe’s soft, golden coat—and the sharp, polished bone of her skull. With a sweaty palm against the wall, you retch, doubling over as you heave.

Nothing comes up.

The air around you is stale, stagnant, and the taste of dust and decay blankets your tongue as you swallow down lungful after panicked lungful. One thing is abysmally clear to you as you dizzily rest a hand on the cold stone to keep yourself upright—

You are not in your rooms.

Where am I?

“Princess.” The voice sounds again, and your head snaps about wildly, your eyes wide as you stare into the dark. The dream is still there, sticking the fringes of your waking thoughts like tar, and for a moment there are two voices, one made of dark black honey, sickly sweet, and the other the insectile buzz of a thousand glassy wings all beating in unison—

“Wh-who goes there?” You ask, dragging the back of your hand across your quivering mouth. There is a sound like the sharp rushing of air, and all at once the room is lit with warm yellow light. You suppress a scream as your father’s withered, sunken face appears before you, his eyes like children’s scribble—you shut your eyes, closing them tightly as you whimper.

“A dream, this is a dream, a dream—” A cool, bare hand wraps about your wrist and you scream, pulling and fighting as fiercely as you can manage. “No! No! You’re dead—!” You cry, hysterical tears creeping out of the corners of your closed eyes.

“I regret to inform you, little sister, that I am very much alive.” It is not your father’s voice—not the dead—but your step-brother’s. “Despite your best attempts to dispatch me.” Slowly, you open your eyes, sniffling as you meet his gaze. He nods up at your balled fists, still trembling in his grip. You can feel the heat of him through his own loose night-shirt and your thin cotton shift, and your skin prickles as he licks his lips.

“Release me.” You say it with more confidence than you feel. For a moment, you feel your step-brother drag his thumb across your pulse point and cock his head, as though he is considering it.

“Will you strike me again, little princess?” He asks, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You scowl. “I did not plan for a midnight brawl.” You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. Geralt stares at you for a moment, like his golden eyes see something yours do not. As you prepare to make the demand again, he frees your wrists. You clutch your hands to your chest, eyeing him warily. The torch he has lit casts the long room in dim orange light, the flames dancing in his irises, turning them molten. It is the firelight, you think, that makes him look so menacing, so…

Hungry.

You shiver, turning your gaze instead to your surroundings, squinting at the long stone hall in the flickering light. The cool, stagnant air is disturbed only by the sound of your quiet breath, which catches in your throat as your eyes widen.

“Where…are we?” You ask, though you fear you know the answer already.

The walls are lines with alcoves bearing countless candles, stuck into the melted pools of wax left by their predecessors rather than into proper candelabras. And in neat rows in front of them…

Graves. Made of the same gray stone as the castle. Highly polished and clean, they are each adorned with ornate carvings of their occupants. You stare grimly at the rows and rows of polished stone, and wonder at how you might have possibly found your way here through the dark labyrinth of the castle. You think again of the dream, and gooseflesh rises again on your skin.

”Did you bring me here?” You round on the prince, your brow furrowed. He chuckles in response, and the sound of it grates against you.

“Me? I merely followed you. In truth I had wondered why you would visit the catacombs at this hour. I thought perhaps,” his eyes narrow as a crude grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “A secret paramour, or—”

“Do not confuse me with yourself!” You snap, wrapping your arms around your body as you shiver. The prince clucks his tongue at your ire.

“Come now, don’t be cross, little sister,” Geralt purrs. “It wouldn’t have been proper to leave you wandering the hallways in your state of undress, muttering to yourself like a madwoman.” Your cheeks warm at his crude words, and you feel angry, embarrassed tears flush hotly into the space behind your eyes. You blink them back.

“I… have not walked in my sleep since I was a child,” you admit, looking down at the space between your bare feet. Geralt hums in response. Old Madge, in her half-blind wisdom had always muttered fearfully to your father about your nightly escapades.

A soul shouldn’t walk about at night, she would say, her thin, knobby fingers twisting strands of honeysuckle and dried lavender together into a long chain, one she would wind around your bed’s posts every night for a year until finally you stayed in it. A soul shouldn’t walk about at night. What’s it lookin’ for?

“I fear I…” You shake your head, swallowing your concerns—they are not for him to hear. “No matter.” For an instant, a look of disappointment crosses his face before it is gone again, leaving you to wonder if you had even seen it at all. “Thank you.” Your reluctance is palpable. “For waking me.”

“You’ve no need to thank me. Not yet.” His eyes glitter darkly. You swallow thickly, and they follow the movement, sweeping almost lazily down the line of your throat. “Let us go.” They flick back up to yours. “Unless you wish to spend the night here?” He gestures behind you, and you shiver again, shaking your head quickly.

“Please.”

You are grateful to leave the eerie silence of the royal catacombs behind you, following as closely as you dare behind the prince. His torch throws up strange shapes on the walls of the narrow, spiraling stairwell. You can feel the dream sitting at the edges of your thoughts, waiting eagerly to settle back over you like fog. You were not predisposed to bad dreams, and yet they seemed to be the only ones you have had since you arrived. You have been beset with dark thoughts, nipping at your heels like hungry dogs, no—

Wolves.

The two of you emerge from the narrow stairwell into the empty chapel, and the vast hall echoes with your entry. The sconces are dark, and the robed, painted priests nowhere to be seen. The chapel is far less intimidating at night, the sharp features of the northern gods softened by shadow. Cold moonlight filters down softly through the domed ceiling, the colors pale and muted. For a moment, the perfectly round moon is framed perfectly by the pane of red glass containing Father Wolf, shining bright crimson above his head as you pass beneath it.

The choking scent of the incense is gone now, and only a trace of it remains in the still air. It is overpowered by a thick, musky animal scent that reminds you of wet fur. As the two of you cross the center of the room, Geralt hooks left, towards the wide, dark archway on the other side of the room. It gapes open like a toothless mouth, the stone floor sloping downward steeply into the dark.

You stop at the top of it, the warm air stirring the loose hair about your shoulders. Geralt turns to look back at you, raising a brow and cocking his head p as he lifts the torch higher. There is a question in the tilt of his head, unspoken on the curve of his lips.

Are you afraid?

You are. The dank, pungent animal scent washes over you again, and you shudder. It reminds you of your father’s hunting dogs.

“Come, little Doe.” His voice feels like cold fingers drawn across the back of your neck. “You need not fear the kennels this night.”

“I am not afraid.” You jut your chin out stubbornly, even as gooseflesh erupts along your arms.

“Good,” he purrs, licking his lips. “They can smell it.” Geralt descends down into the dark maw, and you reluctantly follow. Like most, you are no stranger to the rumors that leak steadily from King Vesemir’s halls; fantastical tales of furred beasts whose jaws were wide enough to swallow a horse whole. You clutch yourself, inching closer to the prince as the sloped path straightens out, opening into a massive cavern.

Geralt’s torch is little more than a pinprick of light in in the vast, unyielding dark. The warm glow only manages to dimly outline the shapes of natural stone pillars, throwing up misshapen shadows. There are still more passageways, little more than tunnels, littering the walls like pockmarks. For a moment, the light of Geralt’s torch throws a long arm across the chamber.

Reflected in it’s light are two, glowing orbs. Eyes, the size of dinner plates, their color impossible to describe. It was as if the eyes themselves were ablaze, glowing brightly, breaking the darkness. Over the rush of your own labored breath, you can make out the quiet scratch of claws on stone. It’s coming closer. The thought tightens your throat.

You are powerless, paralyzed before it like prey. Are you prey? You suppress a whimper. There is warmth at your back, and you realize belatedly that it is Geralt, so close his breath brushes the back of your neck.

“No fear, little princess. No fear.”

In less than an instant, the creature stands just beyond the ring of light cast by the prince’s torch. Faintly, you can make out the hulking shape of it; larger by far than any horse. Shaggy white fur, stained a rusty red around its muzzle, it’s ears pricked up and forward as it listens to the sound of your breath.

“Hold out your hand.” You do, lifting a trembling palm in front of you as if to stop the wolf from coming any closer. The wolf’s lip curls, exposing the wickedly sharp tip of a fang. It sniffs at your hand, and for a moment, you fear you will draw back nothing but a bloody stump. Your shock is palpable when it presses the tip of its snout against your hand, whiskers tickling your palm.

