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babydoll372 · 2 months ago

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Creeper

Pairings: stalker!wanda maximoff x reader

Word count: 1945

Warnings: wanda is really creepy, filming without permission, photo taking without permission, masturbation (r), nude videos, degradation, slight humiliation kink, stalking, obsessive behavior

Some may call Wanda a stalker, some may call her absurd and obsessive, but all she did was embrace her passions. She adored photography, she loved sketching too, but most importantly, she worshiped the very idea of you, and what better way to spend her days than to combine all three? You didn’t know her well, Wanda liked to believe you did but truthfully you barely even knew her first name. The two of you shared an art class at your college, but that was it. What did you know about Wanda? Nothing. What did she know about you? Everything from your name to your home layout.

While at a community college, you lived with your parents in the home that you grew up in, just like Wanda did. Except you two lived five towns away from each other, but she didn’t care, she drove out every single evening to ensure she caught sight of you. When you were sleeping, she’d either ascend into your bedroom and take photos, or she’d linger outside your window and do the same. She had a box beneath her bed at home complete with captivating love notes she wrote to you without ever sending. Photos, artwork, envisions for your future, and so on filled this box. There was no distrust in Wanda’s mind, she had to have you.

She planned her arrival to class that next day, following you from a distance so she could get to class at precisely the correct time to sit next to you. That way she could finally talk to you or simply look at you closer up. Today you were wearing jeans and a cardigan, she couldn’t blame you considering the more frigid fall weather. At one point you removed the cardigan to reveal a plain white t-shirt that was tucked into your pants, making her bite her lip as she obscured her phone by her leg to take a picture and then feigned to use the device to text someone when in reality she was staring shamelessly at you. She had to ask to use the restroom merely to get a breather, and once she returned she vowed to herself that in the next forty-three minutes left, she would muster up the courage to at least emit a word to you. And twelve minutes later, she did.

“That looks really good.” She shyly confessed, peeking at your artwork. If anyone else saw it they’d think it was mundane, but it came from you; it was a jewel to Wanda. You looked over and beamed at her, and the woman swore she nearly fell over in her stool at the way your teeth were just barely detectable, your lips flawlessly plump, and your eyes ostensibly gleaming in line with hers.

“Thank you! What are you making?” There was now a flow of dialogue, just what Wanda needed. She tinkered with her paintbrush as you leaned over a bit to look, and she could get the remotest whiff of your perfume. She didn’t know how to describe what she was making without sounding insane, without telling you the entangled bodies she was painting were meant to resemble what her mind pictured most periods out of the day with you.

“Oh, uh, it- it’s..it’s meant to be a symbol of love between two, uhm..two women..” She tested the waters, wanting to see how you reacted to that information.

“Wow, I would’ve never thought of something like that…can I take a photo once you’re done?” She blushed, quickly bobbing her head in a form of agreement as she truly presumed she saw you look her up and down out of the corner of her eye. You must have, she knew there was a connection between you two.

That night Wanda again left with her camera, setting up in the bushes near your bedroom very uncomfortably, but none of that matters when she witnesses your body via your window. Your room faced layers of woods, trees were the only things that could be found for miles, you thought you didn’t have anything to worry about besides possibly an animal seeing you, which you couldn’t care less about. Little did you know the girl you just spoke to for the first time today was what you had to look out for. She snapped hundreds - thousands of photos as you undressed and got into pajamas. She then watched as you reached into your drawer, grabbing an item you held close to your palm. She furrowed her brows in confusion, observing you set up your laptop as you lay comfortably on your bed and lowered your shorts, displaying a bullet vibrator to be the culprit. She quickly turned the camera on record and didn’t move for the next half an hour as she watched you grow frustrated from a lack of orgasm, and ultimately give up. She was a bit disappointed to not see you reach that stage, yet it only fueled her desire to assist you in getting there.

Her drive was full, all of these photos being transported into the printer for her to store in her secretive box, and the videotape for her to keep in an album in her computer software. She had an entire album dedicated to videos of you - photos too, nothing could be put past her.

On the coming Monday in her art class, she had never been more elated to see you. The prior week the Professor informed the class that the next project would be paired, involving a sketched design between two people, and she had been preparing herself to ask you. She went out and bought some of the perfumes she saw on your nightstand in hopes you’d identify the scent and be lured to her, and she brushed her teeth four times this morning to ensure you weren’t turned off by a foul breath.

“Hey, Y/N!” She internally cursed herself, remembering last class she didn’t ask for your name. She hoped you’d pass it off and, surprisingly, you did. “Do you have a partner yet for the assignment? T-the paired one?”

“Oh, no, I don’t. Do you want to be mine?” You asked with a lifted brow and a slight grin, and for a moment she felt like you could read her every thought; she felt skittish but yet thankful.

“I’d love to! Uhm, maybe we could work on it outside of school? You know, to make sure we don’t fall behind..” She heard a tiny chuckle from you and feared the worst, clasping her lips together as she was ready for rejection.

“Yeah, whatever you think will help us pass. Any day works for me, we’ll go to my place, okay?” She didn’t challenge you for one second, and that proved to be the right move when a few days later she was actually walking into your house in broad daylight for the first time. This time, you were awake, fully conscious, and aware of her presence. She met your parents briefly, ate the food they made, and even went into your room with you - the same room she watched you masturbate in a few nights ago. She couldn’t help but glance at the bed and wonder what else you had done before. Wanda rested her laptop on the soft mattress as she sat alongside you, the two of you pondering between different concepts for the design.

"Can we use your laptop? Mine's dead and charging it will take forever." You groaned at just the reminder alone of the lack of battery you had, and Wanda agreed, although uncertain as she opened the screen and quickly closed all tabs beside one. She held her tightening bladder while you sat next to her, simply just to feel your arm barely grazing against hers, long enough for you two to find the ideal reference. She finally asked to use your restroom and instructed you on how to save the photo. As she left the room you skimmed the 'recent' section of her files to find it, only to click on the wrong PDF. Your eyes widened as you found a photo of you taken from outside of your room, your breasts on display as you were stretching a shirt over your arms. You glanced up to ensure Wanda was still in the bathroom directly across from your bedroom before clicking to the next image, and the next, and the next. Then came a video. You remembered the exact moment recorded, it came from just the other night. When your project partner came back in, her small voice sounded out as she closed the door behind her.

"Did you figure out how to save it?" She sat back down with a small plop, glimpsing over to eye the screen only to quickly haul it away when she recognized what was on it. She was standing again, holding her laptop close to her as her pupils were blown in shock behind her glasses, her face reddened. "I- I can explain, I swear!" She proclaimed, yet nothing followed it. She heard your scoff and lowered her head, ready to be scolded and forced to leave, reasonably so.

"You dirty little perv...I would've never suspected such a sweet girl to be so nasty." She swallowed shakily, slowly peeking back up at you when she saw your body move to be mere inches away from her.

"I really am sorry, you were never meant to find this." She mewled, wiping one of her eyes quickly as you cooed mockingly.

"Oh, I know, I know. You just planned to get off while being a little creep, stalking me while I was naked- while I was fucking masturbating. Were you hoping I was thinking of you, hm?" She slowly nodded in mortification, biting her lip as her mind reeled with the reminder. She could visualize the day you'd lie in front of her, purposely and knowingly, reciting the acts as you moaned her name.

"I just want you to like me too, Y/N..." She couldn't justify her filming, her photography, her deep obsession - all she could do was beg for you to allow her to stay, to move past what she did.

"...You're lucky you're cute, Wanda."

That night she went home with a kiss on her cheek and a large, mindless grin on her face, your lipstick print just barely evident. She didn't dare erase it, even after her twin brother teasingly pointed it out so that her parents would ask hundreds of questions. She ignored them, going to her room and sighing happily as she tucked herself into bed - pausing when she received a notification from an unknown number.

'For your little collection ;)' The text read, and she opened the video attachment with furrowed brows, her volume button instantly being attacked so no one could hear the loud moaning from your end, the whimpers, the groans. She heard her name multiple times, and her eyes couldn't decide between focusing on your pulsing clit vibrating against your toy, your tight hole greedily accepting two fingers, or your plump breasts slightly squished together by your arms. Previously, you couldn't reach your needed orgasm. However, Wanda felt drool pooling around her bottom lip as your legs shook violently, your body twitching as a result of the overbearing pleasure you were feeling. You slowly eased your fingers away from your hole after the vibrator came to a stop, and the woman on the other end let out a small moan as you licked the digits clean, wishing her a goodnight in your raspy, cultivating voice.

She was going to have a good night indeed.

#wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff #Wanda Maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch smut #scarlet witch fluff

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seraphdreams · 1 year ago

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SMILE, YOU'RE ON CAMERA. | YUUTA OKKOTSU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. when taking care of your university finances proves troublesome, the universe grants you your very own savior. but it’s gonna cost you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, college au!yuuta / bimbo reader (obvi), filming, lots of porn references… a lot, virginity loss, praise, oral n fingering, slight obsession, pussydrunk yuuta, unprotected love making, yuuta’s rich and unsettling. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 5.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! omg, yuuta? i meant to have this out a few weeks ago but got caught in a little writing slump :( nevertheless, here’s to a new year and a new fic! yuuta’s been slowly creeping his way up my favs list , tehe !! as always, please reblog / comment if you enjoyed this , it’ll fill me with joy. thank u ♡

you’re a pornstar.

albeit, an amateur one with heaps to learn regarding the ruthless industry, but the weight still stands.

the details in which you came to the jarring conclusion were muddled with the convoluted steps that it took for you to get there, murky in your bubblegum-filled mind. all you knew was that yuuta okkotsu was a force, a gentle one, to be reckoned with.

it must’ve played out once you returned to your campus dorm beyond the dusk of midnight, under an unmitigating fatigue from the twelve hour waitressing shift just prior. through abhorrent patrons and the lack of a spendable paycheck, the excruciatingly long night barely made you enough money to even think about buying those dollish pumps you’ve been yearning for. how cruel.

in between working and haphazardly handing your earnings over to university fees and textbooks, you just couldn’t seem to make ends meet.

you would curse the day you took it upon yourself to branch away financially from your parents under the guise of growing up, since now it’d be a blessing to have even a cellphone bill paid off. whatever the issue seemed to be, lady luck was truly never bothered enough to be on your side.

fortunately for you, though, it was that same arduous night, you had been huddled against your stuffed animals in bed, mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on your phone; switching from sites like instagram and twitter to youtube then right back to instagram all over again, only to be met with an offer dusted in pink glitter that caught your eye as if it were made for you.

“stars needed — will pay upfront.”

it was a shoddy story post, one that could be clicked past and forgotten forever — yet, a brisk reminder of your situation in the form of borrowed, used textbooks with pages missing or vandalized, and today’s horoscope that said to take risks; you did exactly that, aiming a swipe up that would ultimately rid you of the worries of yesterday.

there were no reasons as to why you couldn’t be a star. certainly, you had the face for it, and you were told by multiple charmers that you were beyond beguiling to get anything you could ever ask for. what dismay could possibly unfold from contacting .. yuuta okkotsu .. about his offer?

hm, that’s funny. the name rang familiarity as it seeded in your mind.

must be one of yuuji’s friends.

itadori yuuji, your best friend of three years now. out of all the time you’d spent together, you came to realize that he could get along with anyone, despite their true intentions. he spoke highly of his friends as well, which earned him a sacred spot in your heart that couldn’t be replaced by anyone.

itadori had briefly mentioned in a ramen-fueled frenzy that one of his peers were “so insanely talented” and that you’d definitely get on with him. but when you asked for validity on that vague claim, all yuuji seemed to respond with was a mere “just meet him, you’ll see.”

from your recollection, the acquaintance he was boasting about, as if it was his own personal victory, was none other than your yuuta okkotsu. he was meek, stuck to a close-knit friend group consisting of maki and toge from your physics class, and the one time you ever spoke to him was to ask about yuuji’s whereabouts, to which he responded that he went back to his dorm after gojo-sensei’s lecture.

he seemed, normal. average, even. that surely had to be the case since your memory was hazy on his being otherwise.

it was true, though, yuuta was gifted. in a way that transcended words, skillful towards visual aesthetics, and careful with the craft. he would spend most of his freetime fumbling with a camera or recording the works of the mundane. overtly, he’d grown such a strong passion in the field of videography in hopes to capture the reality of humanity, the authenticity within intimacy — what could he possibly need a “star” for?

shadiness aside, you were in a tough spot, willing to do whatever to free yourself from the financial burden that was jujutsu technical university. with a swift swipe in tandem with the soft tapping of the pads of your thumbs on the keyboard, you were taking yuuta up on his offer.

within seconds, he responded back with his address and an appropriate meet-up date to start the project.

if only you were aware of how drastically your life would change from here on out.

a cluster of days had passed since you last got into contact with yuuta. he had told you to meet him at his place, claiming it would be more efficient than traveling to an unnamed destination with pounds of heavy photography equipment.

where you stood currently, was in front of the bare oak of his front door, hand wrapped in a loose fist as you knocked gently on the wood. a quick moment had passed by before you took initiative to raise your fist and knock once more. before your touch could meet the wood, a muffled “coming!” chimed beyond the door. from what you had heard on the other side; the scuttling behind the door and jingle of the lock, yuuta had opened the door soon after.

with his hand rubbing away the goosebumps that stood at the back of his neck, he beamed. cordially, warmly.

“you’re actually here. hi,”

upon first glance, yuuta had a distinct look. he stood tall, not tall enough to matter or incite intimidation, and although he wore a black button-up (a bit formal for an occasion as casual as today), his lean build shone through under the thin fabric, ripples of veins dancing up his forearms. what you couldn’t miss, however, were the grey eyebags under his emotionless navy orbs, as if he’d forgone weeks of sleep.

yuuta okkotsu was unsettling.

“hi,” your voice sounded as a sweet croon, dulcet enough that you could barely hear it yourself as it escaped in a breathy breeze. his smile grew softer in response, that monotonous gaze in his eyes fizzling away into something of serenity. “come in, please,” yuuta held the door open wider for you to tread past, caught up in observing the bunch of fabric that hugged tightly around your ass, then closed it gently behind you once you stepped completely inside. he silently cursed at himself for ogling — he truly didn’t mean to stare. you’re just a lot prettier up close. “i was just getting set up. you can have a seat if you’d like.”

as you’d expect from any guy your age, his place wasn’t much to gaze at, nor did it have much personality. in a corner to your right was a houseplant, that of the fern variety, and a few steps deeper into the abode was the living room, where yuuta resumed his fumbling with the transfiguration of his tripod.

you decided to sit on the couch across from him, taking in the bleak sight of his home. you would have almost believed it was unlived in had it not been for the scattered midterm review papers decorating his coffee table. it was obvious he had money from the endless rows of space that surrounded the two of you, although a candle or something would be nice.

he peered away from his tripod to look through the viewfinder of his camera, ensuring that the lens was functioning properly. he grew pleased to see the image of you distracted in fiddling with your thumbs reflected back at him. “are you nervous?” his gaze fell upon you through his own eyes, a concerned expression harboring his features.

you were pulled out of your muse of unfamiliarity to direct your attention to the sound of his mild voice, returning a smile to his that eased the worriment trapped behind dull, blue eyes. “n-not really, i don’t think.”

his lips curled up once more at that, in fact there wasn’t a time so far that you hadn’t noticed him without his signature smile. “here, let me help with that,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen before ultimately turning it back off and settling it back into its place in his pocket.

your phone vibrated beside you, screen lighting up with a bold alert.

[YUUTA OKKOTSU SENT $1000]

before you had a chance to even process the significance of the notification, he started back up,

“i hope i got the right information, wouldn’t want your hard work to get in the wrong hands.” the tilt of his head in tandem with a chuckle resonated sheepishly, and he returned to watch you through his camera lens.

he was right. the money did soothe your nerves.

“i’ve barely done anything yet.” a ditzy giggle followed soon after your sentence, a sound that yuuta couldn’t possibly ignore. you were already starting to pull at his heartstrings.

“and you’ve done it so perfectly,” his praise left you flustered in that moment and you bit down softly on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. “thank you, yuuta.”

you would’ve never guessed that your introverted classmate had enough experience in him to be such a flirt, or have your cheeks heating up with fervid affection, no less. but maybe yuuta was just like that; maybe this had been natural.

“no, thank you.” his thumb hovered over the record button just as his eyes met your gaze over the brim of the camera. “would you like to start now?”

he took the nod of your head as confirmation to press the record button, finally getting started with the project.

you blinked blankly at him as he tilted his head and flashed a warmhearted grin. “how old are you?” was his first question. he had asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. as he did so, you took notice of the silver ring donned around his finger.

he couldn’t have been married, no?

keeping your answer as vague as possible for the sake of matching his comforting warmth, you responded, “twenty-something.” he let out a satisfied huff of air as he nodded and moved onto his next query.