“Incredible.” The word escapes with the release of your held breath. You stroke the warm, bristly hair on its muzzle slowly, your eyes still wide with disbelief. The dire-wolf snorts, claws tapping against the stone as it turns from you. As quickly as the wolf appeared, it is gone again, disappearing back into the dark. You remain as you were for a moment more, your arm still outstretched as you watch its retreating back with terrified wonder.

“Yrsil.” Geralt’s voice drags you back to the present, and suddenly you are aware of how close he is to you, the way his warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. “The she-wolf. Her name is Yrsil.” You jump away from him, smoothing your hands down your shift as you eye him warily.

“Why did you bring me here?” The accusatory note in your voice appears to amuse him, further stoking your ire. “To frighten me?”

“If I wanted you fearful, I would not have needed the kennels to do it.” You clench your fists, glaring hatefully at him as he resumes his casual pace across the cavern floor. “Come, now. This is the quickest way back to the eastern wing of the castle. I would not lie to you.” You glare at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Would you not?” You reply dryly.

“I am many things, Princess.” Geralt’s voice drips into your ears like snake oil. “But liar is not one I am eager to add to the list.”

True to his word, the two of you emerge from the kennel entrance in the throne room, the hot musk of below sticking uncomfortably to your skin and hair. You half expect the prince to take his leave, now that you are back in familiar territory, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with you all the way back to your chambers. The heavy door is still slightly ajar, no doubt from your midnight venture. The prince places the lit torch in one of the empty wall sconces before leaning expectantly against the wall, his body partially blocking the doorway.

“Excuse me.”

He slowly tilts his head, fixing you with a questioning look. “I do believe there is something you are forgetting, my Lady.” He parrots Kassandra’s tone with irritating accuracy. “I know Redania keeps to the old customs as well as they can, however here in Rivia we do require a certain level of decorum.”

You clench your fists in your nightgown. “What do you want, Geralt?” You ask, exasperated.

“A kiss should suffice, little Doe.” He purrs. His golden eyes burn the same way they did in the gardens the night of your mother’s coronation. You shake your head in disbelief as you stare at him, your lips parted.

“Y-you cannot ask this of me!” Your repudiation is a shrill squeak. “T-tis indecent, w-we cannot—!” You shake your head again. “The king will not allow—”

“I think you will find, little sister,” he reaches forward to trace the pad of his forefinger along your jaw-line, “that it matters not what the king will allow if he is not present. Do you see him?”He pushes your head to the side, forcing you to look down the hallway. “I don’t.” This is the closest Geralt has ever been to you, practically pressing you against the wall, caging you in with his massive arms. You understand now, the message relayed beneath his words—you are in no position to negotiate.

“You are my brother!” You plead, but he is unmoved.

“In name only.” He leans down, twining a lock of hair between his fingers, tugging it gently. “My father’s sham of a marriage has remarkably little to do with me.” You press yourself against the stone as he leans closer. “Come now, little Doe. Let us speak truth.” He tugs gently at the satin ribbon at the neck of your shift and it falls open.

“What you saw in the gardens intrigued you,” Geralt traces a path from your chin to your collarbone, his fingers feather-light, “did it not?”

“No!” His open amusement at your conviction is like cold water down your back.

“I saw, Sweetling,” he says lowly. “The look on your face—”

“Fine!” You shrill, tearing yourself away from him. It is not true, it cannot be—and yet, your blood rushes through your veins, a thin tendril of that same shameful longing uncurling in your belly. The dark curiosity that had driven you to peer around the hedge all those nights ago surges with sinful familiarity, even as you try to stamp it out.

You lean forward with a grimace, rolling onto the tips of your toes. The prince cups your chin, smoothing a finger along your lower lip. He is unprepared for you to turn your head sharply, your lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. It is only the quickness of your movement and Prince Geralt’s own surprise that allows your malicious compliance, and you dart away, ducking under his arm and through the slim gap in the door.

He snarls, reaching for you, but you slam the it shut, sliding the bolt into place with speed that surprises you. Your heart hammers against your chest as for a brief moment, there is silence on the other side of the door.

“Aren’t you clever,” he sneers, his voice muffled through the wood. He tries the handle before letting out a muted curse. “Open the door.” Your silence earns you a dark growl. “Open it!”

You jump back from the door, muffling the sound of your scream with the palms of your hands as Geralt throws himself against it. It shudders in its frame, and for a terrifying moment you fear it will burst open, revealing the enraged prince on the other side—but it does not.

“Open it!” You shrink against the wall as he seethes, his threats echoing in your ears. The sturdy wood holds against his assault, and when he finally stops, you can hear the sound of his labored breathing on the other side. That too, gradually fades into silence, and cautiously, you approach the door. Somehow, though you cannot see him, you know he remains there, waiting.

“You will regret this night.” There is grim promise in his words. “Little sister.” The sound of Geralt’s retreating footsteps makes your shoulders sag with relief, and you collapse against the wall, your breath labored. Though you doubt he is still there, waiting to ambush you in the hall, you do not dare open the door again until morning—

Just in case.

—

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Your mother flutters her fan daintily as she basks in the warm end-of-summer sun. To her right, Lady Amelia, red-faced and sweating beneath her pale face paint, forces a smile through her obvious discomfort.

“Oh yes, Highness.” She blinks as a cloudy bead of sweat slides down into her eye. “Lovely.”

You know the noblewomen fawning over your mother would much rather be inside, sheltered from the hot sun by the cold stone of the castle. It was where you would have been, if not for the summons from your mother. You had spent the majority of the past week or so in your chambers, reluctantly leaving them only when strictly necessary in your attempts to avoid the prince.

The Prince.

At the thought of him, you cast a wary glance at your surroundings, looking for the telltale gleam of his golden eyes, or the shock of his snow white hair. Thankfully, you find neither. Crossing the patch of soft, green grass toward your mother, you perch impatiently on the end of the carved stone bench as you wait for her to notice you. You make idle conversation with her ladies as you wait, twisting your fingers nervously in the fabric of your skirts while you try to parse out your request.

I want to go home.

“Ah, daughter,” she greets you, and you drop your head respectfully as she addresses you. “Come to enjoy the weather?” She gestures around her at the blooming garden. “I daresay we shall miss it soon enough.” She stretches, the jewels adorning her fingers and throat shining brilliantly in the sun.

“It is lovely,” you say, nodding agreeably. “It does remind me of home.” You curse yourself as the word slips from your lips. Instantly, your eyes fly to your mother’s face, watching for the displeasure you know you will see written in the stiffness of her smile or the narrowed slant of her eyes.

“Of Redania, you mean.” The soft curve of her lips belie the dagger sharp edges of her words. The smile you force in return is weak, trembling at the edges of your mouth.

“Y-yes. That is… what I meant to say.” You do not miss the way her ladies lean in amongst themselves, whispering. “D-did you wish to speak with me?” Though the day is unseasonably warm, and you yourself are surrounded by people, you feel small and cold and alone. Adrift.

“Must a mother need a reason to see her child?” She asks, rising gracefully from her seat. One of the servants rushes over with a parasol, but she waves him away, shaking her head. “If a reason must be given, I suppose mine might be that I have missed you.” She loops her arm through one of yours securely, steering you off the patch of cool grass and back onto the garden path proper. The whispers of her ladies follow behind you, biting at your heels they fade.

“I am your mother, and yet I cannot recall when last we broke bread together.”

“I have found myself quite exhausted, of late,” You mumble the half truth. “I fear the journey weighs heavily upon me still.” You suppress a shudder as you remember the dream, your father’s rotting face bloated with fat maggots—“I have not slept well.”

“Late night escapades do tend to be quite exhausting.” Her lips curve into a cold, knowing smile, and your belly fills with hot lead. Shame turns the blood in your veins to ice as your mother inspects her sleeve. A terrible fury rages beneath the placid surface of her pleasantries, and you cower in the face of it.

“M-mother, I—” The words will not come, leaving you floundering as your mouth opens and closes in silence. “H-he—”

“Did you think I would not see it?” She spits. Disgust drips from the words. “Would not notice his...” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twists with displeasure. “Interest.” You swallow against the lump in your throat, knowing it matters not but still wondering who might have seen, who might have witnessed Prince Geralt raging at your door.

“Mother, I-I swear to you, I have done nothing—! H-he, I—I walked in my sleep, a-and he found me, I—nothing happened!” You hate the look on her face, like your pleas of innocence have only confirmed your guilt. “Nothing—”

“Nothing?” Her lip curls. “You must know these games you play, all they have done is pique his interest.” She speaks as though somehow, you should have known better. “Men are stupid, willful creatures, desirous of what they cannot have.” She clucks her tongue at you. “Your father coddled you far too long—you are a woman grown! It is long past time you act like it!”

“Father would believe me!” You sob. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks. “I am innocent!” Your mother stares at you coldly, before reaching forward to cup your chin.

“It is not your innocence I question.” Your mother’s voice is deceptively soft. “It is your sense.” You blink at her through your tears, trembling. “My sweet, naive girl.” She wipes roughly at your tears with the pad of her thumb. The cold distance in her eyes splits you cleanly down the middle like a sharp blade. There is part of you that wants to fawn, to deliver honeyed words on a platter until her love shines down on you again like the sun—

And part that wants nothing more than to flee. You want to ask—no, beg—for her to send you home, to return you to the walls you knew better than the lines on your own palms. Your mother embraces you, her lips brushing your cheek even as your own work silently. The words won’t come, like they are stuck in your throat.

“There should be only honesty between us.” Your mother says. “Understand?”

I want to go home.

Send me home.

Please.

“Yes.” You hang your head in defeat, the words retreating from your tongue.

“Good.” She chirps as she leans away. She is herself again, smiling affectionately as she brushes imaginary dirt from your dress, tucking loose strands of hair back into your fraying braid. “And you’ll tidy up for supper, won’t you? We have missed you at the table these past nights.” You clasp your hands together so tightly that your palms sting as you force a smile.

“Of course.”

For a moment, just a moment, the warm breeze carries with it the smell of rot and earth, and you remember the doe, your father’s gift dead and bloated in the patch of hexweed in the woods.

It smells like sugarcane, but it isn’t, your father had taught you young. It smells sweet, but it’s not, understand?

Perhaps, you think, as you reluctantly follow your mother’s retreating back, people can be hexweed too.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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simonrillleyyysss · 2 months

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soap and gaz fawning over and doting on angel!reader…. they just think she’s the prettiest!! they love to pet her wings and play with her hair😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫and she can’t understand why their touches make her feel all fuzzy and tingly

ughhh!!!

cw; implied nonconsensual touching/groping at the end!!

angel is so sweet, too considerate and humble to say no when soap asks to neaten out your pretty wings, helping you preen them with his thick fingers, complimenting you throughout! he’s so nice to you, giving you little trinkets he finds—like a crow to a nest, bringing you back pretty rocks and watching your lips part in adoration!

‘oh—that one is so shiny!’

‘aye? found it jest’ fer’ y, gorgeous.’

‘let me put it with the others.’

if something reminds you of him, he’s immediately bringing it to you—golden retriever much?? jack russell? literally a working dog. see, get, bring.

gaz loves playing with your hair—it feels so supernatural!(it is, in some sense,) he’s obsessed! constantly braiding it while you’re all in the common area, sitting watching a movie? he’s putting the hair into pretty plaits, or twirling loose strands around his fingers while you and price are talking.

‘you have amazing hair, angel.’

‘oh—thank you, garrick!’

even better when they’re both there, mactavish helping you zip up the back of your dress for the formal event, kyle making you tie his tie for him:((

you think there’s something wrong when your clit starts throbbing at the constant doting!! kyle could pat your thigh encouragingly and you would pray that night about the lustful thoughts, or if johnny kissed your cheek appreciatively after teaching him how to do skincare?? you’re panicking!!

when kyles hands start groping at your breasts while he leans over your shoulder to pull mactavish into a sloppy kiss, spit and tongue—and johnnys cock humps against your clothed arse, why are you acting shocked? didn’t you want this? don’t try n push them away now, sugar!

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zeldasnotes · 1 year

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ASTRO OBSERVATIONS PART 21☃️

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Check out my masterlist for more astrology observations⋆꙳‧͙ ･:*:｡

Pisces Suns looks like they put lipgloss on their eyes, so shiny and glossy.

People love watching people with Venus in the 10th house. They are the ones most likely to do vlogs, people just love watching them do anything. Sooo likeable.

Having a Plutonian Venus guarantees attention from their prefered sex. Wheter the attention is good or bad depends on other factors in the chart.

Leo Moons are usually the most insecure out of all Leo placements. Leo Venus is the most confident.

People with Squares to Neptune can be the biggest copycats. They can see a beautiful picture of a model and one day later they post a pic of themselves posing the exact same way in the same hairstyle

Moon in the 11th house can be addicted to social media.

Mercury Sextile Venus have the cutest voice😍(Mercury can only be conjunct or sextile venus btw)

You might have a hard time understanding the nature of the element you lack in your own chart. For example someone with no earth might find earthdominant to be boring, too serious or too quiet. While someone with no fire finds firedominants too loud, arrogant, oversocial and egoistic. Someone with no water could find waterdominants too sensitive and easily butthurt. Someone with no air could find airdominants too shallow, gossipy and fake.

Libra Moon and Venus are the ones most likely to show without saying a word when they find someone ugly. So shallow. Unless they have a lot of water influence.

Men with Mars in Leo have the most beautiful beard.

I still dont get why but I know 3 men who are OBSESSED with Nicki Minaj and they all have Moon Square Mars in their natal charts, could just be a coincidence tho.

Speaking of Nicki Minaj she got Venus conjunct Lilith which explains why her videos are so sexual in nature and in a way that no others artist does.

Chiron conjunct Sun,Venus or Mars gives a special kind of charisma. Its a mix of being vulnerable and down to earth that makes people love to be around them. People feel like these people understand them.

A lot of people with Fixed placements listens to music all the time like as soon as school/work is over they put those airpods in.

A womans Mars or Venus Square a mans Ascendant can make her feel like he is not manly enough. She might not like how he handles conflict, doesnt see him as ambitious enough etc.

Just like a woman with Venus conjunct Chiron doesnt feel like a ”real” woman and feels like shes not feminine enough a man with Mars conjunct Chiron doesnt feel like he is ”man enough”.

I noticed that most people who have their Juno conjunct my planets or vice versa are people who I look good besides. The way we dress matches, our height and body language matches which made us look like a married couple.

Ive seen Lilith in the 2nd house be a common placement in people who have a fixation with food.

Everytime ive seen someone with extremely attractive lips they either had Lilith in the 2nd house or personal planets in Aries.

People with Sun aspecting Lilith were usually made to feel less important by their father. Thats why their ego might seem huge to others. They will always choose themselves and they will always make choices that benefits themselves.

People with a Plutonian Venus have people talking about their appearance a lot. I see influencers and famous people with this have people going crazy in their comment section over any change in appearance.

Gemini Mercury have a thing for mindgames.

Cancer Mercury are so nostalgic and love old memories and they love when they bump into an old friend from years ago.

Virgo Mercury dont notice how criticizing and negative they sound. They dont mean to harm anyone they just see every tiny detail.

Libra Mercury either disagrees with everything because they constantly see the other side of things or they are that person who always agrees.

Scorpio Mercury likes to test people.

Sagittarius Mercury puts their foot in their mouth. And the ones with Pluto conjunct Mercury are just horrible, sorry.

Neptune 1st house 🤝 Having obsessive stalkers.

Scorpio Mars 🤝 Pretending to forgive people so that they dont see it coming.

Taurus Moon 🤝 Keeping your circle small.

Scorpio Moon 🤝 Wanting their friendgroup to be like a sect

Venus in Libra 🤝 Hating on ugly people

Libra Rising 🤝 Spending 5 hours on your makeup

Virgo Sun 🤝 Giving advice that nobody asked for.

Sagittarius Moon 🤝 Breaking rules

Buy me a coffe or book a reading on KO-FI☕️

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #lilith #ascendant #lilith aspects #asteroids #birth chart readings

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yourdoorisunlocked · 6 days

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I'll Never Meet Another You - Part 3

📺 【 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 】📺

𝐀/𝐍: *coryxkenshin ass entrance* Hey! W-Wassup? *sweats uncomfortably* It's been a while...

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: Obsession, stalking, Boss/Favored Employee, manipulation, Vox having no sense of boundaries, but you don't notice because you're too busy fangirling lmao ➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏,𝟖𝟔𝟖

. . .

The commotion of rushing employees, frantic in their pace to their respective workplaces and office buildings nearly dizzied you on your way to the tallest building in the Entertainment District. Neon luxury bathed every street of the promiscuous sector, composed of streets filled with depraved Sinners, and had your wandering eyes widened with awed stars.

You had attempted to put more confidence into your steps as you walked around the district, trusting your phone to lead you to the Vee’s main headquarters, despite being slightly shaken by your surroundings.