“and what’s your major?”

with the question barely having enough time to linger in the suggestively tense air, he added, “you’re very beautiful, by the way. do you mind taking your dress off for me?”

as much as it should’ve alarmed you, you were swayed by his toothachingly inviting timbre, its gentleness pulling compliancy from you in a matter of a few mere words. you only shook your head, forgoing the short piece of fabric that clung to each curve and dip of your body while your nipples hardened under the glacial, artificial breeze of his home. once the silk pooled at your hips, that, along with your panties were dropped onto the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable under the camera — and yuuta’s watchful eye.

he swallowed thickly at the sight, remaining as respectful as he could despite the monster growing in his pants; his eyes locked right back onto yours as if he’d get striked down for moving them even a millimeter south. “are you a virgin?” he queried, opting to move his hand from awkwardly at his side to fidgeting with the button at his shirt, ultimately undoing it and revealing another inch of skin at his heated chest.

from the nature of what you had signed yourself up for, you were hesitant to answer his question. of course you needed experience to be a star, and with you lacking the preconceived ability, you could kiss your $1000 goodbye..

yet he looked at you with an expectant gaze. no traces of malice in his eyes or frustration from your quick witted silence, but merely, with patience. and in that moment you couldn’t find it within yourself to lie.

“i am,” out of shame, you curled in on yourself, hoping that the sofa would engulf you, and your feelings, crossing your arms over your bare chest as if it’d create a wall of privacy behind your own humiliation. “is that okay?”

yuuta’s being only grew warmer at the response, you figured he’d be hot to the touch by now, from searing pleasure or unshakeable cordiality, you wouldn’t know. “yeah, that’s okay,” it came out breathier than he would’ve liked, a telltale sign of his aching desire. “that’s more than okay.”

truth be told, he had never met anyone as enchanting as you. you looked up at him with such trust in your eyes that it daunted him — fear that the assurance he wielded from you would shatter beneath him, and he’d be drowning. in a sea of his own wistfulness. now that he had you, he couldn’t let you go.

you were on to make a breathtaking star.

now feeling less coy than before, you relaxed your head into the palm of yuuta’s hand. you hadn’t noticed how long he’d been stroking at your cheek, or when he closed the vexing proximity between the two of you, all that mattered in that moment was the roll of his gentle vocables flowing through your ears and the thumb of his that graciously caressed your cheek.

you came to realize that he was much more handsome this way as your eyes toured his own, then down to the sliver of sweat-sheened skin peeking from underneath the black veil of his shirt, then down to his…

he’s so fucking hard.

confined against his slacks was his cock that leaked an ample amount even while it was untouched. you could make out its silhouette, something girthy, perhaps heavy, but nothing like you’d expect from yuuta. uncharacteristically huge.

“yuuta.” you whispered, mainly to yourself, as your mouth began to water at the sight, and his cheeks dusted pink once he realized what you were fixated upon.

“do you wanna,” he started up but faltered soon after when your lidded gaze flitted back up towards his. never had he felt so weak before, it was as if you’d casted a spell on him. “do you maybe want to—” he paused to avert his own gaze and embarrassment. “—put it in your mouth?”

he could’ve sworn he heard the increase of his heartbeat in his ears when you crinkled your brows, pretty face forming into an even prettier pout.

“but i’ve never—”

he stopped you before you could start, interjecting his own voice of reassurance.

“it’s okay. i’ll guide you,” taking his camera off its stand and moving the rest of the configuration elsewhere, he held it in one hand to better capture the scene unfolding before him. “just try your best for me, okay?”

“okay.” when he returned your concern with a small smile, you took it upon yourself to undo the arrangement of his pants, carefully hooking your finger into the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulling down just enough for his length to spring free.

for what felt like minutes, you marveled at his sheer size, wondering how anyone of his nature could possibly be hiding something like that. it curved upwards with a prominent vein or two running up the underside while it continued to leak, so much so, that you had to collect it all at the tip with your finger.

the tip? flushed the prettiest pink you’d ever witnessed and was as bulbous as it was mushroomed, you knew you’d have a bit of difficulty trying to fit into your mouth. it seemed to twitch under the fanning of your breath to which yuuta let out a whine of pure impatience.

“can i..?” your words trailed off when you involuntarily found yourself pressing chaste kisses along the length of his cock until they met with his sticky tip; a recreated scene from the various porn videos you’d seen. the sensation sent a jolt of palpable pleasure through his being, yuuta’s dark hair curtaining over his eyes while he made a damn good attempt at silencing his moans, with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

your eyes kept watch at his wavering expression while you wrapped your hand at the base of his length and began to pump slowly, yet another thing you had learned through the fascinating world of porn.

“suck it,” it was clear to you that yuuta had grown desirously impatient from your teasing, looking down at you with a hint of hunger in his beautiful orbs. “please?”

you took his words as an incentive to finally give him what he’s been leaking for, wrapping gloss-sheened lips around the thick inches of his tip, accommodating for the stretch with a dulcet whine that reverberated deeply within him. had you not been caught up in building the gradual bob of your head, he would’ve kissed you, left you with smeared lips and a tongue that ached for only him upon seeing the sinful sight of innocent eyes fixated on his own. you’re beautiful. truly, to die for.

caught all on tape to be watched over and over again.

at the bliss, yuuta’s lip parted open, alotting for a slur of groans turned whimpers to tumble past. “you- you’re already doing, so good.” he praises, the words floating on his breath. his free hand finds itself back at your face, thumbing the warmth of your hallowed cheek while he captured the moment behind his lens. once you came to a comfortable rhythm, you couldn’t stop yourself from dipping your fingers between your thighs to ease the evergrowing ache in your core. in fact, you’d been like this since the moment yuuta spoke a word to you, lightheaded and malleable — what he’s beginning to love most about you.

your digits collected slick at your entrance, the immeasurable amount of essence that you’d pool providing ample leeway for you to sink three fingers inside, pumping at the same rhythm in which you’re sucking yuuta. soft fingertips curling against your gummy walls weren’t enough, though, and when he had caught notice of your weakening resolve, his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth.

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” he began, with a choked moan. “just- so close, so fucking close. c-can you take me in deeper?”

the hum of assurance that sounded from you sent vibrations coursing through his cock, from tip to base. had you not been preoccupied with chasing your own high, you would’ve missed the pitchy moan he let out just after. with your palm now pressed up against your clit while you worked in tandem to pleasure the nub and your greedy hole, you attempted to swallow another stubborn inch of him.

simultaneous with the bobbing of your head, he matched your pace, abdomen flexing when the white-hot pleasure became too much and he could feel it in his ears. he wanted so badly to throw his head back, completely lose himself in bliss, but he had a job to do. he wouldn’t dare let the sight of your glassy lidded eyes and glossy lips struggling to wrap themselves around the stretch of his dick go unfilmed, unseen.

as his tip continued to prod the back of your throat and your fingers aided you in relieving the discomfort from your cunt, you found yourself just dangling off the dangerous edge of your release, strokes away from making a mess — and yuuta did too.

it wasn’t long until his head started spinning, legs got weaker, and his core coiled tighter; all the signs of a mindblowing orgasm, and blew his mind, you did. “baby- y/n, if you keep doing that- i might cum.” what he was referring to was the way you fondled his balls in the warmth of your soft hands, yet another trick you had learned from porn. “i don’t wanna cum in your mouth but if you—,”

a jumbled slew of curses flowed from his lips as he did the inevitable, shot his load deep down your throat, gently thrusting his cock in shallow strokes to jettison every last remaining drop. the taste on your tongue was nothing like you’d be warned of before. yuuta wasn’t bitter, he went down easy.

hell, you’d use his cum as a condiment for desserts if you could.

in a matter of moments, your own high had washed over you like cold water over a heated body, much needed and refreshing. once he hesitantly pulled out from the heat of your mouth, cock still hard and twitching for more, he gently pushed back strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“can i see?”

you held out your cream-slickened fingers, sopping with your juices as yuuta proceeded to catch how they dripped on camera. he then took your palm, with the cadence of a knight kissing the back of a princess’s hand, and slipped the soiled digits into his mouth. his tongue lavved around your index and middle fingers while he hummed satisfactorily at your taste. “you’re just as sweet as i imagined.” he smiled, finding amusement in your post-orgasmic, dazed state.

“do you do this with a lot of other girls, yuuta?” you queried, taking the time to scan your eyes over his face. it was as if he seemed to get more attractive as your time with him went on. he tilted his head slightly, finding your question endearing. “you’re my first, actually.” yuuta responded softly, as if his normal speaking voice would be too heavy on your delicate ears.

you jumped at the chance to tease him as he did you, placing your thumb back over the slit of his hard-on and lightly rubbing; which resonated within yuuta as a tonal mewl. a little smile pulled at your lips when you got your perfect reaction. “can you be my first?”

“i’d love to be,” he took your request with unadulterated honor as if he’d been tasked by the deities above to serve you. “just- just lay back for me. i promise i’ll take good care of you.”

and that you did; conforming to his call of request with such compliance it made his heart swell. you had positioned your body to rest languidly against the seat of the sofa, shaky legs hesitant to spread fully while your hand roamed up your sternum to find solace in kneading your tits.

he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked, laid out for him as such. how had he been so lucky to be the only one to have the opportunity to marvel at the scene? with a steady hand, he faintly trails his hand up the expanse of your inner thigh, a silent beckon for you to open your legs wider. involuntarily so, your body had accepted his presence and allowed for the spreading of your thighs.

what you’d come to notice with yuuta was that he was watchful, observant. he seemed to pick up on every detail, even the minuscule bits that were most likely to fly over anyone else’s head, had been taken into account. it’s probably why he’s immensely proficient at what he does. not once had he allowed himself to miss the labored heaving of your chest, or the sheen of sweat thinly coating your body — the twitching of your clit when he stroked featherlight touches at the nub. he couldn’t call himself a true cameraman then.

his fingers had collected remnants of your previous orgasm before they worked in tandem, both middle and ring, to prod at your sensitive hole, slowly sinking themselves in. it was almost embarrassing how quickly your greedy cunt swallowed him in, as if it’d been waiting for his touch for years now. “y-yuuta, ‘m still sensitive.” you crooned in response to his digits exploring your cavern, plush walls gripping him with such tautness that he’d found it difficult to even curl his fingers.

his own mind spun (and cock leaked) at the thought of that same warmth around his length, and when you called his name, all he could think about was how pretty you’d sound moaning it. he wouldn’t mind if you were sonorous, if the neighbors would hear, if inumaki who lived downstairs would come knocking with a mouthful of complaints, if the whole world knew his name; because in that moment, yuuta okkotsu was yours.

yuuta okkotsu was in love.

after some shallow pumping, enough to have your legs attempting to enclose around his arm, yuuta had pulled his digits out and replaced the lost sensation with the fat tip of his cock stroking your slit up and down.

“i’m gonna put it in, okay? if you want me to stop, tell me. if i'm going too fast or slow, let me know.”

he perused your face for a hint of an answer, seemingly nothing going on behind your vacant, large eyes. your initial response was curt, an ode to the simplistic nature of your mind. “mhm.”

how endearing you were to him, just a unadorned reaction weakening his being, causing his heart to figuratively crumble within its confines against his ribcage. he had searched for a heartier answer, something tangible to hold on to, because, lord knows how terrible he’d feel if he took your indication the wrong way. “can you be vocal for me, please?”

you nodded your head. “i’ll let you know, yuuta.”

with a carefulness that only came from the most benign of beings, he had sunken the first inch of himself into your awaiting heat.

he was paused when your hand dashed to his lower abdomen, futilely pressing against the skin.

“wait—” you huffed wantonly. “—‘s too big.”

his eyes wavered with concern, hidden under the veil of pure arousal. in yuuta’s case he had dreamed of a compliment as self fulfilling as yours, for his thoughts of being average were shattered upon first inch. “should i stop?”

you shook your head, reveling in the light of his attentivity towards you and your body. “no,” you moved your hand from his abdomen. “don’t stop.”

one of his arms rested beside your head, helping to prop him up over your body while he dropped his head down to watch the way your bodies connected. gradually, the sight of his length slowly sinking inside, stretching you out further and further until he was in to the hilt flooded his vision. yuuta had caught on to your labored gasps, merely growing harder from your honeyed voice like music to his ears.

he then lifted his head, strands of inky, out-of-place tresses falling over his face and partially covering the depth of lingering eyes, that lingered for a second too long, causing that shuddering sensation you had once felt when you first met him to reappear. he held his camcorder beside his face, an all too cheerful grin masked over his features. “i’m all in!”

creepy.

there was no doubt that you hadn’t felt full. he practically spilled over with how much girth he possessed and throbbed innately within your walls. the swell of your tummy from just how deep he was, was enough to tear away at his composure and drag his length back before driving his hips in at a force unrecognizable to him. the yelp you had let out from his eager thrust dwindled into a blissful moan. “sorry, so sorry.” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the faultless assortment of breathtaking features that was your face, eyebrows creased together, parted lips and eyes squeezed closed as if you’d been focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.

his next thrust stroked softer than its predecessor, having no remnants of eagerness but instead, the nuance of a man that’d been simply smitten.

the meticulousness of his ministrations coursed through your body wondrously, each push and pull lathered in lust, savored to be remembered for the rest of his time on earth. it was as if he’d known your body for years, knew every dip and fold, every swell and mast, aware of what exactly it took to leave your body hungry for his touches.

you’d grown comfortable in the pace at which he set, your mind hazing over each time the blunt tip grazed along your gspot. he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your sternum, the fanning of his warm breath against your chest doing the minimum in stiffening the peaks of your breasts. shootable footage forgotten, yuuta took your mound into his mouth, teeth gently rolling against your nipple which caused you to tighten around his cock in response, the sweetest mewl he’s ever heard from you tumbling from your throat.

“at least take me on a date first, yuuta..” the wittiness of your voice had earned a stifled smile from him, finding utmost admiration in the suggestion. he’ll be sure to take you up on your offer, just as you had done for him.

when you felt the familiar coil within you starting to build up once more, you dipped your hand down to rub at your clit in tandem with the increasing vigor of his strokes. the sensation was all too foreign to you, too pleasurable that you couldn’t keep your sounds at bay. “‘m so close, g-gonna cum!” you had warned, yuuta pulled away from your tit with a soft pop. he chose to rest his head at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, mindlessly chanting the words like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you,” his pace faltered, growing sloppier by the second. “love you, love you so much.”

intoxicated by your heat, your scent, just you being you, and being so perfect — yuuta was pussydrunk. incredibly so. never in his life had he ever felt as high as you made him. you were an angel, sent to him from heaven, to defile and mark.

quickly, your release surged through you in torrents of ecstasy, nothing that you’ve experienced before, coating yuuta’s cock in the glorious essence of you. “cumming!” you cry, to no avail particularly since yuuta wasn’t wholeheartedly aware of the situation at hand. his mind was clouded with you, just as you were full of him, wincing in the aftershocks of your fervent orgasm and convulsing around his length with need.

it wasn’t long before his own ununified thrusts came to a sudden close, signifying the warm spurts of cum painting your insides, filling you entirely to the brim and leaking down your ass from riding out his high.

“god, i love you.” he whined, pressing faint kisses to your neck, unable to peel himself away from your fervid body. coming to your senses, his words finally resonated for you. “we only just met.”

he pulled himself up, opting to look down at your flushed face with a vague hint of confusion on his face as he tilted his head. “have we?”

“we have.” you nodded.

to yuuta, he’s known you his whole life. you were the light of his existence, the fire in his heart. had he managed to confuse you with someone else? surely, that wasn’t the case.

once he pulled out of you, he made sure to capture the moment that you leaked his seed on film, but in that time, borrowed jealousy had filled his soul. he couldn’t share the tape as he had planned, no one else deserved to see you in the same way he did. no one.

he tucked himself back into his pants, leaving you bare and oozing for just one second to fetch a warm wet rag to clean you up with. when he came back, you noticed just how chipper he’d gotten, if that were even possible. “you were amazing,” he smiled, gently wiping your folds pristine. “i’m so grateful you came to me.” the smile you returned matched his own, “thank you, you were- really good too.”

he perked up, eyes moving from between your thighs to your face. “really?” and when you nodded to him, you could see the apparent relief flow within his being. “you know,” he started. “i’m very interested in you.”

you tilt your head, jutting your lips in a cute pout. “interested, how?”

the camcorder that now resided on his coffee table, unpresumebly documenting the scene on display was picked up by yuuta, and turned off. he grinned softly, eyes shutting from his ear to ear smile.

“may i take you on a date?”

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airosuiren · 2 months ago

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The Abandoned Wayne.

Bat Family x Neglected Reader x Tokyo Revengers

A/N: Omg I had this idea stuck in my head for AGES!!! Batfam neglect trope combined with Tokyo Revengers is literally my new obsession!!! Hope you enjoyyy this twisted tale of neglect, revenge, and finding your true family!!! (this DOES NOT follow cannon)

Part 2

Wayne Manor had two daughters, but only one that mattered.

You and Lila Wayne - twins born to Bruce Wayne through a brief relationship with a woman who disappeared shortly after your birth. Identical in appearance but worlds apart in treatment.

From the moment Bruce took you both in, it was clear who the favorite was.

Lila got the bigger bedroom. Lila got the newest clothes. Lila got Bruce’s proud smiles whenever she mastered a new gymnastics routine or brought home perfect grades. Lila was “the good twin” - the perfect Wayne daughter who fit seamlessly into Gotham’s elite circles.

You? You were the afterthought.

“Dad, I got an A+ on my science project,” you said, holding up your graded paper at age twelve.

Bruce barely looked up from where he was helping Lila with her homework. “That’s nice. Did you see Lila made the honor roll again? Third time this year.”

You lowered your paper slowly, the familiar ache spreading through your chest. “Yeah. Great job, Lila.”