But you were determined to keep up the facade of not being too shifty, shy, or ready to bolt. It wasn’t like you even could bolt, anyway. You’d missed your morning shift, and God only knows what would happen to you if you returned to that diner...

The soft whirring of an overheated camera barely caught your attention, as you were so wrapped in your own little world to notice how the lens adjusted to look directly at you, glaring down at you as you walked.

The cameras set above the entire city, unbeknownst to cute, quaint little you, had zeroed in on your form since your arrival, wearing a large overcoat – slightly worn, but suitable – over the delicious little outfit that had one demon in particular frothing at the mouth.

He couldn’t wait to pick out his own little outfits for you to wear, all tailored to match him and his tastes. Just imagining his cute, future wife clad in the dresses that housewives would wear in his time was enough to send the demon into complete overdrive.

Vox was already walking around the halls in a calm frenzy as soon as you slammed the door to your apartment, with your filled-out application in hand. His nerves wouldn't allow him to sit still, not for a moment, not while his dearest was out there, on the streets for any to grab!

He had even watched with growing tension as you debated over whether you should go to the interview, to which he nearly activated his hypnotism to just push you out the door and into his arms already-!

Vox cleared his throat. No need to lose his patience, now. You were here, in his domain. No other unworthy scum of a Sinner could snatch you up, now.

Besides, you put in so much effort to impress your future husband boss, shouldn’t he do the same for you?

. . .

“Are you deaf, or just that fucking ᵾꞩēłēꞩꞩ?” Vox barked to the nearest intern, watching them with pure contempt as they shuddered under his icy glare.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir! I’ll put in an a-appointment with her right away!”

“Good. Clear my schedule of other meetings for now, and have my office prepared for my appointment.”

Shock dawned on the intern’s face, but before another moment passed, he stuttered pitifully, “Uhm, could I get her name, S-Sir?”

Antenna sparking impatiently, Vox allowed your name tumble softly from his lips. No trace of malice from his exhausted frustration poisoning his words.

The tension in his padded shoulders loosened just ever so slightly, before he snapped again at the young trainee, who was blinking dumbly up at him with his mouth agape.

He’d never seen his boss so calm... It set the hairs on his neck to stand on-end.

“You got that?”

The intern jumped, glasses nearly falling off his nose as he frantically jotted down your name. “Got i-it!”

With that, he quickly scampered away to let his other staff members aware of the boss’s new assistant, a shiny toy that innocently wandered the streets of Hell without a care in the world. He prayed for whatever poor soul managed to catch his employer's ever-watching eyes.

Vox rolled his eyes with a disgusted groan before starting again down the hallway. Fluorescent lights bloomed ahead of him, setting a pale, neon path of electric teal and offices stretching literal miles until the nearest elevator.

He probably shouldn’t have left such an important task to some incompetent underling, but there was too much on his plate to deal with it, for now. He had a date meeting with a lovely little doll to prepare for.

For every section of the Vee’s tower, there was a flair completely unique to each member, whether that be Velvet’s more glamourous, chic wardrobe of bone-thin, overworked models, Valentino’s debauched studio simmering with lust around every corner, or the advanced, technologically-inclined office floors where Vox normally dwelled.

Floors that you would rule over, seated comfortably next to him.

Pointed dress shoes, tipped with cyan flared blue sparks against the polished marble floors like the very electricity the Overlord emitted. Had anyone walked past Vox in that moment, the hairs on the back of their necks and arms would have risen in tandem with the crackling energy that tainted the frigid air.

There was very little in Vox’s afterlife that brought him comfort, but he couldn’t help but find solace in the thought of you rushing down the streets of the Entertainment District, simply to make it on time to your appointment with him.

Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he had you in his clutches. Like a naive little lamb to the slaughter, you trusted him with your very soul.

And, no doubt, that would very soon belong to him, too.

Vox nearly blue-screened at the thought of a chain around your neck, emblazoned with his name, electric-blue and sparking against your tender skin. He could feel the light buzzing around his cheeks that flared up in a soft lavender-pink against his interface.

Just then, the equivalent of hairs rising on the back of Vox's neck came in a series of light sparks tickling the outlets on the back of his head.

“Voxxy~!”

Ӻᵾȼҟīꞥꞡ-

Immediately fixing his grimace, Vox swerved around on his heel with the most tooth-grinding smile he could muster, though a twitch of his left eye was a dead giveaway.

Valentino didn't so much as blink at the Overlord's obvious irritation, not at all taking the hint that maybe this wasn't the best time to pester him with whatever the fuck Val was failing to manage now-

"I've been looking for you everywhere, cariño!" The oversized insect said with too wide a smile, too forced a laugh, and Vox knew he was in for an interrogation - either that, or Val was, once again, trying to rope him into bed.

"You've been locked up in that apartment of yours for so long, amour, why don't we relax for a bit~?"

Vox didn't allow Valentino to usher him a single step away from the large window he'd been overlooking the district, wondering which shadow that scurried the streets belonged to you.

And what a sudden appearance, too. If his mind weren't swarming with thoughts of where you could be at the moment, Vox would've been questioning the sudden - and painfully obvious - distraction Valentino was trying to pose.

"I don't have time for that, right now," Vox brushed off his touch with a disgusted glower. "I have a meeting in ten, so it's going to have to wait, Val." He turned to walk away, albeit with his feathers slightly ruffled, but it was nothing that a couple moments spent with you couldn't-

"A meeting?" The moth demon blinked, his eyes adjusting to the blaring lights ahead. Vox was surprised that Valentino had even made an effort to visit him on his floor, since the Overlord was clearly blind out of his wits.

"Hm... Could this have something to do with whatever's been distracting you from your job, recently? Or..." Valentino scowled down at Vox with a narrowed, scrutinizing gaze taking in the sudden tensity in his padded shoulders.

His face curled into a triumphant sneer when Vox stopped dead in his tracks. If there was anything Valentino hated, it was being ignored.

"Or whoever?" Crimson tendrils of smoke blew from the moth's mouth, tainted by his ire. "They're probably a good fuck, if they managed to match up to your standards," with another smokey drag, Val rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Since you won't take any of my whores."

"Ɇӿȼᵾꞩē ᵯē?"

White-hot electrical currents climbed up Vox's throat, spreading through his fingertips and zapping at the antenna of his hat. He glared up at Valentino through glitching red eye sockets, daring him to overstep further.

The moth hid a heated shiver underneath Vox's murderous gaze, his glitching eyes sharpened, poisonous blades slitting into his skin at the mention of you.

Oh, you... You were different, weren't you? Not just some cumdump for Vox to use and abuse all in one night, nothing like his dolls that would return to him, bruised and in hysterics because of what Vox did to them.

No. You were special to him. The very thought made Valentino's blood seethe.

"You are certainly one to talk about being distracted."

The porn director took no offense to Vox's insinuation, already as comfortable as he could be with the knowledge that it was the television demon who took reign of the strings.

With overflowing confidence, He simply crossed his arms with a venomous smirk, jutting his hip out beneath one of his lower arms.

Val's way of blowing off steam would one day surely get him brutally murdered. By his own fellow Overlord, no less.

"Aw, did I touch a nerve there, Voxxy~?"

And Vox was two seconds away from ripping the insect apart.

"Don't ӻᵾȼҟīꞥꞡ test me right now-"

"Sir?"

A small, agitating buzz coming from the installed intercom on Vox's face further tipped the overflowing bucket of his impatience. Yet another idiotic distraction from you, another obstruction from his darling's side.

With a final, stinging glower shot towards Valentino, and a non-committal grunt, his claw gave a single tap to the now prominent phone icon on the side of his face.

"Go manage one of your sluts, Val. Maybe actually do your fucking job, for a change."

Vox spared no glance to the moth, but a spiteful scoff and the clicking of back-breaking heels stomping away from him gave enough closure.

"Ӻᵾȼҟīꞥꞡ ⱳħⱥⱦ?" The noxious growl of Vox practically grinding his teeth into the intercom sent jolts of spiking electricity down the employee's spine.

Fuck, this must've really not been a good time to bother him.

The employee huffed as sweat formed at his brow. He mustered up the courage to speak again after feeling as if his tongue would be cut out, should he utter a syllable.

Maybe give Vox the coffee with the sweeter creamer, next time.

"Well, uhm... The lady you wanted me to set up an appointment for... S-She's already here, sir."

Every ounce of bottled-up fury dissipated. Like a sudden, Godsent sunlight bursting through thunderous clouds, the storm in Vox's mind suddenly evaporated into thin air.