Your sister smirked at you over Bruce’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

It wasn’t just Bruce. Dick treated Lila like a princess, always bringing her souvenirs from his travels. Jason taught her self-defense but claimed you were “too clumsy” to learn. Tim shared his tech knowledge exclusively with Lila. Even Damian, though generally unpleasant to everyone, reserved his rare moments of tolerance for her.

Only Alfred seemed to notice you, slipping you extra cookies when no one was looking or patting your shoulder when you retreated to your room after another family gathering where no one acknowledged your presence.

“Patience, Miss [Y/N],” he would say. “Family can be… complicated.”

But your patience was running out.

By fifteen, you had stopped trying to earn their attention. You found solace in martial arts, training secretly at a local dojo where no one knew you were a Wayne. The feel of your fist connecting with a punching bag became your therapy, each strike fueled by years of being overlooked.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You returned from training to find the manor in chaos. Lila was sobbing in Bruce’s arms, her perfect face marred by a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The entire family surrounded her protectively.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping your gym bag.

Six pairs of eyes turned to you, cold and accusing.

“As if you don’t know,” Lila hissed through tears.

Bruce stood slowly, his face transforming into something you’d only seen directed at Gotham’s criminals. “Lila says you attacked her when she confronted you about stealing her homework.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? I didn’t touch her! I’ve been at the dojo for the past three hours!”

“We found your hairbrush in her room,” Tim said, holding up an evidence bag like this was a crime scene. “And the bruise pattern matches your distinctive ring.”

You looked down at the simple silver band you always wore - a gift from Alfred on your twelfth birthday. The only birthday gift anyone in the manor had given you.

“This is ridiculous,” you protested. “I would never hurt Lila!”

But as you looked around at their faces - Bruce’s fury, Dick’s disappointment, Jason’s disgust, Tim’s clinical detachment, Damian’s contempt, and Lila’s exaggerated fear - you realized with crystal clarity: They had already decided you were guilty.

No trial. No defense. No presumption of innocence.

Even Alfred looked uncertain, standing back from the family circle, his eyes troubled.

“I’ve made a decision,” Bruce announced, his voice Batman-cold. “This behavior cannot continue. You’ve been acting out for years, but this crosses a line.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Enough!” Bruce cut you off. “I’m sending you to our associates in Tokyo. The Moriyama family owes me a favor. They’ll take you in, get you into a good school, and hopefully… straighten you out.”

Your world collapsed around you. “You’re sending me away? To Japan? Because of a lie?”

“It’s not a lie!” Lila wailed, burying her face against Dick’s chest. “She threatened to do worse next time!”

“Pack your things,” Bruce said flatly. “You leave tomorrow.”

That night, alone in your room, you didn’t cry. The hurt had crystallized into something harder, colder. More dangerous.

In the darkness, you made a vow: You would never beg for their love again. You would never again call Wayne Manor home. And someday, they would realize exactly what they had thrown away.

Alfred came to your door as you finished packing.

“Miss [Y/N],” he began, his elderly face lined with regret. “I don’t believe… that is to say, I find it difficult to imagine you would harm your sister.”

It was the closest thing to support you’d received, but it came too late.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Alfred,” you said quietly. “It never has.”

The flight to Tokyo was long and silent. Bruce didn’t accompany you - he sent his corporate assistant instead. Your final glimpse of Gotham through the plane window felt like watching a chapter of your life being forcibly closed.

The Moriyama family was polite but distant. They provided you with a small but comfortable apartment, enrolled you in a prestigious international school, and otherwise left you entirely alone.

Freedom, you discovered, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first two months, you focused on school and perfecting your Japanese. You kept to yourself, the wound of your family’s betrayal still too fresh to risk new connections.

Then came the night you took a wrong turn walking home.

Three men cornered you in an alley - local thugs looking for an easy target. What they found instead was a Wayne with years of repressed rage and six months of intensive martial arts training.

When the dust settled, two were unconscious and the third was running away with a broken nose.

You were catching your breath, knuckles bloody, when you heard slow, appreciative clapping.

A tall, lean Japanese boy with bleached blond hair and an unsettling empty look in his eyes stood at the alley entrance. Despite his slender build, something about him radiated danger.

“Impressive,” he said in Japanese. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

You straightened, wary but unafraid. “Gotham City.”

His smile widened, revealing a charm that didn’t quite reach those empty eyes. “I’m Sano Manjiro. Everyone calls me Mikey.”

“[Y/N],” you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. You weren’t a Wayne anymore, not in any way that mattered.

“You should come with me, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, turning to leave as if your agreement was a foregone conclusion. “I think my friends would like to meet you.”

Something about his absolute confidence, the casual way he had watched you fight without interfering, and yes - the dangerous aura that reminded you of the Bat Family at their most intimidating - made you follow him.

Kanto Manji headquarters turned out to be an abandoned building retrofitted with surprisingly comfortable furnishings. Inside, a group of young men looked up as Mikey entered with you in tow.

“Found something interesting,” Mikey announced, dropping onto a couch. “This is [Y/N]. She just took down three Tenjiku guys without breaking a sweat.”

“American?” asked a tall, serious-looking man with dark hair.

“Gotham,” you corrected.

Something in the way you said it - like the name of the city was a wound - made the room go quiet.

“I’m Sano Takemichi,” the serious one said. “That’s Hakkai, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, and the one eating all the food is Baji.”

Over convenience store bento boxes and cheap beer, you learned about Kanto Manji - a gang formed from the ashes of several others, now one of the most powerful in Tokyo. Their operations walked a fine line between legitimate business and underground empire.

You didn’t share your full story that night, but something in your eyes must have spoken to them. The way you fought. The way you carried yourself. The obvious absence of anyone looking for you or caring where you were.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Baji asked as the night grew late.

“An apartment,” you said. “But no one waiting there.”

Mikey, who had been unnervingly quiet for most of the evening, just watching you with those empty eyes, suddenly spoke: “You should work for us.”

The others looked surprised.

“Mikey,” Takemichi began cautiously, “we don’t even know her—”

“I know enough,” Mikey cut him off. “She fights like someone with nothing to lose. That’s valuable.”

You should have been offended. Instead, you felt a strange relief at being so perfectly understood.

“What would I do?” you asked.

Mikey smiled that disconnected smile again. “You’re from Gotham. Home of criminals and bats. I bet you know how to plan.”

And just like that, you found your place.

The Kanto Manji gang became your new family. Takemichi treated you like a little sister, always checking if you’d eaten or slept enough. Hakkai taught you Japanese street fighting to complement your formal training. Chifuyu, discovering your knack for strategy, spent hours discussing territory maps with you. Mitsuya even designed clothes specifically for you - practical but stylish outfits that became your signature look.

And Mikey… Mikey watched you. At first, it was unsettling - those empty eyes following your movements across rooms, his sudden appearances outside your apartment, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as if marking territory.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Hakkai warned about three months in. “Be careful.”

But the truth was, you didn’t mind. After years of being invisible, Mikey’s focused attention felt like water in a desert. He saw you. Really saw you.

Your tactical mind proved invaluable to the gang. You planned their operations with precision Batman himself might have admired - if he had ever bothered to notice your intelligence.

Within a year, your reputation spread through Tokyo’s underground. The foreign girl with the cold eyes and brilliant mind who stood at Mikey’s right hand. Some called you “The Ghost” because of how you seemed to appear from nowhere, always one step ahead.

Not once did Bruce or any of the Bat Family reach out. Not a call. Not an email. Not even Alfred. It was as if [Y/N] Wayne had ceased to exist the moment her plane left Gotham airspace.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, Kanto Manji threw you a party that lasted until dawn. For the first time since arriving in Tokyo, you allowed yourself to fully relax, to laugh, to feel genuinely happy.

As the others finally passed out from too much sake, Mikey led you to the roof. The Tokyo skyline glittered before you, so different from Gotham’s gothic spires but beautiful in its own way.

“Happy birthday, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, producing a small black box.

Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“Mikey, it’s beautiful,” you whispered as he fastened it around your neck.

“You’re mine now,” he said simply, his fingers lingering on your skin. “My strategist. My ghost.” His empty eyes seemed to fill with something like hunger. “My everything.”

You should have been frightened by the possessiveness. Instead, you felt a thrill. Someone wanted you. Not your sister. You.

When he kissed you, it felt like claiming and being claimed.

“Yes,” you agreed against his lips. “Yours.”

The next two years passed in a blur of power, respect, and a strange kind of happiness. Kanto Manji grew under your strategic guidance and Mikey’s fearsome leadership. You moved into his apartment, your foreign clothes mingling with his in the closet, your strategic plans spread across his dining table, your body wrapped in his arms each night.

His obsession never faded. If anything, it intensified. Mikey wanted to know where you were every moment. He called randomly just to hear your voice. He left marks on your skin where others could see them.

“It’s not healthy,” Takemichi told you once.

You just smiled. “Nothing about my life has ever been healthy.”

Besides, you thrived on Mikey’s attention. On being the center of someone’s world. On mattering.

You hadn’t spoken the name “Wayne” in three years when the past finally caught up to you.

It started with a text from a number you didn’t recognize:

They’re coming for you. Wayne Industries expanding to Tokyo. Family accompanying Bruce for the opening. Be prepared. - A

Alfred. It could only be Alfred.

You stared at the message for a long time before showing it to Mikey.

His reaction was immediate and intense. “They abandoned you. They don’t get to come back now.”

That night, he called an emergency meeting. The entire gang gathered as Mikey explained the situation.

“Wayne,” Baji spat the name like a curse. “The bastard who threw away our [Y/N]?”

“The same,” Mikey confirmed, his arm possessively around your waist. “They’re coming to Tokyo. Business, they say.”

“But really for [Y/N],” Hakkai finished, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want to do?” Takemichi asked you directly. “It’s your call.”

You looked around at the faces watching you - these men who had become your brothers, your protectors, your true family. And Mikey, whose empty eyes filled only when looking at you, whose obsession had become your safety net.

“I want them to see exactly what they lost,” you said finally. “And who I’ve become without them.”

The gang nodded in unison.

“Then that’s what will happen,” Mikey declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ll see our Ghost. And they’ll regret the day they sent her to us.”

A week later, Wayne Enterprises opened its Tokyo branch with a lavish party. You watched from across the street as limousines delivered Gotham’s elite to the red carpet - including five tall, well-dressed men and one woman in a shimmering gown.

The Bat Family had arrived.

And they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A/N: There is a part 2 for thiss Please wait for itttt

#𝔖𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔰 #x reader #neglected reader #batman #yandere batfam #yandere batboys #yandere batman #tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #mikey x you #mikey x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere batfamily #batfam x neglected reader

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tennessoui · 20 days ago

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falling asleep BUT FIRST! au where obi-wan leaves the order when anakin is twelve because during a mission off planet he has to choose between saving anakin and the mission objective (that involves like saving a ton of civilians or something idk) and he doesn’t even hesitate before choosing anakin which is obviously incredibly not good attachment and so anakin should be given to another master to train

but he also knows anakin would probably follow him if he just said bye the normal way so he hand to heart uses all his connections on coruscant to like. disappear disappear. like missing person, cold case level of disappear. cause that’s healthier for anakin to deal with for sure

obviously anakin never gets over it, even if he’s assigned to a different master who sees him to his knighthood. obi-wan leaving him with no trail to follow is his miniature obsession that he carries with him all through adolescence and into adulthood

when the empire rises and Vader rises with it, he’s given a long list of priorities and duties that come before using all the imperial resources to track down some guy who hasn’t even been a Jedi for like ten years

but then—miraculously almost—obi-wan kenobi is caught when a Jedi smuggling ring is brought down by the empire. and Vader gets to see his old master for the first time in years and years

he’s very normal about it. he’s even more normal about it when a trooper takes aim at an obi-wan who is attempting to run.

(ofc vader has no choice but to slaughter all the troopers he has with him and kidnap obi-wan for further interrogation. after all, obi-wan once chose anakin skywalker above his duty. it’s only fair that vader now returns the favor)

#Kit’s silly lil aus #obikin #vaderwan #obi-wan probably: if I tell anakin I have to leave he will either try to leave with me or cry emotionally #both options are not good.#I know I will contact my informants in the mob who know how to make people #disappear #I will tell the council and leave anakin a nice note #obiwan ten years later (handcuffed to a sith’s personal ship and staring at the remains of an imperial troop #that died because they tried to arrest him and take him away from anakin again):#I may have miscalculated #I do love when vaderkin is like #big predator cat giving affection like a house cat vibes #but with bloody muzzle showing

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maruflix · 9 months ago

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FIVE STAGES OF LOVE #oneshot #hoshinasoshiro #f!reader

You weren’t supposed to find out... but you did, and Hoshina Soshiro had no choice. Surely you’ll understand, right?

feat. hoshina soshiro　　⎯⎯　wc. 1.8k

content: female reader, reader is an officer in the third division, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, suggestive at the end, babytrapping, hoshina soshiro is a scary yandere, i do not condone yanderes irl, no beta we die like kaiju number twelve

art cred. suou2280 (twitter)

“Vice Captain, can you stop being so kind to me?”

Stunned, Soshiro looks up to find you standing nervously. He eyes the training field— everyone is either chatting amongst themselves or walking back to get dinner. His gaze shifts back to your trembling figure.

You probably said those words as a joke. But what if you really took notice of his affection towards you? Soshiro tries to keep his expression calm although his stomach is slowly starting to turn, He tried so hard not to let them show.

“I mean no disrespect, it’s just that... I fear I’m going to get the wrong idea.”

Your shy expression makes his head spin. “Yer’ not wrong,” Soshiro probes your reaction, standing up to gently scoop your hands when you blush. “I like ya’ a lot.”

He’s unsure how you will react. For a split second, the only thing he can hear is the own thundering of his heart. Then, you gasp and look up at him with eyes wide open, also catching him off guard.

“R-really?! Me too! I like you... too...” After bursting out those words, your cheeks turn red and your head drops to the ground.

No longer trusting his mouth to say the right words, Soshiro lets his body to do the talking, moving forward to pull you into an embrace. You giggle, and at that moment he knows—

There’s no way in hell he’s ever letting you go, so help him God.

STAGE I: INFATUATION

Soshiro is a hardworking man.

Born into a distinguished clan that left him with a legacy many claim as outdated and archaic, Soshiro has never stopped running. Everyone thought he couldn’t do it, so he proved them wrong. He surpassed Japan’s so-called ‘strongest anti-kaiju combatant’ and everyone has no choice but to acknowledge his abilities, granting him honor, wealth, and the position of Vice Captain of the Third Division.

In his division alone, Soshiro has seen many talented officers, but not many people can rival him in endurance. So when you enter his line of vision, he grows curious. You’ve always been working harder than the others, training for a bit longer, so eager to do your job well.

Soshiro admires your dedication, drunk on the way you hang on his every command while you study his movements with those beautiful eyes. Soon, he can’t help but to search for your face in every crowd, half hoping you’d notice him staring.

He knows he’s falling. It’s not a bad thing, he thinks, to fall for someone who shines as bright as the sun.

Unfortunately, he’s not the only one struck by your charm. He’s aware of the stares you get from male officers, their pathetic excuses to start conversation with you, how your name always pops up in their gossip. He took care of the impudent ones.

Slowly, carefully, he handpicks the people in your platoon, making sure to surround you with polite, respectful officers, mostly other ladies— because why would you ever need other men when you have him?

STAGE II: INTENSIFICATION

Soshiro is a wonderful boyfriend. It’s no secret that he’s a reliable vice captain, beloved by his division, but somehow he’s even more attentive with you.

When Kafka accidentally injured you during training, Soshiro immediately drops everything to rush towards you, making sure you’re okay—and you are, just a few bruises and a gash—before lifting you up and carrying you to the infirmary, dressing your wound himself.

Kafka returns late that night, telling you that he received punishment for the small incident with you earlier. You’re a bit worried for him but he waves it off, laughing as he limps to his quarters.

You sigh, Soshiro can be such a worrywart.

Then a new recruit enters. Quickly, he’s enamored by you. Pretty senior, he’d always call you. Everyone mocks him and tells him there’s no way he can compete with your lover who just so happens to be their division’s vice captain, but he just laughs and tells them it’s a platonic kind of love.

He’s a good friend; it’s flattering to have a younger brother who always sticks so close to you, showering you with praises. Of course, you kept your distance. You don’t want to give the sweet man false hopes and you’re too in love with Soshiro to ever look at someone else.

You never noticed the weight of Soshiro’s gaze as it falls on the two of you.

STAGE III: OBSESSION

Your world crashed down when Reno breaks the news to you— a death in the third division. You knew what you were signing up for when you entered the force, but nothing could prepare you for the loss of a good friend.

Your platoon surrounds you, patting you on the back as you mutely stare at him on the hospital bed— the pale lips that would call you pretty senior no more.

After you return to the base, Soshiro quickly finds you. He takes you into his arms as you cry in his embrace.

“How did this happen?” You gasp in between sobs, “How..?”

The new recruits weren’t supposed to be in the area he was found in. It was supposed to be closed off, only for the more-skilled officers to enter because it was swarming with kaiju. Not a single person in the platoon knows how the heck he got himself there, with no one to accompany him.