Vox tried to grasp his once boiling-hot, downright murderous fury, but the mention of you had stolen every bit of attention he had to spare. Only one emotion - or a muddle of them, really - managed to seep through his voice, into a single syllable.

Shock, surprise, disbelief, jittering excitement, and then...

"What?"

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: So, I know its been *checks calendar* (fucking hell- TWO MONTHS??) a while since I've updated this fic, but I swear there is a perfectly reasonable, understandable explanation.

The Vox brainrot has failed me, and I've been indoctrinated into the Welcome Home fandom (do expect some fics about WH btw) ANYWAYS! enough rambling, thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you next time :)

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid.

@slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am, @ashdaidiot, @crybabycat1, @repostingmyfavs, @crazii-saber-wolf, @reikamasama, @dudesorriso, @speckle-meow-meow, @alastor-simp.

@maggotzdilemma, @cassidywinters, @justgiulia, @lucifers-silhouette, @going2hell4hazbin, @martinys-world

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #yourdoorisunlocked #yandere vox x reader #hazbin vox #GUYS IK IT'S BEEN A WHILE

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bubuslutty · 9 months

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Pirate!Captain Price au (nsfw ver)

word count: 1.2k

tags: nsfw, f receiving, p in v, making out, spitting, skinny dipping, mentions of public sex (nobody gets caught tho)

warnings: kidnapping

a/n: I tend to go on a tangent with the story telling n lore instead of sticking to John fucking. ANWAY. I love him and if you also love him and have silly thoughts abt him and his boys, send me an ask, or comment, or reblog, whatever you want 💙

pirate!captain Price fucks like he's trying to kill you, with determination and pure hunger for it. He's a man on a mission, and nobody can stop him from getting what he wants.

Captain Price has wicked hips and a filthy walk, he's hot and he knows it. He's so comfortable in his skin, scars, fat, muscles, freckles and all. His movements are confident yet relaxed. He appears to be so sure of himself without doing anything, just standing there and people hate him for it. How infuriating is a man with such charm and confidence decided to become an outlaw, a pirate of all things.

So he knows how to use those hips, pounding his sweetheart on the mattress and making her wail and scream for him with how good he's making her feel.

pirate!captain Price has ridiculous core strenght, he could fuck his sweetheart for hours, rolling his hips against hers like he was born to fuck her. And he's so fucking filthy with it as well, "Too much for you? Should I slow down, sweetheart? hm?"

And slow down he does, rolling his hips deep deep in her guts, forcing her to listen to the filthy squelch that resonats in his Captain's cabin everytime their hips meet. And he has a dumb smile on his lips, obsessively watching where they meet between her legs.

And you better believe he'll kiss his pretty lady like he wanted to drink her up, he's nasty and it would be embarrassing to call what he's doing to her kissing, not even making out can cover how sinful he's with his mouth and tongue.

Pirate!Captain Price, when he's in a mood he'll even spit in her open mouth, holding her pretty face in his bigger, rough and scarred hand, then spitting right in her tongue, and he watches how her eyes roll at the back of her head and she moans loudly, swallowing his little offering.

He's also big on eating her out, be in his cabin, outside on the deck in the middle of the night under the stars, where anyone can catch them, or in a dark alleyway behind a pub. And because he has a beard, he likes to get it absolutely drenched and leave his sweetheart's inner thighs all red from the friction.

And he doesn't mind when she whines how much her inner thighs are bothering her, he just has a smug smile on his lips and apologizes with a coo, placing a wet kiss to her forehead and cheeks, and deep down he's not really sorry, but for his sweetheart, he'll coo and coddle until she melts over and over again in his arms.

Pirate!Captain Price barley kidnaps rich folks in exchange for ransom money from their rich family. If he has an excuse to dress his sweetheart in the finest of clothes, he would take it without hesitation.

So she's the one who sneaks in a ball, so she can later open the gates for them so they can sneak in, rob the place while everyone is busy dancing and then kidnap the wealthiest person in there.

And of course she's dressed in blue, John's favourite colour, the colour of the sky and the sea. Her dress is shiny, made out of silk and fabrics only found in far, far away countries, that even rich folks struggle to get, but not pirates, pirates can get their hands on anything if they tried hard enough.

She's wearing a layered blue gown, the sleeves long, with her whole neck, collarbone and a generous chunk of her chest exposed, and she looks so so beautiful, her hair half up, decorated with pearls and gold. And she's quickly stealing everyone's attention, coyly tucking a stray strand of hair behind one of her ears with a gloved hand.

She's invited to dance by many people, and she makes up elaborate stories about being a foreign Duchesse, laughing and giggling at stories and anecdotes she's been told, forgetting for a moment she was an outlaw, a criminal, who stabbed her to-be-husband right through the heart on their wedding day.

When the job is done, she returns to their ship on horseback, laughing in delight with John's men.

When the kidnappee is tied and locked in the basement, they sail away and celebrate with music and drinks of their own.

Sometime in the same night, Price's sweetheart is running and giggling on the ship, chased by Price, who's trying to catch her, still dressed like a dream. And she gasps and swoons when he catches her in his arms.

She acts like she's trying to fight him, wiggling in his arms and telling him, "Let me go, you pirate! I'm a woman of honor and dignity!"

Price tickles her and she laughs, trying to slip away, and he has his arms securely wrapped around her waist, breathing the perfume she sprayed on her neck in, sighing in pure bliss.

"You're mine now." He speaks against her naked shoulder, placing a wet kiss on the skin.

"I'm not yours! Let me go or the Royal Navy shall have you hung!" She threatened, turning in his arms and pushing his chest away.

"Hm, no. Finders keepers." He hums and pulls a string that kept her corset securely tied around her body, and when she felt it getting loose she squealed and crossed her arms over her chest, "John!"

"What? You'll be naked by sunrise, I'm just speeding this up." John says, shrugging while wearing a small smirk, "You've got a problem with that?"

"If that's the case, let me help." John's sweetheart says, wearing a smirk of her own and starts undressing right there on the deck, while his men are still having a party not far off, the only privacy they've had was the shadow of the Captain's cabin and nothing else.

"What are you doing?" John asks, looking over his shoulder and panicking a bit because as much as he enjoyed fucking his love where they could get caught, he still made sure nobody was around, and if someone happened to pass by, he'd use his body to shield her away. But this, this was madness, any of his boys would just turn around and see her standing there naked, glowing under the moonlight like a siren.

The only things she still had on was her pearl earrings and a necklace John gifted her a while back. "Come swim with me." She offered, smiling and still fucking standing there naked with her clothes a puddle to her feet.

John gulped and decided to just get naked as fast as possible while she watched him, and when he was done, she tiptoed to where he was standing, cupped his cheek and placed a kiss to his lips.

And before his fingertips could graze her skin, she pulled away and dived into the open cold sea.

Fuck this.

John dived right behind her, controlling his breathing and taking a deep breath when he resurfaced, his body freezing due to the cold water, but he knew his body would soon get used to it. He then felt arms hugging his shoulders from behind, and he grinned when his sweetheart kissed his cheeks with her cold plush lips.

"Did I just see Cap'ain and his bonnie jump in the sea naked?" Johnny said with a frown, cheeks pink due to how much he's drunk.

"Hm?" Simon hummed with his eyes closed next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder.

"Never mind." Johnny said and yawned, scratching his chin and leaning his head on Simon's.

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @silviafantin15 @reveluving @bobastayhigh @originalsimp @h-leigh @gxldyjess @msdrpreist @chaoticevilbakugo @Lacunaanonymoused @whore4dilfs @canadianmilkbag @ahoeformando

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ddarker-dreams · 10 months

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the yan hxh character's favorite types of styles on you.

(warning for some not SFW implications/reader described as fem)

chrollo loves you in classy, elegant, yet formfitting outfits that highlight the silhouette of your body. slim blazers, short pencil skirts, sheer tights, pumps. will be smiling happily to himself if you struggle with heels since you're forced to cling to him, or trip. purposefully gets outfits that are difficult for you to put on by yourself (like having a zipper in the back) so you must begrudgingly call upon him for assistance.

pretends he 'forgot' to include some pants or shorts as potential options but it was 100% intentional. don't believe his lies. he loves anything that reveals your collarbones but not if you're going out. only he gets to see them, no one else. he mostly goes for neutral colors with a heavy emphasis on black, ivory, beige, navy, and sometimes burgundy if he's feeling a bit wild.

as far as accessories go, he favors dangling earrings and choker-length necklaces. you don't get to wear watches anymore because when he last gifted you one, you kept checking it every time he started talking, and it kinda hurt his feelings. he is a fan of you putting your hair up because he loves admiring the muscles of your neck and it grants him easier access for kissing.