Soshiro rubs your back comfortingly, humming. “’s an unfortunate accident. A miscommunication, perhaps? He heard the area code wrong and-”

“But that’s impossible!” You sob harder, resting your head against Soshiro’s chest in an attempt to calm yourself down. “Someone suspects he got a private comm from someone to go to that area, it’s just so weird...”

“Well,” Soshiro sighs, “it is a battlefield after all. Accidents are bound to happen. You hafta’ know that as unfortunate as it is, things can quickly get out of control.”

Your blood runs cold at his distant tone. Hiccups paused, you slowly look up at him.

Soshiro tilts his head, then he smiles. Dazzlingly.

You pretend your knees do not tremble— because no matter how hard Soshiro tries to act dumb, you know he’s always the one in control.

STAGE IV: DESTRUCTION

Soshiro knows he doesn’t love in halves— it isn’t in his nature.

He does things earnestly, polishing all of his talents until they gleam and sparkle. He knows what he likes and what he dislikes— there’s no grey area when it comes to his feelings.

Soshiro loves you in extremes, but there’s a catch to that. His love is great, but his jealousy is even greater— it writhes like a great serpent, eager to be lashed out. He tries to hide his ugly sides from you, but everything always spirals out of control and he ends up with more blood on his hands.

It’s your fault— why did you have to be so perfect?

Soshiro wants to hide you away from the rest of the world, but he has his darned duties and responsibilities. Only in the darkness of your room can he fully show you how much he loves you, ravishing you until his name is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. It becomes a routine. But it’s not nearly enough.

Even now, as you caress his hair, sweat still glistening on your forehead, Soshiro still misses you. He wishes he can press himself closer to you, to feel you more, to become one with you.

“Soshiro, can I ask you something?”

You retract your hands from his hair and Soshiro fights the urge to sigh in disappointment. He gazes at you but you don’t meet his eyes, so he settles on kissing your forehead.

“Anythin.”

“Did you have something to do with Izumo’s recent transfer?”

His eyes narrowed. Well, duh. Of course he did.

The transfer was him being kind. If he had it his way, he would raze the Izumo Family to the ground along with their darned greenhead scion who dares to look at his girlfriend with lovesick eyes.

“I approved the request, yes.”

He dances along the edges of the truth, but you are having none of it.

“No, Soshiro. Tell me the truth.”

The defiance in your eyes awoke a fire in him.

“What do you want me to say, darlin’?” Soshiro challenges you, his voice soft but spiked with venom.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair. “I want the truth, Soshiro.”

Your lover merely smiles at you. Innocent, taunting, daring you to find fault within him. Soshiro knows he’s a very careful man, he hides his true nature well— but you were no fool.

“Forget it. Let’s take a break.” You give in, rolling on your back to distance yourself from the violet-haired man. It breaks your heart to say it, but you were starting to feel suffocated with all his secrets.

There’s a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Soshiro—your gentle, loving Soshiro—grips your arm hard and gazes at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

STAGE V: R̵̪̾Ȅ̷̥̟̠͚̀͑͊̋͛̈́̓S̸͎̺̺̍̃̌̇̌̈́͘O̴̧̮͍͉̻͛͌̔ͅL̵̪̖̬̖̘̬͇̄̾́́̄Ù̶̻͙̏͆̋̉̉͝T̴̹̹̤̣͇̙̬͕̉̀͑̿͛̇͘I̵̻̥̫̜͖̲̓̍̐̑͗͊O̷̢̩̮͍͉̍͒͛̇̑̓̾̚Ṅ̸̡̢̻͉͂̋͑̔̓

“A break?” Soshiro’s voice trembles with anger. In one swift motion, he’s on top of you, pinning your hands above your head. “Yer kiddin’, right? And if I say I had somethin’ to do with it? What then?”

You look in horror as Soshiro’s expression changes several times in the span of a few minutes. He’s losing it, you can tell, and it’s all because you pushed him.

“I just hate it when a buncha’ nobodies stare at what’s mine. I tried to be patient, I really did,” he shakes his head mournfully, “but they never learn.”

“And what? You transferred them? Fired them? K-” the word kill lodges itself on your throat as your eyes burn with tears.

Soshiro stares at you blankly. “’m just lookin’ after what’s mine. Yer’ gonna leave me for that? Hardly seems fair.” his one-hand grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen even after a few tears escape your eyes.

Suddenly he pauses, like he’s recalling an important information. There’s something in his gaze when he looks down at you— something feral.

“Y’know,” Soshiro muses, “the seat of the next clan head is promised to whoever gets married first between my brother and I.” He runs his free hand down your body, stopping to gently rub circles on your lower stomach.

“I never really cared much about that crap, but I can’t have ya’ running away from me,” the hand that is previously rubbing your stomach now moves down to spread your thighs apart. “if I get you pregnant with my child, there’s no way yer’ gonna leave me, right?”

He words it like a threat, yet it makes you shiver in anticipation. You want to push him away, but every fibre of your body is screaming for him to continue— perhaps you’ve also fallen into the depravity of his love.

He slips a hand inside your underwear and you relinquish control, letting the pleasure cloud your brain. Your mewls only fuels Soshiro’s fire, his own breaths getting heavy as he trails soft kisses down your neck.

“No objections? Good,” Soshiro leans back and chuckles at the sight of you, so pliant under his touch, “then it seems the Hoshina clan will welcome their new madam very soon.”

#maru writes...#kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fluff #kn8 fluff #kn8 hoshina #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader

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unconventional-lawnchair · 9 months ago

Note

There's not much Barty Crouch Jr content out there. If you don't mind writing about him, can I make a request? After escaping Azkaban, he serves his Lord to the best of his ability, but there is someone from his past that he still can't get out of his mind. A Slytherin and from a family of followers of the Dark Lord. They had a relationship during their youth. After many years, he finds her again. He always had a soft spot for her. But the reader (like Snape, a sort of spy) is secretly thinking against the Dark Lord and stays away from these things as much as possible, but she is definitely in danger. Things are complicated, but the strong attraction and longing between them cannot be ignored...

The Boy I Knew

Barty Crouch Jr. x Black!Fem!Reader

Cw; Y/N, obsessions, one sided love(Barty pining), Barty being unhinged. Reader is morally grey, Remus Lupin onesided love (Rem pining), sexual themes and scenes, mentions of murder}} Please tell me if I missed anything!

AN- this fanfic is now well over what it should have been. I am posting a fraction of the proofread bits as of now, as I realize this is probably not at all what you wanted and if so I am SO sorry. If you want more I have a pouch that just needs to be beta read

Wc-5670

Taglist: @defnotfrey @au-ghosttype

{. 1972 - Barty’s Year 1 .}

Bartemius Crouch Junior couldn't have been older than eleven when he first met {Y/N} Walburga Black. A cool upperclassman, if only by a year.

Bartemius, at that ripe age, knew only a handful of things, and two of those was how badly he wanted to be seen and known. He wanted to be seen for who he was, and known for what he would do. That's likely what drew him to you.

At only twelve, you and your brother had made a name for yourselves, in much different ways. Your brother was popular, for his quick tongue and clever quips, his innate ability to get under anyone's skin and stay there. Those traits could be forgiven, and they always were, for his big heart and intense sense of moral.

You, however, were known for harboring a few very non Black traits, like your intense empathy and your crazed thirst for knowledge. Even as a Slytherin, your loyalty and curiosity rivaled the students around you tenfold. Your bravery knew no bounds, even with all the wrongs you had been done, you were forgiving and understanding. You were seen by everyone, you were known for everything.

As he got older, he wondered where that forgiveness went. You grew cold.

When he was innocent, when he had done no wrongs, you cradled him in your hands like he was a gift. You looked at him with eyes you shared with everyone, so much care and patience, so much understanding and kindness. So if those eyes were shared with the masses, he struggled, but was determined, to keep them focused on himself at any chance given.

It was obvious to anyone who saw the two interact. Barty wanted to be witnessed by you. The halls filled with the judgeful and teasing murmurs when he found you in the halls.

“There goes {Y/N}’s prodigy.”

“Barty is off to find his guru.”

“That boy will never learn.”

“How annoying.”

Barty had never been ashamed of his declarations for praise. He knew most of the voices were bitter with jealousy. He would be jealous too. You were both so young, and yet even some older students looked to you like you were twice your age, yet every Friday when the tests were returned, you sat in the courtyard and waited for him. Your personal underclassman.

You would meet in the yard and he would brandish his flawless marks, you would praise his abilities in absolute pride. He had never had someone prideful of him before. Everyone knew him to be a mother’s boy, but he would challenge any of those claims. He was a {Y/N}’s boy, he'd tell them, no shame as students snickered and made their fun of him. He was never afraid of how much he liked you. How much he admired and respected you.

He would turn from the RavenClaw table and look to you after his announcements everytime, you would be eating with Lily Evans and the other girls of her group, but your eyes would be on him. You would give him a soft smile that drove him mad. He would return it with his own, the smile he would save for you. Just you.

When he was only eleven and you were twelve, everything was perfect for him. You focused your attention on studies, your friends, and of course, Barty. That's how it stayed for years.

He would reminisce in his cell, running his dulled nail along the jagged stone walls, carving intents of every minute that passed. Remembering all of the things he regretted most in his life. Losing your trust was where his spiral began. He was a foolish kid.

{. 1974 Barty’s Year 3 .}

“It's getting embarrassing.”

Barty was eating lunch with one of the many friends he had made during his years at Hogwarts, Evan Rosier. He was once again bringing the conversation back to you, as he had been for the past few days.

“You trail after her like a loyal dog. Has she even given you a hint that she may return your feelings?”

“What feelings?”

Evan and you did not get along. You never had. When he first found himself growing closer to him, you voiced your distaste for Evan the very next day. Barty always trusted your judgment, he obeyed you without much of a fight in most cases. This was not one of those cases.

He figured you to be biased, your brother thought him to be a Death Eater and you despised them. Something he could never understand, you were a pureblood, a Black, you were a powerful witch, and you would never have to worry about falling for a half blood or muggleborn, or Merlin forbid, a muggle. You were smarter than that. He always figured. You wouldn't taint your legacy.

Not like your useless brother, who he could see even now, describing his entanglements with witches and wizards of any kind, to the other Marauders.

As the years went on, you and Barty’s meetings became scarcer and scarcer, they went from Fridays to every second Friday, finally, you now only met every last Friday of the month. Still, Barty clung to you with a desperation he never would give anyone else.

Recently, you had gotten into a fight. One where you expressed your worry for what could possibly happen to him if he got involved with the wrong crowd. Barty, admittedly, didn't respond in kind. He was furious with you. You questioned his company but pushed away from him, you questioned his morals and his standing on the war. He told you there was no war to him, there was no fight.

At the end of the day, he would be standing by you.

The answer seemed to distress you further. It turned into a match of shouts and desperate pleas of compliance. It caused a scene, people watched as you defended your standing on your side of the war, this fight you were having with yourself he assumed. There was no war. This was a power struggle.

Evan’s scoff snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up from his plate to his eyes.

“Barty, half the school knows you've been in love with her since first year.” He hissed and Barty frowned. Would he call it love? He didn't think about it long before he had his answer. Love wasn't something he looked for, but he found it constantly. From the love he shared with Pandora, to the love he shared with Regulus, even the love he was nurturing with the brutish Evan.

No love in his body burned hotter then his love for you.

He never thought about it because he never had to. Why would he? He knew you loved him too. He knew what you two shared was never anything that could be challenged. He was your prodigy. He was your prodigy. He didn't care for much, as long as he was yours.

Evan snapped his fingers in his face and drew his attention back to him. He gave a slick smirk and wet his lips. “Come on, Barty, she's just a girl. You're wasting talent. Talent that could be used for someone who actually appreciates you.”

“She does appreciate me.” Barty challenged immediately, before Evan smirked and gestured to the Gryffindor table. “Does she?”

Barty turned just in time to see you, he never had to stare at a crowd too long to find you.

You were sitting with your brother and his friends, side by side with Remus, sitting far too close for comfort. He was whispering something in your ear, making you giggle. Turning to look at him with the truest smile he's ever seen you make. Flashing your beautifully uneven teeth, your cheeks dimpling and eyes seeming to sparkle. Your eyes met Lupin’s and he took in your expression like he could die in that moment.

Barty had never seen you smile like that before. He had never seen you look that way before. You had never looked at him like that before.

He hadn't even noticed as he began to bend the fork in his hand, fist tightening as he watched as Remus lean in and stole a kiss against your cheek. You gave a bigger laugh at this. Moving in to kiss his lips carefully.

The wonderful moment you were having was interrupted when a loud snap sounded threw the cafeteria. Your eyes snapped over to the RavenClaw table, as did a lot of your peers. Barty had snapped a fork in half with his thumb alone. Before a professor could scold him, he got up from his seat and stomped out of the grand hall, and your eyes followed them.

You muttered a quick apology to Remus and he nodded in understanding as you scrambled to your feet to follow after him.

He wished he could take every word he called you in that hall back now. He wished he had been smart enough to know that loving you with you in his life would of been far less torture then loving a girl who hated your guts.

“You blood trader!”

“This! This is what I meant, Bartemius! My Barty would never-”

“You don't have a clue about me, you insolent heartbreaker! What of us, Black?”

“Us? What Us, Barty?”

That night he realized that no matter how genuine his love was for you, how deeply it ran, those times spent alone meant far more to him then it ever meant to you. You did stuff like that for everyone.

He wasn't entitled to your love. Running his nail down until it was blunted against the wall. Azkaban could no longer do more harm then it already had.

{. 1974 Barty’s Year 4 .}

An entire school year. You and Barty didn't speak for an entire school year.

He kept his tabs on you, of course, because no matter what you said to him that day, you were still his person. Knowing how ignorant and how dangerously minded you could be, he took it upon himself to look over you. You may have been older, you may have sworn him, at one time, your loyalty and protection. But now, he had power of his own. He would repay you. He would repay and reeducate you, given the chance. With all the training him, Evan, Muliciber, Avery, even Snape had done? By Merlin’s beard he could do anything.

He had the mind to back that up, but he kept his power under wraps. You were always frightened by what you didn't understand, the last thing he wanted was for you to fear him. He wanted everyone to know him as fear, not you.

Never you.

When the school year started Barty noticed the shift instantly. He knew you like the back of his hand, far more than he let on most days, but it didn't take a genius to see that {Y/N} Black sitting with Regulus Black at the Slytherin table was odd.

He soon learned of what happened between Sirius and his family, a right disgrace. Then to learn Sirius scorned you from his life for choosing to stay with Regulus, that was probably what started Barty’s absolute disdain for your brother. You had gone through training per Regulus. Saying before Sirius left he let it slip about you and Remus, trying to entice you to leave with him. You refused and your mother lost it. Walburga was a stain on this earth for what she had done. Even then…

It was all for the better, as he saw it. You don't need the impressions of Sirius Black, Lily Evans, Mary Macdonald, Remus Lupin, or any others that pour their venom into a perfect witch as yourself. He would make sure it stayed that way, even if it hurt you. However, he couldn't lie.

You always looked your best when you knew your worth.

It wasn't just your routine that changed, you became cold to your old friends, dropping the Muggle borns and staying weary of the half bloods. You started to associate mainly with more influential Purebloods.

That meant him.

He knew his father was good for something.

“Crouch? Would you like to accompany me to the library?” Your voice sang out to him, despite your listless monotone and drifting eyes. It was the first sentence you muttered to him in 13 months. Your voice was more reserved, your back straightened and your lips pouted. You didn't look like that 12 year old he knew, you were 16 now. Even in his depravity, he took notice of every lovely advancement you had taken in care of your appearance. Your mother instructed you with glamours and proper wear, even now wearing a black feathered choker and brandished a black quill. A family heirloom, Regulus would tell him.

Now, he hated your mother, there was no question about that. What she had done to Regulus was unforgivable, what she had done to you was cause for retaliation in his eyes. But Merlin, did she put you back on the path of greatness.

“Crouch? {Y/N}, my love, it will always be Barty to you.” He lit up like a child, voice sugary sweet. It was your turn to take notice of his change. He was still the same boy you met in first year. Endlessly obsessive, devoted, and excelling at all the things you liked about him. Unfortunately, also the things you hated.

But, he was still your Barty in your heart. The boy you loved, the boy you cherished, the boy who charmed your soul in ways you didn't know possible. If you had to pick anyone to fill the hollowed out ache in your chest, you chose dangerously, Barty Crouch Jr would be your reprieve.

He was just older now. He was becoming a man.

Everyone knows what they say, about a boy and a girl, coming into their own together. Barty figured this was your love story, you weren't one to argue any longer.

He didn't care that you only seemed to speak to him out of necessity. When he heard from Regulus that your mother was making you pick your friends based on their social standing, any males to soon be a suitor, he was ecstatic.

He was remarkable. He was seen. He was valuable enough to you to not be a mere pawn but maybe even a queen on your chest set. To be used by you? It was worth every moment of the ache. All of this because his father just so happened to keep his filthy hands to the purest bloodlines.

That was his value to you. His blood, his sweat, his labor, and his mind. They were yours, no questions asked. He clung to your heel with new found determination. He would keep you on the right track, the promised one. The one that would ensure your children had the same opportunities.

He knew he wanted this the moment he walked in on you and Severus arguing in the courtyard.