(phinks, feitan, machi and paku under the cut)

phinks originally gives you some t-shirts and sweatpants because hell if he knows how to dress a woman. he doesn't want you thinking he's some pervert that kidnapped you purely for sexual gratification — no, there's a deeper connection he's trying to foster with you here. that being said... if he could have it his way, his biggest fantasy is having you wear those tennis outfits. preferably with white or pink colors. he just thinks you'd look really cute. the short, pleated skirt brushing against your thighs, tight polo shirt, a pair of high top tennis shoes; he'd be in heaven. phinks will want to scoop you up and twirl you around or some other romantic-sounding shit.

doesn't really have any preferences when it comes to accessories. his biggest thing is in the colder seasons, seeing you wrapped up in a scarf is super endearing. it makes his heart almost beat out of his chest. jewelry isn't a big deal to him. he'll gift you a fair amount because he figures Woman = Want Shiny Thing (as if you're a crow), but it doesn't do much for him visually. aside from stud earrings with simple designs, like a flower or moon. he thinks that's pretty cute.

feitan doesn't think about fashion much. he literally wears the same thing every day and only washes his bloodstained jacket if you ask nicely (aka plead). he gets you some long shirts and calls it a day. when you ask if you can have shorts or anything similar to that, he silently stares at you. unlike chrollo, it really didn't occur to him. if he's in a good mood he'll pick up what you asked for. probably gets an uncomfortable material or the wrong size but it isn't out of spite, he genuinely has no idea what he's doing.

he discovers by accident that the sight of you in a sheer nightgown is especially appealing. other than that, the only preference he's aware of is seeing you in light colors. it gives you this innocent glow that he finds aesthetically pleasing. the way it further highlights how different you are — pure (by his standards, at least), virtuous — really does something for him. he has a weird obsession with your wrists so he's gotten you a few silver link bracelets. that's the most you get to accessorize should you ever choose to wear them.

machi lets you wear whatever you want and listens to your clothes requests, because she's too embarrassed to admit what she'd find you cute in. no one could get the information out of her, even if it came down to torture. so... what she wants more than anything (drumroll please)... is to see you wearing one of those short overall outfits over a plain shirt. she'd be staring at you as if you were the mona lisa. she has no idea why the concept entices her as much as it does. all she knows is that you'd look fucking adorable and she'd commit multiple crimes for you.

she likes you in denim, any color really. jean shorts, ripped jeans, skinny jeans, flared jeans, wide jeans, high waist, low waist; she's all about it. oversized tops are a big favorite as well. extra points if the sleeves are too long and cover most of your hand. you think she's glaring at you but in reality she's trying so hard to keep her fraying mind in check.

pakunoda has you looking runway ready whenever she takes you out. the woman did research. a lot of what you wear is tailored specifically to your complexion, body type, facial structure, etc. she enjoys high fashion and has procured pieces made by the biggest names. most of what's in your closet is either wool, pure cotton, or silk. it looks and feels luxurious. she favors seeing you in jumpsuits or maxi-length dresses. coordinating outfits is a favorite of hers, she has color theory down and you both look stunning together. around the house (or wherever she's keeping you), you're free to dress as you please. you both have matching house slippers and robes.

accessories will depend on the season, but you can expect to be wearing sleek sunglasses and the occasional hat. for jewelry, she goes for her birthstone, diamonds, and gold. nothing too ostentatious though. she keeps it classy. while she'd love to see you in stilettos, if you can't walk in them well, she'll go for flat pumps instead.

#yandere chrollo x reader #yandere phinks x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere machi x reader #yandere pakunoda x reader #phantom troupe x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #concepts

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alavestineneas · 4 months

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Glass and mirrors

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one. warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of mental illness, narcissism, blonde men who need therapy, unhinged women, people in shitty relationships and toxic industries word count: 4.6k PART TWO IS HERE

author's note: Hello and welcome to our small community of people who have fallen victim to the charming (and evil) blonde man! This fic is heavily inspired by the edits of models that pop up on my ticktock feed every day. Shout out to them and the talented editors who bless my eyes with their creations. As for YN this time, prepare to be on quite a ride because she, surprise-surprise, is evil! In my head, there has to be at least one victor who feels no remorse at all; they can't all be morally good (and relatively sane) people. Also, the obsession with beauty in this fic is, in fact, intentional, so bear with me. Feel free to comment or insult the author in the comments, but only if you are creative with it. Enjoy and see you in part 2!

In all of her short childhood, she always loved mirrors. Her grandma used to joke about it with her old friends while they shared lunch at the factory: ''That empty-headed child wants to do nothing but stare at herself all day.'' The women would laugh, their raspy voices making the glid, already filled with toxic fumes to the brim, hotter. YN didn't mind; she would pretend not to hear them, clinging to the machinery in front of her instead. She would get out of here sooner or later, and she'd see whose laughter would be left echoing all through the narrow streets.

She wasn't born to rot in this place like these people were; YN was sure of that. Not with a face like hers, with manners she taught herself from the bright magic box in their cramped commune apartment, where a few times a year the government played the show. It was supposed to be a punishment, YN reminded herself each time, but it didn't look like one. She watched the children eat more food than she had seen in a month and then cry on the stage in front of millions. She wouldn't cry if she was there, that was for certain. People die every day here, but none of them get to dress up in the jewels provided by the wealthiest people she has ever seen.

It was funny how they had all the money in the world and still chose to dress so horribly. Mismatched fabrics and smudged colours on their faces, like the colours of the lake near her house—the factories polluted it with dyes, turning the water green, purple, and sometimes even pink. That's how she got her old grey dress to be such a pretty lavender colour. It didn't matter that everyone at school laughed at her, even Miss Kyla; she was horrendously ugly anyway, her hair resembling the colour of unwashed underwear. YN wore her dress with pride, mimicking the voice of the funny multicolour-haired man on the screen, chatting with long o's and a's.

That's how she ended up here, on the first floor of the newly renovated training centre, with a drink in her freshly manicured hand. She had two hours before her stylists would need her again—a time designated for sleep, which she apparently so greatly lacks. YN doesn't care; she went without sleep for much longer than two days. Instead, she does what she loves the most—turns on a shiny screen and watches the golden letters appear: the 15th Annual Hunger Games.

It starts with reaping, as always, but YN skips that part—she doesn't like seeing herself in those dirty rags, although, as papers would later state, ''nothing could make this girl ugly, even if a potato sack was put on her body.'' She likes interviews better. Luckily, the wait is not very long; soon enough, her favourite host pops up, his hair shimmering with sea green.

''And now, our dear viewers, I am more than pleased to announce our next tribute from District 1—please let her hear how excited we are to meet her!'' His voice booms through the theatre as the crowd erupts into applause.

YN moves gracefully, a beaming smile on her face matching that of a host. Her gloved hands wave at the supposed people in front of her as if they were guests at her birthday party. But most importantly, dress. The one she chose herself, arguing over it with her stylist for the last few hours, the one that fitted her perfectly. Capitol enough to appeal to the audience, district enough to highlight that she isn't one of them—she is something new, undiscovered, and worth keeping an eye on. It's almost not a dress at all—the sparkling, sheer fabric of beautiful white, with stars gathering at her chest and bottom to finish the ''almost naked'' look. And the crowd goes crazy for it. People shout, and the splashes of the cameras blinding her create a new melody that is so unfamiliar to YN's ears. Admiration. The thing she craved for so long.

''Alright, alright,'' Lucky Flickerman smiles, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. ''We don't want to scare her off now, do we?'' He turns to her, a microphone in hand. ''What's your name, sweetheart?''

''YN Y/L/N. And I am afraid you can't scare me off, no matter how hard you try. The thing is, I am here to stay,'' she jokes, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.

''Oh, how I love your confidence! Now tell me—we heard you are a volunteer—the first in the history of District 1! Are there any special ties to the girl who was supposed to stand here tonight, or what's going on?''

''Well, I was dying to see you in person, of course—no pun intended.''

Oh, there weren't any ties to the girl, or the boy, for that matter. No, YN simply wanted to go at her peak chance of winning—countless years of secret preparation in the factory; working a night shift after school and full days of weekends; hours of studying every plant and animal known to mankind—all to ensure that she wouldn't waste her chance like most kids here did.