“You dare call her a Mudblood, you incessant pompous Half Breed?!” Your voice echoed through the halls. People watched in horror, some in absolute shock, the sweet kind girl they had grown attached to was a right monster now. Barty, however, was loving it. You were a proper pureblood.

“{Y/N}-” Severus spoke carefully, something about his tone was far too familiar for Barty’s liking, him addressing you by first name made his jaw tighten. He didn't have to say a word. You rectified it.

“Do not address me as anything other than Black, you dirty mutt!” You screeched. Severus looked stunned, the usually stoic boy looked broken. Barty watched as your eyes trailed over a shocked and watery eyed Lily Evans, he almost didn't catch you muttering, “You lost that privilege.”

He, of course, came to your rescue, as he always promised. Hand around your back and escorted you away from the fight. As you both walked down the corridor your path was blocked.

Barty almost laughed, Remus Lupin. He was standing with Sirius Black, both staring threatening daggers at Barty. When you both kept walking, Barty shoved a path between the two boys, you hand a fistful of his cloak so as to not be left behind.

He didn't like how Remus’s eyes softened at the sight of you. He didn't like how Sirius reached for you. He walked faster, putting your sniffling form in front of himself.

After that, he knew he had you.

You were becoming who you were meant to be.

~~~

He took his mark that summer, standing alongside your brother Regulus Black, Lucius Malfoy, Beatrix Black and Evan Rosier. They were at your cousin’s manor, in the ballroom standing side by side. He was as straight as a board, brimming with pride, smirking to himself and brandishing his left arm.

He could feel your eyes on him, from where you stood, next to Narcissa, your aunt and your mother. Waiting for him.

Evan was first, standing beside Barty and holding out his wrist. When the wand hovered over his wrist and the Death Eater began to mutter the incantation, Evan let out a blood curdling sound. Pure brutish pain shot through him, leading him to fall back. Quickly held up by two other death eaters behind him.

When the wand brushed Barty’s wrist next, he hardly flinched. Tilting his head back as sweat gathered around his temple and neck. He bit his lip and let himself feel every sharp intrusion the spell took, letting himself succumb to the blissful pain.

When he returned to you, not standing to wait for dismissal like the rest of them, he wrapped his arm around your waist and yanked you in. He stole your lips for his own, making you give a slight gasp. You don't fight it, so he pushed further, letting himself taste your bottom lip and pulling it punishingly between his teeth. Through his high he was able to recognize and memorize the feel of your lips and the taste, in his mind, it was the closest to the gods he'd ever get. What was true heaven, however, was when you took his cheeks in your hands and kissed him back.

“Enough.” He heard your mother hiss from beside you. She shooed Barty away like he was some stray dog. He backed down from where you stood, licking his lips and admiring just how shaken and red you looked. Your mother, the hag, pushed you behind herself and hid you away from his eyes.

When you looked away and covered your mouth, he almost didn't notice how you also licked your lips clean. That drove him mad.

He had come to the conclusion early on, you were a temptress. A vixen. A damned Siren as far as he knew.

Memories of that night, your first kiss, the moment he could see you falling for him. A proper man, worthy of the worship he planned to give you. Worthy of serving a goddess like you. It kept him up most nights, it was a high even the dementor's couldn't take away, but they did manage to warp his obsession from what he believed to have been holy, to the truth.

He was brought on this earth for you. Without you, he was nothing. He was rotting.

{. 1976 Barty’s Year 6 .}

The next year he took your hand and promised you the world. To his delight, you responded in kind. You began dating his sixth year and it was absolute bliss.

It didn't last long, that bliss. It became a thrill.

Despite his power and loyalty to the dark lord, your mother favored another's for your hand. Particularly, Avery. His father came to your mother with the proposal, your mother liked his offer of the estate and your own power over the house.

You, however, much to Barty’s delight, were way too far gone. In your now secret meetings, where you would take you strolls along the city street, to the shop or to the boutique. You made a show of it; but you only truly left for Crouch Manor.

Where Mr. and Mrs. Crouch turned their other cheek as you snuck your way to Barty’s chambers. Behind those locked doors your love was dangerous. His whispers and promises of treachery against your family name were met with nothing less than desperate devotion and promises in kind. As your palms glided over his bare chest and his large hands found their way under your skirt.

His favorite memories were all locked away in that room. The room he made you his own, where his hands grew familiar with your skin in ways no one else ever could, where he found an affinity for you breathless, and where he heard you let out sounds no self respecting Black heiress should ever let out.

He claimed what was his birthright, between your legs. Bruised your lips numb and left marks you had to charm away when you made it back home. Just in time for supper.

With the feeling of him still fresh on your body. The pureblood heir your parents thought so lowly of. The heir they didn't see fit to sit at that very table, was still there. His lips were on the rim of the cup you sipped from, his hands were on the arm rests you relaxed against, and his teeth and claws were buried into their perfect daughter.

{. 1978 .}

By the time you both graduated, you took your place at the table. Having fought to hold off your engagement to Avery, Barty took it into his own hands to get between the two of you. Every time you glance in the boy's direction, he shrivels in on himself.

“Barty?” You whispered between his greedy kisses, in the halls of the Malfoy manor. The only times his hands could find your hips and his lips could find yours outside of his own room now. He was starting to see less and less of you. The war was in full swing and with his desperation for you was all that was driving him most days.

Thinking now, he wondered what drove you. Even now, having spent a year in Azkaban, you were still the light he flew to, no matter how much it hurt him. He could have sworn, at one time, it was him.

“Darling.” He whispered low against your lips. You tangled your fingers into his hair, before pulling him down. He rested his chin against the curve of your chest and looked up into your eyes.

You bit your lip, running your thumb along his own reddening ones. “Do you love me, Barty?” You cooed.

“I do.” He affirmed, licking the skin you touched along his Cupid's bow, “I do, more than anything.” His voice was raw and rough, he pulled at your hold, trying desperately to kiss you again.

“Do something for me, Barty.”

“Anything, Darling. Anything.” He muttered, eyes still on your lips.

“Be within my reach. Always.” You whispered before releasing him. He took your lips once more, pushing you back against the wall like the very prospect of not touching you in some way was physically painful. His hand traveled up from your hand to rub over the mark you took just days earlier.

Every moment like that seemed fleeting.

The very next year, Regulus Black passed. He had gone MIA and your mother, despite her loyalty to Voldemort, commanded you home. It got worse when they officially announced his death.

You stayed locked in those walls, by order of your mother. He missed you dearly. Barty never wanted to be your hero, some great commander, he couldn't care less now about who else even knew his name anymore. He was older now, and he just wanted to be yours.

So, it pushed Barty to work even harder. Anything to appease The Dark Lord, get this war over with, so he could return to the only true person worthy of his reverence.

Without you, his life went by in simple clips of reality. When Voldemort fell, he was imprisoned in this hellhole, and even now, he found himself unable to let anything else consume his mind.

The dripping of water from the rusting metal doors drove him mad. No other sounds but the miserable screams of inmates and slamming of bodies against pavement. It was a torturous and hopeless place, some people preferred punishment by their own hands. There was suddenly a loud clanging of keys that cut his thoughts.

He looked up from the corner of his cell, putting his thumb in his mouth and sucking on the bleeding torn skin. The marks he had made on the cell walls marked his 354th day in this nightmare. His eyes locked with his father and his mother, furrowing his brow as he stood.

His mother two out two veils of a slug colored potion, his father had another potion in his hand.

Barty didn't stay in that cell to see his 355th.

~~~

{. 1994 POV Shift .}

“It's a bit cold, don't you think?”

Remus Lupin's voice cut through the fog of your mind like a knife through butter. He was right, of course. Even as the year grew warmer with the summer months growing closer, the astronomy tower always gave a pleasant and persistent chill.

You were used to it, by now. Being the Astronomy Professor for almost twelve years. About the same amount of years you managed to avoid coming into contact with Remus himself.

You had to give him credit, Remus Lupin, he was persistent. Doing everything in his power to get you alone. As if one conversation would melt away years of what you had done, the people you deceived, the lives you took, the lies you told… all in the name of a crazed boy long lost to the history of the wizarding world. For the family who was as faded as the family tree you used to tend to with your brothers, painting names and burning faces.

As if speaking to you would somehow bridge a gap. A gap in his heart that still ached for you. It was never something he was able to understand, your persistent and endless love for Crouch had come out of nowhere for him. He couldn't look Sirius in the eye for a long time, learning he had outed your budding relationship.

He took every chance he could, to reach out, to speak to you, it was met with closed doors and a reminder of remaining professional.

“It is. Heading out, Lupin?” You muttered to him. You couldn't lie and say having him here didn't make you feel, in some ways, nostalgic. To the loving, caring, respectful girl you once knew. One with so much patience and kindness you shared it with all kinds of souls. Souls you've watched drop like flies under the man you swore your life to.

“I am.” Remus muttered but didn't turn to leave. You shifted on your heel to look back at him from the entrance of the tower. He had his hand resting on the railing, his palm thudding against the railing as he tried to gather the courage to continue.

“I heard you gave Snape quite the earful.” He hummed, walking deeper into your classroom. You thinned your lips and shook your head, turning away from him. He gave a weak scoff.

“Could you at least look at me?” He pushed, his voice wavering. You closed your eyes and gave a deep sigh. Your hands moved to grab the railing.

“What is it, Lupin?”

“It's not too late.” He whispered and you closed your eyes. His words were exact, aimed to cut deep and retrieve from you the heart he knew was there; it just had grown cold. “You could come back. With me, tonight, we can meet with Padfoot and-”

“And what, Lupin?” You spoke calmly as you turned to face him. He went rigid at your stare. “Live this wonderful life you have weaved out for us? Pretend that everything is okay and the last few years never happened?” You pushed and he closed his eyes.

Anger bubbled in his throat with something familiar, jealousy and bitter melancholy. If he could hear you any clearer you would be cotton in his ears. Your words were empty because he knew you could. Put Hogwarts behind you and come back to him, come with him and Sirius like you should have done back when you wore uniform and not cloaks like proper professors. Nothing was proper about you two aching hearts anyway.

Yet history repeated itself.

It always would.

“You know he's gone.” Remus started slowly and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your eyes grow glossy with grief and you placed your left hand over your heart.

“I never thought I would be someone's second choice. To Bartemius Crouch Jr.” He continued. “I see I never measured up, did I?”

“... I am sorry, Remus.” You whispered, your voice, for the first time in years, was vulnerable. It was careful.

Because of course you loved Remus. You loved him dearly, but no man would own you like Barty had. You were terrified to let yourself be loved with anything less than what he had shown you. Steadfast and faithful love. No one could challenge the status of Barty in your life.

Even in death his ghost reminds you of your place. Next to him.

Once this was over, once Dumbledore had seen and used his worth in you, when you were no longer under his wing like a servant, you would go back to 12 Grimmauld Place. You would retire. And you would wait for Barty to take you back home. Let it be a year, let it be ten, you would return to him as promised.

“... What have you become?” He whispered to you, and your eyes finally raised to meet him. You caught your tears and quickly cleaned your face. Shaking your head you put back on your practiced and perfect pout.

“.. A Black.”

Your exchange ended there.

Remus returned to your brother, you presumed. You forged ignorance when you were questioned by the Ministry of your brother’s whereabouts. It didn't take much for them to let you be, especially with Mr. Crouch Senior’s particular protectiveness of you. Probably a gift from Mrs. Crouch, oh, how you missed her.

When Barty was taken and your mother was far too weak to control you, you visited the Crouchs’ daily. You helped Winky with taking care of his parents, particularly his sick and fragile mother. You grew a weak repore with his father, though you despised him.

As a proper pureblood you just silently reaped the benefits of what the world had gifted you.

Including your wealth. With the house of Black fallen you were left to be the soul heir. Though, the moment you heard of Sirius Black’s escape, you reopened your joint account. Soon, you heard someone was able to access it. It was true; your brother was alive and well.

That was the only olive branch you extended to him.

Once the school year was officially over you returned home. To your modest house down in an old town just a broom ride away from Hogwarts. Feldcroft.

You returned home, it was uneventful. Until you opened your door.

You were greeted by Winky, the Crouch’s house elf. That wouldn't be unusual, Barty had preached to her about how you were both intended. How she should attend to you, how she attended to him. So she would appear at your house from time to time, with gifts and food she had prepared for Crouch Senior that she made just too much of.

“Winky?” You called out to the figure in your hall. The sheepish girl turned to face you with a careful smile.

“Madam Black has returned! How happy Winky is to see you, mistress.” She declared and hurried up to you. Her path was cut short as Creature stepped in front of her, snapping away your bags. He seemed in a foul mood. Fowler then usual.

“Your mother would not approve of your company, Ms. Blaaaack.” He warned and you furrowed your brow. “Nor would she approve of this home-”

“Kreature.” You demanded and he huffed. Winky was always coming in and out, Creature never voiced displeasure with her company and your mother, well, she could care less. “What company?”

“The noisy Crouch, Ma'am.”

Your heart dropped. He apparated away, assumingly to unpack your bags. Your eyes widened as Winky appeared in front of your full view. Showing off the black quill you had most definitely left at home. Your mothers old quill. You took it carefully from the house elf.

“Winky..” You spoke carefully and slowly. Holding up the quill between your fingers. “Who gave this to you?”

“I think you know, Darling.”

Before Winky could answer, a voice lost to time spoke first. You knew it before you even turned around.

Still, you jerked your entire body to face him. Your eyes locked, full of longing and hope.

And there he was. Your Barty.

He was holding a newspaper, licking his bottom lip but his eyes were on you. His eyes were just how you always remembered them. So full of danger and appreciation for your simple presence. He stepped towards you and you took a step back. He tsked at that, reaching out to grab your waist. “Darling..” He whispered.

You were still in shock. Staring up at his brown eyes and waiting. For anything. “Barty?” You whispered.

When he kissed you, alarm bells went off in your head. You didn't listen to any of them, grabbing him just as greedily as he held you. Both of your eyes closed and you held each other like you might perspire.

He was home.

He truly was.

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zkaus · 1 year ago

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At the back of my copy of The Vampire Armand, there's an old interview with Anne Rice talking about creating that novel. I've never forgotten her answer to one of the questions... It haunted me for years.

It gives incredible insight into how and why she wrote such beautiful, brutal and broken characters, and what she endured in the creation process.

BUT before you read this, I'm going to STRONGLY warn you, it goes to very very DARK places

Q: What are your work habits for a novel?

A: Once I truly begin to write, I work obsessively, in twelve-hour days, punctuated by days of long sleep and vivid dreaming. Starting time and ending time are no longer important. I might begin at 9 A.M., or after noon or at eight in the evening. I go from there. I turn on the computer and write, write, write.

My room is a mess. Notes are scribbled on the walls so that I can look up at them at the appropriate moments and insert the date, the name, whatever, when I need it. Books are stacked so high that people have to search for me when they come into the room. Opened books with marked-up pages are stacked on top of one another.

I become suicidal. I go through a horrid despair some time or other before the final page, during which everything seems meaningless—from the dawn of history to the very hour in which I am writing.

I’m intolerable to live with. But I spread myself thin over a number of loved ones and staff members so that no one person has to put up with how intense, hysterical, and miserable I am.

When I get elated and talk fast and furiously about wonderful aspects of history or the characters, or good developments in the story, people run away from me. I don’t blame them.

While the novel is being written, I try to avoid dressing for outdoors. No one can make you go out if you don’t have shoes on. Not even in the south. I wear long velvet robes and soft velvet slippers. I refuse to go out. All food is brought in. I eat hamburgers because they are easy to hold with one hand while reading and holding the book with the other hand.

In the middle of the night I read, sometimes on the carpeted floor of the bathroom, just because it’s warm. I am wretched. I don’t care anymore about being abnormal. Writing is everything. Everything. It seems impossible to write the book. It seems impossible to lift a hairbrush to brush my hair. But I do it. I put on mascara every day that I write.

This period of intense work lasts about six weeks. It’s best that way. My imagination is overheated, and my memory clogged with data of varying importance. If I go over six weeks, I begin to forget things; I feel the loss of intensity and information and I become all the more self-destructive and obsessed.

The end of the book is a big event for me. A big event. I start screaming. I put the hour and the date at the end of the last page. I expect everybody to understand, at least a little. It’s a triumph! The darkness of destiny has been driven back for a brief while. I celebrate. I scream, eat chocolate, and sleep.

Right near the end of writing The Vampire Armand, I realized I had to return to Italy, especially to Florence, and at once I began to make preparations for the trip. As soon as the novel was finished and off to the publisher’s, as soon as it could be accomplished, I flew to Italy. That gave me hope, a way out of a life threatening darkness that often follows the climax of a book. But I still ate chocolate and screamed.

While writing, I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to sleep. Why sleep? It seems stupid, except when weariness overcomes me like a giant cloud of poisonous vapor. Then I sleep fifteen to twenty hours. I tell people to go in and out of the bedroom and ignore me lying there, as if I were dead. I won’t talk on the phone. I won’t open my eyes if I don’t have to. I dream terrible, upsetting dreams.

I want to kill myself. But I can’t. I can’t do it to other people, and I have work that must be done, novels that must be written. So I don’t kill myself. Besides, I don’t think it’s good to kill oneself. It’s a horrible idea. It has a horrible effect even on acquaintances.

I think a lot about people I loved who are dead. I think of how dead they are, year after year, ever more dead.

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #the vampire lestat #louis de pointe du lac #interview #tw: sucidal thoughts #mental health #writing

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transboyswitchytales · 23 days ago

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'Toxic To Consume But Delicious Too'(DARK FIC)

REQUEST FROM ANON: I would love to read a Claire Debella x reader fic where they have a toxic relationship…..

WARNINGS: DARK FIC

REQUEST FROM ANON: ‘if you are still taking requests, I would love to read a Claire Debella x reader fic where they have a toxic relationship. They separate because Reader wants to end the toxic cycle and Reader even moves and gets a job far away. However, Claire finds Reader e insists on returning to the relationship. Reader refuses and it seems that Claire will stop insisting but mysteriously Reader is forced to move back to Connecticut - perhaps because of her job. Yes, it was Claire but Reader doesn't kno’

NON CON ELEMENTS / Dub Consent / Piss Play Mentioned but not done / Daddy/Mommy Kink / Manipulation / Murder / Blackmail / Money Manipulation / Abuse / DARK FIC / Impregnation Kink / Non Safe-Sane - Consensual kink play / Humiliation Kink / Cock cage mentioned / Power Plays / House of Cards Aesthetic / yandere/ entrapment and negotiation / Begging / Claire G!P / Claire has a dick / You don't have the mental fortitude to say no / Past Relationships mentioned / Dr. Vidal for sure tried to fuck you / Dead Dove ; Don't Eat

Anon I hope you don't mind me making this dark, I hope you like it!

My Masterlist

You dropped yet another box full of books into the empty flat. Well, the apartment was less empty than before, you had shipped the sofa, side table, mattress, and two kitchen chairs. It was bare bones as you’d been moving pretty regularly.

You grabbed another box full of books, and the bottom of it broke out from under you.

“Fuck.” You curse, and you see it’s one of your many ‘Claire’ boxes. A small box clatters to the floor. You don’t open it, knowing it’s your wedding ring. Your therapist said you should get rid of most of this, but you couldn’t.

Governor Clarie DeBella was your ex-wife. Wel,l technically, you were still married. You’d tried to get a divorce and she’d refused.

She promised she’d fix everything, and you smiled and agreed. You’d made love in her office, in the town car, and then back in your mansion.

And then, when Claire fell asleep after you’d both cum around twelve times, you silently got up wincing in pain from being fucked so hard. You grabbed your phone, your wallet, and changed into street clothes. Sneaking out like a thief in the night.

That was a year and two months ago.

Every three months, Claire finds you, though, a man in a tux with an ear piece would come to your work, your coffee shop in the morning, your apartment. And you’d run, pack everything again, and start over.

It was not really a life to be honest, and you were so tired of running.

But here you are again.

You’d read in the paper and online that Claire DeBella, about to be former governor of Connecticut, as Claire was running to be Vice President. Was no longer in her home state.

It was a rumor at this point, but you knew better. Claire loved power; that’s why she craved your submission so much.

You’d been married before her, and Claire had been relentless until you belonged to her.

Claire was obsessed with you, you weren’t even sure if she understood what healthy love looked like.

You bent down to look at the box contents.

Love letters from Claire, and expensive jewelry were in the box. Mementos from dates, ticket stubs, and Polaroids. You’d not had time to pack most of these things. Instead you paid one of Claire’s staff members for it. You knew he’d get caught.

But you wanted these things….It was selfish. But your wedding dress hung in your closet, and you had three boxes of Claire memories…ok, maybe more.

But you found the small electronic, the thing you’d been afraid to turn on.

Your old iphone, you’d turned it off only an hour after you left.

It was the most tempting thing to turn back on. But you bought a new phone quickly with a new number, something Claire couldn’t hack or track.

But you stared at that phone so many times, wanting to turn it on, wanting to hear her voice.

You watched Claire on the news of course, but it wasn’t the same.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t use Claire’s face on CNN to cum at night. You didn’t want to, but it was the only way you could masturbate. To her blue eyes and piercing gaze.

You were sick.

Your marriage was toxic.

And you’d been good to run. Or so your first four therapists had said before you’d fired them. You felt raw, you couldn’t talk badly about Claire with someone. She was not good for you, but that didn’t mean you could sit and listen to someone talk poorly about her. Talk about your marriage like they understood.

No one would ever understand what happened between you and Claire.

Or how you ached still for Claire DeBella.

You held the iPhone in your hands, the tether to your old life. Every photo of your wedding and vacations, every text of ‘coming home’ and ‘I love you more than anything’, every voice memo while she was busy but had to tell you something. Your dirty home videos together while you cried for her to let you cum just put you out of your misery, they were on this fucking thing.

You set it on your kitchen countertop.

No. You were stronger than this. You’d just signed a lease, and you knew she’d find you in a month or two tops.

Well, not this time actually, because the Governor was in D.C. to prepare for the election to come. Claire would be too busy to hunt you down.

And so you’d returned to Connecticut, knowing she’d be in DC. It was the safest place to be now.

You’d gotten a job at your alma mater (and Claire’s) Yale.

You were going to teach Sociology, and you were really excited.

Sure you loved being Claire’s trophy wife, fuck was it nice to not work. You had gotten to do the community service stuff you wanted. You’d gotten to start charities and..well it didn’t matter. It would be good to teach.

So when your old professor, who is now on the board, reached out for a job offer. You’d been so excited you couldn’t believe it.

So you’d moved back to Conneticut in this shitty apartment.

You fell into a routine for the first two days. You enjoyed teaching again, even if it wasn’t perfect. You didn’t get close to any of the polite professors who wanted to talk with you.

You couldn’t be close with anyone, never again.

So it was no shock on the day you were feeling a little bit too lonely.

That you opened up a bottle of bourbon. And you thought about your wedding….

You don’t believe you even thought it through for a second.

But you turned your old phone on.

It had 40 voicemails, all from Claire, the box was full. You had over 2,393 texts from Claire. Over a hundred missed calls.

You knew what you wanted, though. You wanted that one video…of you two fucking that one night in Kansas City. Yeah, that was a good one. You were about to click on videos when your thumb hovered over the last voicemail.

What was the last thing Claire called and said?

You are drunk, this was a bad idea.

But you click on it.

It’s muffled for a minute, and you wonder if she’d not meant to call you, if it was her pocket or something. But then you hear her breathe, and you wait.

“I miss you so much.”

You gulp and tears you didn’t know you could still shed for your wife fell down your cheeks. It was so quick you don’t have time to shame spiral for your feelings.

You think that’s it, but she speaks the last thing you’d expect. The last thing you’d believe from her.

“I need you. I love you so much…You just..ran away. And now all I have left is the broken pieces of our life together.” Claire pauses in the voicemail, and you put a hand over your mouth so you don’t make noise. “If you were here, we could fight, but you didn’t even do me the courtesy of an argument…I just…

“Please come home. “ Claire says and the call ends.

You drank a lot more that night.

You did end up masturbating to multiple dirty home movies you two had made.

And when you wake up, you are so ashamed of yourself. You turn off the phone and pray that you didn’t just send up a signal for Claire to notice you.

How dumb you had been.

You’d gone to work that morning a little hungover.

Getting two coffee’s at your local shop, you were late for your first class.

You did your three lectures and showed your TA what you needed for the first big assignment. Bought a new set of post it notes instead of lunch. And made your way back to your apartment by four thirty.

You slid your key into the lock and opened the door.

You’d gone to toe your shoes off when your eyes snapped to the sofa.

Claire.

She look at you like no time had passed.

“No….No! This isn’t happening! YOU ARE IN DC! YOU CAN’T BE HERE!” You shout as you find your wife drinking white wine on your sofa like it was another weekday.

“Oh, come now, Mrs. DeBella, no kiss for your wife?”

Your fight or flight takes a minute to kick in.

“Hi sugar, I’m home.” Claire teases and raises her glass as if to cheers you.

Claire threw her keys onto the side table to prove that she in fact did have a key to your apartment.

Your mind reboots and you stepped back and grabbed the doorknob spinning around to run and three jacked secret service looking fuckers stood there.

They were quick, you hadn’t seen them at all in the hall.

“No more running, baby. Come inside, let’s have a chat.” Claire loudly slaps the leather sofa cushion next to her ass, indicating for you to sit next to her.

You slam the door closed in the Men in Black’s faces.

Fuck.

Before walking over and grabbing one of the two chair’s you’d shipped. It’s an old chair you bought antiquing with Claire. It had stayed in a random storage locker with the old sofa you’d owned in college. The one she sat on.

You prayed she didn’t recognize the chair.

And she obviously does, as she sips her white wine with an amused curl of her lips.

One leg thrown over the other, her stiletto in the air. Her dress is perfection and it costs more than you make with your new job in a month.

“Well, you seem to be enjoying Connecticut again.”

“It is where we fell in love.” You throw back, hoping it wounds your wife.

Claire smirks, and it’s cold as she sips her wine.

“Love, it’s good to know you still feel it. Still have the word in your vocabulary. You have been avoiding me dear. One whole year, two weeks, and four days I’ve been trying to catch you.” Claire tilts the wine glass in a circle. Memories of wine tasting with her in Napa come back to you, somehow she’d eaten you out while wine dripped down your cunt, Claire knew how to have a good time.

“Claire, what do you want?” There’s no fight in your voice. And she doesn’t seem to like that.

“No, I’ve waited a long time to talk to you, my sweet wife. And now that I have you, we are going to take our time. Have you eaten?”

“I-” You start, but she puts one hand out and waves you off.

“Let me drop the pretense, I’ve had you followed since the second you got here. I know you haven’t eaten, because I pay four different teams to take pictures of your every move. I know that you get your oat and honey shampoo, the same one I use, from the store on Third Street. I know you still have a double-shot vanilla chai latte like the ones I bought you in Dubai. I even know you went at exactly 8 thirty two am, today when you were late for work. I’m guessing a little hungover. That’s right, I haven’t slowed down. Your Mama hasn’t lost her touch. I also know that the thirty something red head slut who sells them to you asked you out. And I know you said you were married. But where is the very expensive ring, not on your finger?”

Claire’s words are commanding, just like her.

Your jaw juts to the side.

“Shall I assume that Wanda is dead and someone is using her body for filler in cement? Or is she going to be found burned up in some accident that happens to point the blame somewhere else?”

Claire laughs but doesn’t answer. And you take that as a ‘yup.’

“I missed you, you look good, sweetheart. This look reminds me of when I first met you. Though you did look better in the Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Chanel, Gucci, Prada, Dior, Saint Laurent, Burberry, Balenciaga, those little brands I bought for you.” Claire took a sip of her wine before humming and adding. “Your best outfit was naked in our bed, of course. Nothing else could compare to that.”

Claire is punishing you, the knife that slowly cuts always takes the longest to heal. This would be good. But it’s real agony, like she’s performing.

The door opened, and three waiters came in. They unfolded a table, draping a white tablecloth, and lighting candles. Claire just watches with a delicious grin as she takes another sip. The waiter holds two bottles of wine, and she nods to the left but doesn’t take her eyes off of you.

A man came out with two large platters. Claire continued to stare at you, but she flicked her wrist for them to leave.

She takes the wine, and you recognize it is an extra expensive one that she’d bought a vineyard out of for your wedding rehearsal dinner.

She pours your glass first, always a gentleman, and the light twinkles against the rim of the expensive wine glass.

Claire's eyes you with such heat, you try to remember you aren’t here for romance.

She’s manipulative, and she doesn’t love you, not in a good way. You are going to run the second she looks the other way.

Claire goes to her own glass nice and slow.

“Mm, I suppose it makes sense we break up over the bottle we promised to spend the rest of our lives with.” You muse.

Claire stops pouring and looks at you conflicted, before snorting in offense, finishing her healthy pour and corking the wine bottle.

“I think you’ve misinterpreted my dinner intentions, darling.” You notice Claire’s wedding ring sparkles under the romantic lighting. She hadn’t taken it off.

You take the glass to your lips, but speak first before indulging.

“What is the plan, then, Claire? You going to drug me and kidnap me?”

“That all depends on you.” Her voice is so serious, and you feel a cool chill. “Let’s eat, and then we can talk details?”

“No, Claire, you know me better than that. I want the rules out here. If this is a negotiation, then let it be.” You say and take a larger gulp. Claire laughs at you but reveals your dinner, she serves you with ease and domesticity. It’s your favorite Italian food from you’d wager from your favorite place. The bitch, it was what you ate on your first date.

“Happy wife, happy life I suppose.”

Claire gives you the fettuccine first, knowing you never ordered if for yourself but it was your favorite. You only got it on special occasions, anniversaries, valentines day, and today it seemed.

You felt like you were losing this battle already.

Claire takes a steak knife and starts to cut her meat.

You don’t touch your noodles, wondering if they’re drugged. Or even poisioned.

“What do you want, Claire? I thought you’d be happy. There’s no bad look here for you. Sure, you got a few paparazzi who wondered where I went. But you could easily slip a nice warm-blooded American with the right amount of education in my place. Someone who doesn’t think for themselves too often. Give them the correct lines on the teleprompter, teach them to host dinners, there are a million people who would jump for joy at that job.”

“No,” Claire says, and she holds out a bite of her steak to you on a fork. You scoff at her, but she lifts an eyebrow, and you can’t believe your body is betraying you. You lean down and take the bite off her fork.

This was one of your many traditions, the small idiosyncrasies that made a couple.

You had a million of them with Claire, and you missed every single one.

And you thought Claire would have forgotten them. But here she was, feeding you stake off her fork.

You’d joked the first time that Claire was like a lion going in for the kill. That she was a powerful woman out for blood. So of course, she’d take her stake rare, bloody. Claire had not taken offense to this at all. The Governor had told you that you were her partner, her queen on the throne, then. And if she hunted, well then it was only respectful to give the queen the first bite. You’d eaten the first bite of steak ever since.

Claire smiled at the memory you were reliving. You chewed and tried not to moan at how fucking good it was. You couldn’t really afford steak while on the run. You don’t know the last time you’d had it.

“What do you mean no?” You swallow the bite.

“You know me better than that. I know you know I’m running for Vice President.” Claire was setting the scene, and you were walking into her trap. And the worst thing is, all you could do was obey.

“It was in our plan, of course, I know.” You roll your eyes and drink your wine, not touching your food still. You lean back in the chair like you want to throw a tantrum and Claire just seems to find it cute.

You play with the napkin and place it in your lap, you just need something to do with your hands.

“Well, the head of our PR team tried to tell me to find a dumb replacement, like you just did. I reminded him that I am married.”

You chew your own cheek in anxiety for a moment. Before you guess where this night is going.

“But you don’t have to be Claire.”

Perhaps she had finally been ready for a divorce?

Claire’s face told you that wasn’t the case. As she used the big knife to cut her food. You wondered if someone would be wearing the knife by the end of the night.

“Oh, but I want to be. Oh, I get it, you’ve deluded yourself into believing that I am here to do… what exactly, darling?” Claire cackled and took a bite of steak while never leaving your challenging stare.

“Break up? Or maybe punish me? Dump my beaten corpse in some sex scandal? Then tell the world you are hard on sex trafficing. Oh, or maybe make it so I’m terrible and you tried to save me and work some story?” You think of angles but you are missing the big picture.

And it is clear from the sound coming out of your wife.

Claire laughs and drinks her wine. Almost like you’d just told the best joke at a gala.

“You always had a good imagination. But if you think back to our plans? All those nights wrapped up in bedsheets. Think now…I’ve always been honest with you.” Claire says, and she reaches across to your plate. She twirls the fat noodles and then holds the fork over your mouth. You want to throw your wine in her face.

Part of you still wonders if it’s posioned. But your choices are far and few. And the nagging part of you refuses to listen to reason.

The truth is you missed this.

Fuck, you are just as sick and toxic as her.

You bend forward and take the food into your mouth.

And if it is posioned it is a good bite to die on, you chew and you can’t believe how delicious it is.

“Good girl,” Claire tells you, and you press your thighs together. As you chew, Claire looks around the apartment. “It is a cute little place, I mean I bought it of course. I thought you’d gotten rid of this grimey sofa. But the chairs were nice to see.”

You cough on your food, and Claire beams at her ability to still surprise you. But she pulls the cloth napkin out of her lap and dabs your mouth until you push her hand away. You catch your breath and then glare at her.

“You!”

“The apartment, the job, hell, baby, I think I’ve been pretty good at setting your life up.” But she says it like it’s a challenge. You two loved to talk politics, of course you did. And you agreed on most topics, but not all. And If Claire got bored she’d disagree on a topic she believed in, in the comfort of your own home. Just to see how you’d fight back.

That look, is the same one she was giving you now. She just wanted a debate.

“No, you didn’t do this to set me up.”

Claire likes your answer.

“You are smart, always were, keep going, Mrs. DeBella.”

“You wanted to show me how quickly you could give me what I want..”

“And?” Claire looks like she’s about to reveal how she performs a magic trick.

“How quickly you could take it all away.” The last part made you feel a little sick.

This was all an illusion. You would never get to teach at Yale again. You’d never see this apartment again.

All of this was a lie.

Just to show you how far her reach could go.

Claire takes another bite of steak before she balances the knife and fork on the side of her plate. Swallowing she let’s you sit in your wallowing for only a second longer before she can’t wait any longer.