''That's an honour coming from your lips; we are happy to see you in the Capitol, Miss Y/L/N. Since you came here by choice, what strategy are you planning on using in the arena? Maybe something tied to your district's craft?''

''If you promise to keep this between us, I'll confess—I will use my charms to make everyone fall in love with me and watch them fight by promising the winner a kiss—and then I will take it from there.'' YN turns to face the lights, staring directly into the camera for a few seconds. The crowd laughs once more, some going so far as to cheer and whistle in excitement. ''But in all honesty, I think I have a fair shot—I would win in a day if it meant the unlimited supply of those amazing cupcakes with sprinkles on top.''

''Well, in that case, you should definitely get a good rest this night—you are not the only one who got your eye on them! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the Cupcake Games tomorrow, and don't forget to sponsor this lovely girl right here if you want to see her win! And now, a short word from our sponsors.''

Cupcake jokes are still funny to her, even after two years, although she got sick of them a week after her victory and was just as sick of all the titles papers came up with to fit her into the candy girl box. It served her well, for which she is grateful; the sponsors did send her a shitton of things, although mostly useless.

Next is the introduction of everyone else; YN doesn't care to look at it for more than just a few seconds, speeding it up to maximum. It's boring to no end—how do Capitolees watch it every year with such excitement? She stops to look only when her face appears on the screen, covered in crimson blood.

She counted six canons when she finally stopped to take a breath in and look at her surroundings. That was about right, although YN didn't count how many times she pulled a knife out of somebody's still-warm body and lurched into another nearby. The sand soaked up the blood fast, she noticed, stepping over the pile of what used to be her competitors and walking towards the cone-shaped something. Nobody in sight—each one of the ''better'' kids is now dead without a chance to kill each other, to kill her, and ''others'' will die like flies under the hot sun of what looked like a desert. YN noticed that some even left behind the given jackets; she collected them before stepping into the Cornucopia, claiming them as her own. Not everyone grew up in hot factories, she thought to herself, so they have no chance of knowing how cold it gets at night.

YN doesn't like how the uniform looks on her; the T-shirt hangs around her frame too loosely. It's evident that she didn't eat enough back then, but it was tolerable. The dried blood looked worse; with her stoic face and eye colour, the streams looked too grotesque, almost unserious; it didn't fit the look she was going for. Her hands itch to wipe it before YN remembers that it's non-existent now—the girl on the screen is just a recording. She forwards a little more, looking for the commentary of the first night from the hosts—their excitement and praise never get old—but hears knocking at her door just as she is about to press play. YN glances at the clock—it's too early for the prep team, so it must be someone else—and turns off the TV just to be sure she heard it right.

When the knocking continues, she shouts a quick ''Come in,'' after checking her reflection on the now dark screen. ''Ah, Maggie!''

''How many times do I have to repeat that my name is Mags, not Maggie? Not Mags with fangs either, to be clear. Just Mags.''

''But everyone calls you that! And I want to be special,'' YN whines, laying back on the sofa.

It's Mags. YN likes Mags. Mags is the only girl besides her on the victors' list. Mags is the one who is always down to eat lunch together or to watch the new collection in the magazines. She is funny and down to earth, and, most importantly, Mags doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

''Even more special?'' Mags smiles, opening the fridge to look for something edible. There isn't much; they both know that YN would never eat something to ruin her figure. ''I saw your photoshoot on the street today. It's beautiful.''

''Thank you,'' YN smiles. She doesn't remember which one of her campaigns was supposed to air today, but it doesn't matter. ''Are you here for the promo again?''

The curly-haired woman nods, not looking up from the shelves. ''I hate it. I wish they would just leave me alone, so I can go home and forget about all of this.''

YN is always weirded out by such comments from Victor from 4 but never says anything. Not everyone was born to be in front of the camera; if that were the case, her talent wouldn't be so special anymore. ''It's our job, Maggie. They'll never leave us alone.''

''I know.'' Mags sighed, planting her body on the sofa beside her.

They are different, but YN thinks it's better that way. They are the same age, both 20, and that's about the only thing that ties them together. YN watches as her friend's chest rises and falls as she stares at the ceiling, her long, curly hair in some type of twist. YN would never style it like that, but Mags doesn't ask, so she stares at her in silence, trying her hardest not to compare them. She knows what type of conclusion will sparkle in her brain, but she doesn't want to admit it. Mags is her friend, her only good friend, so something inside YN fights hard to leave her alone. It's an unusual feeling, almost foreign, but YN wants to make an exception. She thinks Maggie deserves it.

''Are you okay?'' the woman asks her, finally snapping out of her trance. ''You are less talkative than usual.''

''Oh, yeah—just a little tired from work, that's it.''

Work. It's not the type of work people can really get tired from, and if anybody thinks otherwise, they never worked a day in District 1. Sometimes, YN can still feel the burning cloud of steam hitting her face when she closes her eyes. The work she does in Capitol is child's play—photoshoots, interviews, promotional campaigns, and runways. She is the only one with this kind of hectic schedule, the only one who is interesting enough for the general public to want to see her everywhere they go. Multiple shows a day wasn't uncommon; photoshoots until five a.m. were basically her usual routine; she did so many of them that she never remembered the brand name for more than an hour.

''Well, I hope I don't interrupt your me-time,'' Mags notes. ''Panem knows you need it. ''

''You worry too much about me. Better tell me about how life is in 4—anything new?''

There is probably nothing exciting, but it feels nice to listen to somebody talk with such love for their home as Mags does. It's also a great opportunity. YN catches every subtle expression and every movement of her friend with attentive eyes, making sure to parrot them later. She noticed from the recording today that her speech misses a certain effortlessness.

Curl and twist, curl and twist—YN has learned the pattern by now, sitting in front of the gigantic mirror, surrounded by a team of stylists. Hair, make-up, nails, and toes—five people work hand in hand for her to appear for two minutes on the long podium. The backstage is loud, and a lot is going on—last-minute changes, alterations, and quick touch-ups. YN doesn't bother to look around; she closes today like a face of the collection, and after she is done with this podium, the day is finally coming to an end.

''Oh, YN, darling, here you are!'' The bald man in his forties appears on the horizon of her peripheral vision, clasping his unnaturally white hands together. ''How are you doing, my little star? Anything you need?''

She is irritated to no end; her team booked seven shows for her today; she hadn't had anything to eat in the past six hours; and the loud music makes her head throb. But she doesn't voice any of that—nobody really wants to know how she is feeling.

Just like she guessed, the man doesn't wait for her response. ''There have been some changes in the order today, sweetheart. Jenovia will be closing today, and you will walk in her dress instead,'' the man says, turning to face her styling team. ''Change the hair to fit, and take off the blue in her make-up—it won't match. Good luck!''

''Do what he says,'' YN announces, her mouth twitching just a little. She is furious. To have that blonde bitch Jenovia walk in the best dress of the collection YN inspired? Over her dead body. Or, should she say, over Jenovia's? She will figure it out but do so later. Now there are only four girls before her, so she needs to be ready.

''Three, two, one! Go, go!'' the stage coordinator shouts, opening the curtain for her.

Right and left, hip and hand, followed by the strong clicking of her five-inch heels. The music is even louder here, with the beets vibrating through the runway and pouring into her bloodstream. She doesn't pay any attention to the glass floor underneath her. Surprisingly, her training before games helped her model more than one could guess. YN doesn't see anyone but the blinding lights lining the podium—not that she needs to see the hungry faces of the spectators. It doesn't matter what piece of fabric covers her body; they are looking at who wears it. Final pose at the centre—no smile is her go-to. Hold and turn is the golden rule.

''Here you are!'' One of the seamstresses grabs her hand, pulling her into a small, curtained space with countless clothes on racks. ''Calio wants you to hold a purse for the backstage photo and lose the belt. Where the fuck is the golden belt?'' she shouts, searching for one. ''Wait here; I'll go find it,'' she finally announces, running away before YN has the chance to suggest anything.

YN looks around, carefully moving the laying rags with her foot. She mentally goes over the outfits labelled with names, rating them one by one, until her eyes stop on the white dress. The closing dress, the one she was supposed to model. Underneath it are velvety black high boots.

The idea comes to her mind quickly: she steals a needle from the nearby table and carefully places it inside the shoes, making sure it looks like an accident.

''Finally,'' the woman returns with a belt in her hands, oblivious to YN's half-smile. ''Put it on and go; they are already waiting.''