“You want it out in the open? Let’s negotiate then. I want to give you everything. You enjoyed our life together, the parties were droll, of course. But you were making a difference, we were climbing the ladder together. You liked the power. But it was really always the game of it, the sportsmanship. So you can pretend being a Professor makes you feel fulfilled. But you and I both know that sharing a cigarette in the middle of the night as we plot the fall of a Supreme Court leader is what makes you tick.” Claire says it and leans forward, and your eyes fall to her lips, and she smiles in victory.

The image of the seconds before dawn, where you’d fucked and made love all night. And then spent the last hours before light smoking a cigarette naked and deciding how you’d put beastality pornography on a public officials work computer…it was a form of intimacy you couldn’t ever replace. Claire would kiss your shoulder and neck as you spoke. And you’d pass her the cigarette and she’d push smoke into your mouth. And you’d share in your sin.

That was the closest you’d ever felt to another person’s soul.

Claire DeBella was your drug.

“So?” You can’t exactly call her a liar. You’d helped her end careers and frame innocent people.

“So your Dr. Vidal and I spoke.”

“Wow, you are truly vicious!” Not even a beat passes before you say it. But you are thinking of all the things you told your last therapist. You wonder what made Rio fold and tell Claire everything. Did she give your recorded sessions or just the cliffnotes? Did Rio need to be blackmailed or was it money? Or perhaps a favor?

It wasn’t shocking that Claire did it, it was….almost flattering. If it wasn’t so fucked up.

“Oh, baby, you have no idea what I would do to get you back. You have no idea what I’ve done to get this dinner. To have you here tonight with me by candlelight. I’ve waited over a year to sit across the table and tell you this.”

“Well, let’s get on with it then, so you can buy your next partner.” You look at the sofa for the divorce papers.

Claire snaps then, the vein pops in her forehead and her voice booms across the table.

“THERE WILL BE NO ONE ELSE! I WANT YOU!”

She stops and takes a breath through her nose like you’d taught her when she’d lose her temper. But you don’t let her calm down.

“Claire, you can’t be serious!” You almost laugh at the idea. Claire’s tongue pokes out between her lips as she gains her control back.

“I absolutely am. I’ve done terrible things to get you, and I won’t let go now. We are the same. I may be Frankensteins Monster but you will always be my bride. One cannot be without the other. You need me too.” Claire says like it’s romantic. She picks up her fork and knife once more to cut her food.

“Do you hear what you are saying?” You lean forward as if you are at a restaurant and about to tell her to go fuck herself for no one else to hear.

She can’t be serious.

“You are my everything!” Claire shouts at your whisper and drops her cutlery. Threading her fingers together and putting her elbows on the table. Covering her face in anguish as if this isn’t going how she’d liked.

“No, no, you have politics.” This was always a point of tension. You hated when she called you her everything. Scratch that, you loved it, but your lack of self confidence always hated it. Because Claire lived to destroy in politics, and yet she acted like she’d throw it away for you. It was a lie, just like everything else.

Her hands fall off the table as she regards you.

“The kill has lost all sport. It is boring without you. If I don’t have you at the top with me, then I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.” Claire reached across the table and put her hand out, like she needed to touch you. Like if you felt her hand you’d believe her. You glare at the offending softness she is displaying.

It’s manipulative, you hear the doctor saying it in your mind. You always cave from her touch, you won’t give in now.

“You don’t mean that.” You sneer.

“Oh, I do.” The Governer retorts but retracts her hand. If she feels stung by your rejection her poker face doesn’t let it show.

“Claire.” You bite your top lip like you just don’t know how to get out of this spider web. Not when Lady Spider herself was spinning the web faster than you can think.

“I love you.” Claire’s voice is strong and sure. It makes your heart ache. But you refuse to let her draw you back in. This was a strategic move, nothing more.

“No, you don’t, you love power.” You correct her and she gives a disappointed look before disagreeing with you. Her painted nails ball into a fist on the table.

“No baby, I love you. And I’ll prove it for the rest of my days. I can be so good to you, you know that. We were good together. People called us a power couple, but they had no idea, did they? I crave you, I have gone absolutely mad in your absence. I love you baby girl.”

You wish that didn’t make you feel so good.

“Claire.” Everytime you say her name, you want to follow it with ‘I’m leaving and you are sick and twisted.’ But it gets stuck in your throat.

“Here’s what I propose. You come home.”

The term home made your stomach flop. You missed home. You hadn’t felt at home since the night you snuck away.

The candle flickers and the light in the room is so dim now, no sunlight.

No light outside at all, you felt like your life was quickly changing and you were in the audience unable to tell the lead character to not go in the basement. Not in her thin white shirt and panties, don’t go towards the killer with no weapon.

“That’s not much of a negotiation.” You tell her, because it feels like Claire is just playing with her food now. Claire’s body responds to you, as if she feels like this is flirting now.

You aren’t sure if she’s right or wrong.

“You aren’t holding much of a good hand, dear.”

Those words bring you back, Claire wasn’t here to romance you. She’d always gotten what she wanted.

“You can’t kidnap me.” You say it like you have to. Like if you say the words maybe she’ll hear it and think it’s ridiculous. Then she’ll feel shame at even having the idea. But you’d both orchestrated kidnappings for far less important reasons.

Claire’s left hand turns into a claw on the table. Dark red nails pristine.

Her fingers drum on the tablecloth like she’s considering how to move on the board next.

But Claire is always honest with you, she finds it refreshing to not have to lie.

“You are mine, I can do whatever I want, in fact. So it is up to you it seems. Personally, I’d just rather you naked, wrap in fur and diamond rings. I can see it now, just as you were. Legs wide open for me in front of a fire. I want you and I’ll leave politics, I’ll leave DC or Connecticut. I’ll beg, borrow, and steal.”

You are both quiet for a second.

The memory of Rio’s words sing in your ear once more. ‘Don’t play her game. You have control over your own choice.’

So you say what you know anyone else would in this moment. Not what you want to say.

“You are crazy if you think this is going to work. That I’ll just roll over and show my stomach for you again.” You push the food towards her the expensive plates and cutlery clink, and she doesn’t flinch.

Seeming to figure you’d act out like a child.

“I am crazy.” Claire agree’s but she continues;” I’ve killed for you. Can your college girlfriend Jenny Barkley say that? Can your Ex Wife Maya Mason say that? Can anyone claim to do anything for you the way I do? I’ve tortured and murdered innocent people for you, and I’ll do it again. Without a single hesitation. And you, your hands are just as dirty as mine. I’ve seen what you’ll do for me, you’ve ruined people before having your morning coffee. You didn’t even blink before sending them to their doom. Just to see me succeed to protect your wife.”

Claire says it like it’s romantic.

You wish you felt guilt. You couldn’t even tell Dr. Vidal all of that. It was horrible, but you had…fun.

“That was before, I’m not like that anymore.” You stated what you told yourself in the mirror every morning. When you missed it.

Claire scoffs like you are being silly.

“No one will ever love you like I do, the way you crave love. No one will understand your mind the way I do. And you know it, but I won’t let you have a chance to find out. You ran for a year, I was careless in giving you any freedom. Never again, that is the last time you run from me.”

You wondered if this is what Clarice felt like looking through the glass at Lecter.

“So what, do I get a tracker under my skin? You're gonna have a security team on me at all hours?” The idea made you wet. Fuck you needed to get out of here.

Claire pretended to mull this over. Tongue going over the front of her teeth as if she’s really considering it.

“The tracker under the skin is a little too Fahrenheit 451, don’t you think? No, I like the other option.”She says like she didn’t prepare for this. On how she’d keep you in a cage.

“I’m going to have a 24 hour security detail.” You repeat it like the court needs to put it on record.

You wonder if Claire had ever taped your conversations. Just in case, in case you grew a conscience. In case you ever wanted to turn her into to the authorities. But you realize Claire had enough to end you. And perhaps she liked playing with the idea that you loved her more than you feared her.

“No one would think anything of it. You are the vice president's lady. I want you safe. No one will know I’m keeping you safe from yourself as well.” Claire looks up like she’s brilliant. Like she was inventing a new thing right here.

“Wow, so this isn’t a negotiation. This is a terrorist list of demands” You state it and you feel the need to be a brat.

Claire laughed and then let out a high pitched noise. It wasn’t her warm laugh, it was the one she used for people in politics she was about to destroy. You were in her cross hairs.

“Everything is a negotiation, baby, you know that. I taught you better than that. You are too smart to play dumb. So you can pout like a brat at the dinner table, you know how I adore breaking your bratty attitude. Or you can tell me what you want. And we can really talk.”

“I want to be rid of you.” The lie stung in your mouth. Almost like a nun in catholic school had used her ruler on you.

Claire doesn’t laugh now she regards you like one does a horse in need of breaking, and then puts the glass down.

“Try again.” She holds more patience in her tone, but you hear that it is empty.

“I mean it, my consent matters, no?” You know it doesn’t but Claire enjoyed the illusion. So she played along with your coyness. Her face was clearly

“Of course, if that’s where you want to go with this. Let’s try a different method. Why my shampoo?”

“What?” You hated that she knew that. She’d gone through your fucking apartment and found your secrets.

“You don’t love me, remember? So why our college? Why my shampoo, why do you keep your wedding dress hung up in your closet? And why did I find this?”

Claire throws your wedding ring in the box onto the dinner table and the plates clatter under it. She’s smiling with that feral look now.

Checkmate mother fucker.

“That’s the proof I want you still? Oat shampoo, a job you manipulated me for, and the fact I didn’t throw out some jewelry?”

You are lying and Claire doesn’t believe it’s coy anymore, she finds it irritating. So she grinds her jaw. She was fine with you being a brat it seemed, but not with you lying.

“You really want to play it this way? I come in here with dinner and wine. I try to be romantic, and you want to do this. You need to play dirty, honey?”

You hadn’t touched your fork. Only the bites she’d fed you, the wine wasn’t drugged you realized which was wild. Maybe Claire thought you’d go with her willingly.

“I don’t want you.” You repeat.

“Ok,” Claire takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself down, “You are coming home tonight. I have changed our security protocols. You will sleep next to me tonight and for the rest of our long lives together. Now, can you guess what comes next?”

You study her, and then it dawns on you.

“I’m not pumping out four kids for your stupid campaign to look better on posters!” You snap, and Claire doesn’t budge. She doesn’t react to your harsh words.

“You and I will have those four children we planned, not because of a menial campaign. But because we had a life planned together, we will have it. Now I’m going to give you a chance to live out the rest of your need to be a brat. But once we leave this apartment, you will remember who you are. You are Mrs. DeBella, and you are all mine.”

You can’t believe her.

“You actually think you love me? You know we are so toxic, why would you want any of this with me?”

Claire for the first time looks actually hurt by your words. You want to feel victory, but it doesn’t reach the parts of you you’d hoped it would. And as her jaw sets like an injured soldier, she says it low and slow.

“You must be joking.”

As if you are the one being unreasonable now.

“I’m not Claire.” You tell her, because you don’t want to believe her. She wanted a possession. You were bad for each other. At least that’s what the doctors told you. And you tried to remember it now, as part of you desperately wanted to take it aback.

To crawl into Claire’s lap and kiss her face. Ask her about her day and let her fuck you until all her stress was gone.

Claire scratches her nose, then presses her lips together in a thin line before her attention cuts you down a peg.

“I love you more than anything. I’ve been tracking you down for a year to get you back. I watch our wedding video every fucking night and drown my sorrows with bourbon, I can’t sleep. I’ve fired more people for saying your name in my office than there are assistance in D.C. I’ve tried to chase my sorrows with your old negligee and some sleeping pills, no luck. I can’t think, I can’t focus on my campaign or… I can’t do my damn job. Or even fucking cum in the shower. I haven’t cum since you left. You think I don’t love you? You think we are toxic? You know what’s toxic? Toxic is you waiting until I’m asleep and leaving me in MY SLEEP! You couldn’t wait until I was awake? Of course not! Because you knew I’D FIGHT FOR YOU!”

Claire grabs her empty wine glass and throws it against the floor and it smashes and glass flies everywhere. You gape in awe at her.

Not realizing a small pieze cuts your arm.

“You don’t know the depths that I would go for you. But you fucking will. You broke my heart. So no, I won’t be hiring a stand-in while I run for VP. Because no one will ever stand next to me, but you. You’ve scorched the earth with the memories of you, and I will never be happy again. You are my world. You are my fucking disease.” Claire says, and you can’t breathe.

“Now let’s try this again.” Claire points her finger at you menacing,ly and you don’t back down, but your hands shake under the table, “What do you want?”

You lick your lips and try to think, how will you defuse this. Claire waits for you. But she’s rabid and she speaks out of turn.

“You want an island? I’ll buy it, it’s done. You want to open a charity for fucking sexually limp sea turtles, I’ll give you three billion dollars right now. What do you fucking want?” Claire said, and you couldn’t believe it.

“You’ll never let me go, huh?” You said and pushed all the morals you’d work hard for this last year away.

“Never,” Claire shrugged like ‘it couldn’t be helped.’ “It’s out of the question.”

And you knew that Claire knew you would never make a fool out of her on stage. It wasn’t your style. You scratched the back of your neck.

“I want…I want power again. I want an in on your power plays.” As you say it you can’t help but feel alive again.

Claire’s face says it all. She’d won.

“Done.”

“I want you to take a weekend off each month, no phone, no emails. You have to buy that house along the Caribbean I wanted four years ago. I get full access to open as many charities as I want. And I want to buy that publishing house. The one for queer authors.” You couldn’t believe yourself, and Claire was nodding so obediently at the idea.

“I’m yours and it’s yours. Whatever you want.”

Perhaps Claire was lying, it seemed you had a pretty good hand. Or maybe not, but you had more power in this discussion than you realized.

You were Belle getting the library but still in a haunted castle with the Beast.

“I know what else I want.”

Claire tilted her head, in wonder.

“Get on your knees.” You said, and Claire’s mouth fell open just enough for her to take a heavy breath.

She was always a top, well, not today. Toda,y she would beg. You wanted her to break under you.

“Is that what you want?” Claire asks as if she’s making really sure. But she throws her napkin down onto the table and pushes out her chair. She unzips the dress, and it falls. You see her cock is semi hard already, no underwear or bra on. But she comes around to your side of the table and she drops down hard to her knees.

You lift one foot with your heel onto her shoulder, and she watches eagerly as your long skirt rides up.

You easily pull off your thong and throw it behind you.

Claire’s head goes down to lick your cunt and you slap her hard across the face. Claire’s face turns to the side at the strength.

“You fucked me up! You ruined my life! And you think I’m just going to be a good little wife? Fuck you Claire!” You snap, and Claire’s glare that she turns on you is wicked. But you take your right hand and open your pussy wide for her to see.

“I loved my life with Maya. And you ruined everything. I was happy you know.”

The words are meant to hurt and you see it devastate Claire.

But you touch your clit now and Claire’s face changes quickly.

You see the red handprint across her skin, and it gives you a rush.

She goes again to lick, and you slap her with your wet hand, arousal filling the air. It glistens on her sharp cheeks.

“This game can only go so far for you.” Claire growls, and you shake your head.

“No, I want you to submit. For once in your life, I want it to be clear that I bested you. That you lost the battle even if you are winning the war.” You tell her, and Claire’s face is that of sexual frustration. Like a teenager begging for release.

But you bring your fingers to your hole and you start fucking yourself fast. Knowing it was Claire’s favorite place in the whole world.

“That’s my cunt you are touching, You are in for a world of hurt little girl.” Claire growled, and you took your hand out and slapped her again. And she made the angriest noise in her throat.

“You submit, that’s part of our deal.” You tell her, and something in her face shifts, understanding. She’d gone to Yale, Claire knew how to study for an exam.

Her arms locked behind her back, and she let her cheek rest on your bare thigh. Close to your cunt but not touching.

You’d never seen Claire submit before, and it was making you feel in control, which was all an illusion.

“You know I did this all the time. I fucked myself without you. You are so desperate for it aren’t you? Tell me Claire.”

Claire moved to rest her chin on your thigh and look into your eyes.

“I’m mad for you. I will humiliate myself for you. I am nothing without you. I am lost, a complete mess. You own me.” Claire said and it was so needy that you almost stopped fucking yourself from the words.

“Fuck!” But it feels good to touch yourself and you hadn’t been this turned on since Claire was your bedmate every night.

“You could do anything to me. Whatever you want. You can piss on my face and film it. You control me, baby. I just want you. I just want you. I’ll do anything. Just for a second in your cunt, just for one lick. You can ruin me, baby. ” Claire chants and you hate how quick you are going to cum. But it’s impossible not to.

Claire opens her mouth and sicks her tongue out but doesn’t lick. Just to show you how low she’ll go.

“Fuck Claire fuck!” You are losing your resolve. Claire closes her mouth to say more, knowing her words are what is making you cum, not your hand.

“I’d let you use the strap in my ass in front of all my candidates. Put my cock in a cage. You could invite all of my cabinet, all of their wives, your colleagues and students. I’ll get on the kitchen table and you can fuck me until I pass out. Then you can draw nasty words on me. I’ll be your whore, you own me. Ruin me, baby. I deserve it don’t I?” Claire says and you are so close as you fuck your hole.

“I love you. Be toxic with me, Mrs. DeBella. Fuck yourself, punish me. You know how much I hate not getting to touch you. Punish me! I LOVE YOU!” Claire chants intensely and it helps and you cum around your own fingers and then you accidentally fall onto the floor. Off the stupid chair.