''Of course, thanks.''

YN isn't sure how much time has passed before she hears a scream, standing up from her place in the corner with a blanket around her exposed shoulders. Surely enough, Jenovia is on the floor, crying crocodile tears—a needle inside her heel deep enough to make a few of the girls around her gag.

''What the fuck happened?'' It's Calio, the boss here; he was ordering her around before.

''I don't know,'' all the blonde girl can manage before bursting into tears one more time.

''Well, can you walk?'' he asks, kneeling to take a look.

''No,'' Jenovia whispers, her hand holding her bloodied foot.

The bald man sighed, more annoyed than concerned. ''We need a replacement. You,'' he points at YN. ''Take it off and change into the dress. Quick!''

YN does what she is told in no time; she doesn't want to wait until Jenovia suddenly gets better or the man finds a better-suited girl to close. After a few minutes, she is almost ready; she only needs the lipstick to finish it off.

''We don't have time!'' the man roars, dragging her to the exit. ''Here!'' He puffs out her hair and adjusts the layers of fake pearls covering her neck. ''Three, two, one! Go, fucking go!''

And go she does. A few steps on the runway, and she discovers that lipstick is still in her hands. YN puts it in the pocket of the enormously large black coat that hides the gorgeous white dress underneath. Step after step, her long black boots draw patterns on the glass. She will have no choice but to buy them; YN doesn't care if it's stupid. They helped her, so she will have them.

It's time for the final pose: YN takes out the lipstick from her pocket and applies it with two swift motions, blowing a kiss to the camera. It will definitely be a hit with the photographers. YN throws one last look before turning around and returning to the curtained exit. On her way back, when the lights lower to follow her back, she can see a little clearer. In the sea of vibrant hair colours and clothes, the platinum-blonde hair and a simple black suit stood out too much not to notice. There is only one person who could afford to look so simple—YN knows it. An opportunity of a lifetime.

She makes another stop in the middle of the podium, right in front of his seat. The coat slides off her shoulders effortlessly, and YN catches it just when the fabric is about to hit the floor. The crowd goes crazy, clapping and whistling at her tricks, but YN has no wish to entertain them any further. YN pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting icy-blue ones, before turning away and finishing the show. There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one.

Since the last show, she has done fifteen more—day after day, opening and closing. Her little trick got her where she wanted to be, with more money than one person could need in a lifetime and nowhere to spend it. Even now, standing in the long hallway of the training centre, she wears nothing she bought herself; all are gifted, sent, or handed by the adoring fans. Like a rag doll, with no say in how she looks or what she does, YN hears everyone say that it was ''a price of fame''. She doesn't think so; she was told what to do long before she tasted real butter on her toast.

The sliding door to her apartment moves almost without noise. While most victors complain that the lock system reminds them of prison, YN is grateful to have it. The thought of some crazy fanatic waiting for her in the dark isn't the most pleasant one. The designer bag finds its place on the floor, soon joined by the coat—room service will clean it up later. The heels slide off her feet quickly, leaving bloodied marks on her skin, but YN doesn't care enough to do something about them.

''Forgive me for joining you without an invitation.''

YN turns around, her hands grabbing the keys in her hands tighter. She mentally goes over her means of escape or fight—a mirror could easily be broken and used as a weapon; if necessary, she could also grab a nearby ottoman. The man in the chair doesn't look too impressed with her thought process. His lips curve into a smile, blue eyes staring at her with undivided attention. A suit, not very different from the one he wore at her show, was a deep brown colour.

''Mister President,'' YN breathes out, lowering her hand.

Coriolanus Snow. Light, almost white hair frames his face like a halo, with his suit hugging his waist just enough to highlight the broad shoulders. YN saw him on TV a couple of times, but seeing him in person was something entirely different. It's like the air shifts around him and changes with his presence.

''I believe we met before,'' he humours her, his eyes shining with mischief.

The light knocking on the door doesn't leave YN any time to answer. She presses a button near it, fixing her hair before opening it. YN tries to look as composed as possible without betraying her nerves—why was he here? ''Yes?''

''The dinner, Ma'am.'' the room service declares, pushing a cart in front of her.

YN nods, even though she didn't order one. ''Leave it here,'' she says, gesturing to the place nearby. When the door closes and she is alone with the man in her room again, her heart skips a beat.

''I took the liberty of ordering; I hope you don't mind.''

Even if she did, she knew better than to say anything. Instead, YN watched as the man stood up and took the dishes from the cart, placing them on the coffee table, before turning to her once more.

''Please, have a seat.''

She does what she is told, sitting down on her king-sized bed—the chair is already taken by him—and waits for the blonde man to start speaking. He doesn't right away, choosing to pour a glass of wine for her and himself.

YN watches the dark liquor pour into the glass, swirling with each drop. She isn't hungry—she rarely was—and the soup he ordered looks more like vomit than a dish, but she still takes the spoon and carefully places it into her mouth. Her lipstick stains the silverware with colour, leaving a small circle right at the end—that's when the man finally decides to speak.

''Dare I say I am a huge fan of your work ethic? Everyone who I've spoken to is very satisfied with your,'' he pauses, searching for the fitting word, ''dedication .''

''Thank you, Mister President,'' YN replies with a polite smile before returning to her soup. She watches him only from the corner of her eye. The way he cuts his steak with his ringed fingers and the way he places a small bite in his mouth before his lips close. There is a subtle roughness in his movements, a power play of some sort.

He catches her gaze and, for a moment, is silent. ''You probably wonder why I am here in the first place, outside of the amazing steak they cook here, of course. The thing is, Miss Y/L/N, that you are popular not only with the general public but with people higher in power as well. One may even say they fell in love with the way you present yourself.''

''I am pleased to know that, Mr. President, but I am only doing my job as a victor.''

''Then you will understand the weight of my dilemma. Those people who have served Panem all their lives faithfully usually don't ask for much recognition; they work because they want to build a better future for all of us. So, when they do ask for a small favour or two, I am more than happy to satisfy them. But recently, all they ask for is you .''

''I believe I don't quite understand. They want to meet me?''

''You can phrase it like that, yes. For a night or two, of course, with all expenses covered.''

It's heavy, the understanding of what Mister President really implies. The thought of someone's hand roaming her body brings her dinner up YN's throat. ''Why?'' Her voice is shakier than she would like, but she is more focused on composing the rising anger than noticing it.

''I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do; I am greatly outnumbered. Unless,'' he starts but doesn't finish his sentence.

''Unless what?''

''Unless you are seen with me.''

His piercing blue eyes look at her, but there is nothing in them. Her chances are limited, and he knows it. There is something rogue in him beneath the veil of chivalry he offers. YN smiles at him. That's what this whole charade was about—he wants her. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the whole world, wants her.

''Of course, Mr. President. That's very generous of you.''

''Mister President is too official, don't you think, Miss Y/L/N? Perhaps we could find a more informal way of addressing each other?''

''Informal?'' YN asks, tilting her head to the side. If he wants her, he'll get her. ''What about Mister Snow?'' The buttons on her shirt are easy to manage—a few quick motions, and it slides off her shoulders onto the cream cover. ''Or, Sir Coriolanus?'' The pants are a little trickier, but YN learned that backstage, every second counts, so they soon also pool around her heels, the fabric hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The blonde man watches her intently, his eyes following every move of her hands. His legs are still spread wide on the lime-green chair as he slightly leans back. YN can't tell if he is enjoying her antics or not, but frankly, she doesn't care; she is enjoying it. The way her shadow dances on the wall, the way the air shifts in the huge room, transforming it into a tiny stage. YN looks at him with mischief, with superiority, even. After all, she is the show here. Why not let Mr. Savior think it is for him?

''Come, Mister Snow,'' she says, throwing it in his face like a bone to the dog.

He doesn't have the haste to join her; on the contrary, he stands up painfully slowly. His tall figure almost seems to stretch as he raises, covering the floor lamp behind him fully. When he finally circles the table to stand above her, his presence is overwhelming. YN lets him stand between her legs, his unusually cold hand on her thigh.

''I prefer Coriolanus,'' he whispers in her ear, lowering himself enough to touch her ear with his velvety lips. He pulls away slightly, planting a kiss on her cheek instead. ''Have a most pleasant night, Miss Y/L/N.''

And then he walks away. YN watches as his figure disappears behind the sliding door before she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze instinctively finds her reflection in the nearby mirror; there is no reason to shine if no one watches her.

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