You shouldn’t jump when hands grab your hips but you do.

You took a ragged breath and Claire flipped you onto your back.

“Did you have fun?” She asks and her voice doesn’t even sound like she’d done anything at all.

Your eyes open quickly in horror to see that Claire isn’t even fazed. She was playing pretend the whole time. And you’d bought it. She was topping you from the bottom.

“Fuck you!” You snap, and Claire laughs and pins you under her body. You try to wiggle free, but Claire just giggles.

“I know I know but I got you good.”

You slap at Claire, but she pins your arms. Then she kisses your jaw.

“I know you want to hate me. I actually thought you did for a minute…but you don’t. You still remember our first slow dance. You kept the locket I bought you on our first Valentine’s Day. You think this is toxic? I get it. It’s not perfect. I’m being blackmailed by a billionaire, I know it’s not sane. I pulled string in your life to trap you here…but baby.” Claire says and pulls back to look at you.

“Can you really say you didn’t miss me? The way we loved, the way I love you. That you don’t love me still? That you don’t want me?” Claire said it, and you saw her fear clear as day. And your face broke.

Fuck.

You craved Claire DeBella.

Her fucked up way of love. Who knows, maybe if your parents had held you more or not filled your life with trauma…maybe you could have met someone nice and settled down.

But she was right, you lived for manipulation and sinister ties. You missed blackmail and fancy dinners where you pulled strings. You helped get laws passed by your midnight schemes with Claire.

This last year had been…so bad.

Boring.

You hated yourself for admitting it…..you were looking at the Joker…and you wanted to jump in the vat. You would poison yourself for her. You would help her deranged plans… you’d always be her harlequin.

Claire knew you well enough to read you.

That’s when she shifted and you felt her cock press against your entrance and it dawns on you.

Claire had manipulated everything, and it made you feel at home again.

But you’d been out of her loop so long, you’d gotten lazy, sloppy.

And you’d let your guard down…you also hadn’t been sexually active…so..You’d not taken birth control in four months.

“Claire wait-” You are about to tell her. But she knows, of course dhe does.

“I know baby, I checked. No birth control in the whole place. It’s like you wanted me to bring you home.” The top Claire’s veiny cock rubs against your slit.

You get wetter, from the contact and the threat.

“Claire wait!” You shriek but she puts one hand on your throat.

“You were so sexy in control, you took what you wanted, I love that about you. But hon, I’ve been doing it so much longer. I’ll let you do it again, though. We made a deal after all. I keep my promises. Like how I promised you four children. Well maybe we’ll have more, but at least four. No birth control, and you can imagine why I won’t be wearing a condom.” Claire teases, and she feels you gush this time and looks down between your bodies. You feel Claire’s dick strain and twitch against you at the heat and wetness of your pussy against her.

“Claire fuck-” You hadn’t been fucked since the night you left. You want to tell her to go easy on you.

This was so fucked because you used to pretend this in bed. You’d beg her not to impregnate you and she’d push her cum inside of you. It was your own little power game. One you both loved that you’d always lost.

“I know we used to play this. But here’s the day now. Negotiation over, and so is play time. It’s time for me to breed you. Who would ever vote against our nice little family? And you’ll stop running from me. And you’ll be round and swollen from my seed. I can’t wait to put our kids in private school.” Claire said and her hand started to teach your clit. Mostly, she just missed the feeling of her fingers getting messy inside of you.

You were hot and sticky just how she liked.

“Oh fuck-” you don’t know why you aren’t telling her no. Or rather you know why. You want this.

You want to be pregnant from Claire. You have for forever.

And you want her to make you stay, to own you.

God you needed a new therapist.

Your eyes roll back as she rubs under your clit hood.

But Claire grabs your jaw to make you look at her again.

“You know what, I know you said you don’t love me anymore. But I wanted to ask you something?”

You looked at her, scared and confused.

“If you didn’t want me to find you, to catch you…why in the world did you turn your old phone on, baby? Was it the video? The one where I told you I’d gotten you pregnant?”

Your face turns beet read and Claire loves it.

She’d guessed it first try…

“Holy shit, I am right. I didn’t think I would be. Yeah, that’s my favorite one too. Let’s do it now, let’s play Mommy and Daddy. You always liked that game. Who shall I be tonight?” Claire sounded so excited like this was christmas morning.

You bit your lip til you tasted blood.

You loved when she played with you, her dirty words drove you to hours of orgasms.

Her body is so good against yours.

“Claire-” You gasp as she rubs your clit and you feel your orgasm. But she spits in your face, and it lands on your mouth.

You missed this.

“No, call me by my name.”

“Please damn it..fuck me!” You hate yourself for breaking, but you can’t stand it anymore.

If Claire wanted to kill for you, to be toxic and deplorable. Who were you to say no?

Claire leans in and bites your neck and you already feel the bruise. Before she turns back in triumph.

“I thought it would take at least another two orgasms before you started begging.” She loves to demean you, and you gush from her words. You loved her praise but something about her humiliating you made you cum the hardest.

“Please please please, I’ll be yours. I promise.” You want to cry.

Surrender never felt this good. Your red flags were going off but your need to cum was too strong.

Claire’s cock is moving on its own against your pussy. Like it wants attention and you two were ignoring it.

Claire moves her hands to your white blouse and whe rips the fabric and then breaks the front clasp of your bra.

Before she bites your nipples like she wants to draw blood.

You wiggle underneath her and moan and gasp. Not sure if you want to run anymore, or ever again.

Claire chuckles and you want her inside of you.

“I can’t tell who’s happier, me or my cock.”

“Please go inside, I need it!”

“Dr. Vidal told me you know.”

You should be scared again, but something about Claire going to all this trouble to stalk you…..it made you feel wanted. Oh god, that was wrong.

But you sorta..liked it.

Claire must sense that because she keeps going.

“She told me you used to masturbate to me. Naughty girl, you know I never let you touch yourself without me. But I do like the idea of you so needy and only able to get off when you watch me. That’s what the Doc said, you only could cum from CNN clips of me. That warms my heart.”

Claire is making you a moany mess.

You gasp and grab her biceps and squeeze.

“It was pretty cute when you tried to dominate me, I think I’m a good actress don’t you? Not as good as that actress you have a crush on…what was her name?” Claire moves her hand to your opening and thrusts three fingers inside, she hits your cervix and you quiver in pain and ache, you want it to be her cock. “What was her name?”

“KATHRYN HAHN!” You shout, knowing she was punishing you more. And if you behaved, you’d get your reward.

“Oh that’s the one, remember when you told me that. Do you remember what I did?”

How could you forget?

“You used the flogger on my back for three hours..you fucked my ass on the kitchen table…and I wasn’t allowed to cum.” You gasp and you remember the whole thing.

Claire’s breath was hot against your skin. You felt your bodies grow a little sweat and it was fucking erotic.

“That was such a small punishment. What do you think I’ll do to you if you run from me again?”

Images pass through your mind so fast.

You shiver in fear and arousal.

“You are mine. If you want to see the sunlight again, you are going to have to earn it. Do you understand?”

You know she means everyday, you’ll have to prove you won’t run away. Claire had endless abandonment issues and you’d made it a million times worse.

You nodd and Claire is so delighted when your hand wraps warmly around her cock.

“I taught you well.”

She says and you know just how she likes her cock held, sucked, and tugged.

You stroke Claire, and she tries her best not to buck her hips into you. Her cock feels so good under your hand. She’s so hard it must hurt.

She’s all control all the time.

“After you left…I pulled all of your dirty panties out of the hamper and i fucked every one of them. But I haven’t cum in so long, how much semen do you think will fill your womb? You think I don’t love you? I’m in ruin for you.” Claire says, and you don’t know what about all of that makes your heart bust open but you surge forward and kiss her.

Claire moans happily and she pushes your hand away and pushes her cock into your cunt and you gasp and break the kiss.

“You are a good girl.” Claire is on cloud nine.

“Fuck me Daddy! I want it. I want a baby, don’t stop until I’m pregnant.” You cry out and you wish you weren’t so desperate. But you were, for Claire.

Her cock stung and stretched you but you just kept gushing around her.

Claire grins in delight at you breaking down so easily for her.

She hadn’t even needed to spike your drink.

You never even bought cutlery for your apartment, never got to teach again. You also never slept alone again.

But you are pregnant before Claire runs for office. But with you by her side. You tell her to make the change, and she agrees. She switched her campaign to President.

Claire never loses.

AO3

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animeomegas · 10 months ago

Note

Hi! Could I request maybe the reunion between shikamaru and his alpha?? Like from the shikamaru breaking down bc his alpha is late from a mission and his teacher is dead Thanks!!

I think I've written something small about this before, but I'm happy to expand on it! Enjoy <3 ( I didn't realise I'd left this in my drafts, so here you guys go while my arms are sore still haha)

"Shikamaru, you need to sleep," you said gently, holding his face in your hands. Dark circles and stress bitten lips gazed back at you as he shook his head. He had looked worse when you first got home yesterday, but thankfully, after the first hour of cuddling and crying, it had been easy to get him to take a shower with you. Unfortunately, it was not proving as easy to get him to go to sleep.

"No," he muttered, voice hoarse from crying.

"You have to sleep at some point, sweetheart," you pointed out, smoothing your thumbs over his skin. He shook his head again. "Please? For me?" There was some hesitation this time, but he still shook his head in the negative.

It had been twelve hours since you'd returned, but Shikamaru was still firmly stressed and alert, coiled like a spring at every moment, despite your and his parents' best efforts in calming him down.

He was grieving, you understood that. And then a mission had taken you away from him when he needed you the most, you understood that too. You had the greatest patience for him, but he still needed to sleep (and you would also rather like to be able to use the toilet without holding his hand.)

"Shika..."

"Don't. Please, just don't. I'm fine."

He was clearly running on fumes, but you didn't know how to make him rest, other than just letting him push himself until he collapsed. You didn't even know why he was so resistant to sleep. Did he think you would be gone when he woke up even though you had promised to the contrary countless times?

You wracked your brain desperately, as Shikamaru moved his face until it was buried in your collar bones. You idly stroked his hair, allowing your fingers to glide through the soft strands. You needed to soothe him to sleep somehow.

You focused for a moment on the sound of his mother pottering away in the kitchen. You relied on her for advice on handling Shika's obsession instinct often, but she'd been unable to suggest anything helpful this time.

You started to hum, almost without thinking, as though it was an instinct to fill the silence without words. The melody started out as nothing more than a collection of random notes, but slowly, it morphed into one of your favourite love songs.

You sang softly, still stroking Shikamaru's hair in time to the music. Your voice was a little rusty from disuse, but you pushed through the minor discomfort.

A hot tear rolled onto your neck from where Shikamaru had his face pressed. You didn't bring attention to it, you just kept singing through the ticklish sensation.

You sang that song twice before you picked a new one.

And then another.

And another.

Eventually the tears stopped flowing and Shikamaru's breaths evened out. The weight of his head increased and his limbs went completely limp as he finally succumbed to sleep.

You sang that first love song one more time, just to be sure he was truly asleep, before you joined him in unconsciousness.

There was a long way to go, to process his grief properly, to reassure him that you weren't going to leave, maybe some more desensitisation training to help him cope, but everything would feel just a little bit better once he'd had some sleep.

#shikamaru #nara obsessions #headcanons #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha!reader #gn reader #shikamaru x reader #omega shikamaru #alpha reader

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ch33z3grits · 4 months ago

Text

Crimson Obsessions | Masterlist

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson summary: After a steamy encounter with a sinfully handsome man in New Orleans, Camille DeWaterson returns to her life as a soon-to-be-married paralegal in Houston, Texas. But the incident becomes difficult to forget when the otherworldly stranger waltzes into her law firm, bringing a series of strange and enticing events with him. Terrence “Terry” Richmond, is an incredibly disciplined, calculating, and ambitious individual, at least… that’s what he is to the average mortal. But in reality, he’s a bloodthirsty supernatural with a keen interest for money, power, and beautiful women. When the gorgeous Camille DeWaterson slips from his grasp one fateful night in New Orleans, he vows to track her down and make her his bride. It doesn’t matter to him that she already has a fiancé or a commitment to join two families together. He isn’t going to rest until she belongs to him… body, mind and soul.

a/n: hello! below are the links to my first (and probably last lol) series on Tumblr. If you love supernatural story lines, the villain gets the girl trope, black ocs, or Aaron Pierre in general, I hope you'll enjoy this piece! updates will be every Friday :)

(also will be including a running playlist to much the chapters)

playlist:

Drugs-UPSAHL

She-Tyler, the Creator

Can't Get You Out of My Head-Kylie Minogue

Excitement-Trippie Redd

No Heart-21 Savage

Next Lifetime-Erykah Badu

You Right-Doja Cat

I Luv Your Girl-The Dream

Streets-Doja Cat

Dark Red-Steve Lacy

Love on the Brain-Rihanna

I Put A Spell On You-Nina Simone

Baby Boy-Beyonce ft. Sean Paul

House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls- The Weeknd

Floor 555-XXXTENTACION

I'm Tired-Labrinth, Zendaya

Toxic-Britney Spears

When Will I See You Smile Again?-BBD

All I Want is You-Miguel, J. Cole

Honesty-Pink Sweat$

Kiss it Better-Rihanna

Skin-Mac Miller

Fantasy-Mariah Carey and ODB

I'm Sprung-T-Pain

Come Live With Me Angel-Marvin Gaye

Not Allowed-TV Girl

Lagrimas Negras-Celia

Tunnel Vision-Kodak Black

#terry richmond #terry richmond fic #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre

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yanderes-galore · 1 year ago

Note

I have seen requests were open! I have one, if it's okay-

Platonic yandere catnap/Theo x little(maybe trans if your comfortable) sis reader

Who he had gotten out before the hour of Joy all those years ago, but is back now trying to find him?

(Idk, I love sibling relationships and yanderes-)

Have a good day/night!^^

I'm just going to keep it general female pronouns as it just... doesn't change the story much? Here's more CatNap, this one is closer to canon than the normal AU I do.

You aren't actually related to Theo in this to make the plot work, but he sees you as his Little Sister... if that's okay? It doesn't change much plot-wise, I promise.

Yandere! CatNap with Little Sis! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Human experimentation, Violence, Death, Drugging (Poppy Gas), Kidnapping, Stalking, First portion of this Darling is a child, Second portion you and CatNap are adults due to the time skip, Violence, Murder, Blood, Religious themes, Forced companionship.

A long time ago, you were raised in the Playcare Orphanage alongside Theo.

However, you weren't really one of the orphans.

Your parents were either scientists or perhaps even the founder of Playtime Co.

You were merely dropped off at Playcare to be watched, unaware of all the experiments going on.

Well... how could you be aware in the first place?

You were only five....

Theo was actually a playmate of yours, but you two acted like siblings.

Theo, the troublesome kid, saw you like a little sister.

You two were often seen playing with one another.

Scientists and your own parents originally were concerned when Theo grew attached to you.

The kid was a known troublemaker, often blaming his behavior on his "imaginary friend".

Supposedly he even spoke to you about his "friend", yet at your age you didn't entirely understand him.

You also saw Theo as a friend and sibling, even expressing despair when you learned Theo had gotten himself into a bad accident.

Truthfully, you never knew the real fate of Theo.

You were still often visiting Playcare when CatNap was introduced.

You were told Theo was "adopted" and "moved away".

In reality the kid became CatNap, reborn in a new body due to the Bigger Bodies project.

CatNap retained some memories that Theo had, but was essentially a new being.

He was the new guardian of Playcare, one meant to "protect and discipline" the orphans.

CatNap scared many of the kids or just... didn't get along with most.

However, with you?

Scientists noticed that CatNap was oddly attached to you.

The large cat hovered around you, acted playful and affectionate, and seemed to dislike you playing with other children and Smiling Critters.

The going theory was CatNap remembered you from when Theo was alive.

After all, CatNap often rambled about "The Prototype", it would make sense if he remembered his playmate.

Many STAFF were reluctant to pull you away from CatNap.

The large purple cat often picked you up, curling around you and purring.

STAFF were often met with hostility when they tried to take you away.

You had grown to adore CatNap, the large lavender smelling cat often putting you to sleep and watching over you.

You played with CatNap for years, perhaps four years after he was created.

You were around nine or ten before your parents wanted to stop you from going to Playcare.

They knew you were getting too old and CatNap (who would probably be around eleven or twelve) was getting too overprotective of his playmate.

CatNap still saw you as close to him, although the lines between sibling, friend, and playmate often blurred together.

You were taken out of Playcare before the Hour of Joy.

While you were sitting at home, no doubt with either your mother or father, CatNap was panicking when he couldn't find his best friend and sibling.

Poor you had no clue about the truth of Playtime Co.

Not until ten years later, where you return to the factory to learn the truth.

By this point you're just about in your 20s, which means CatNap would be too.

It's been years since you've entered this place.

You want to know the truth about Theo... only beginning to realize your mistake once you're trapped inside.

I imagine you follow a similar journey to the player character in Poppy Playtime.

You meet Poppy, you defeat Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Longlegs...

Eventually you return to Playcare... and memories come flooding back.

You know you need to escape, but you're also scanning your surroundings for answers.

All the while CatNap is hunting you... soon realizing just who you are.

It's been years and you have matured into a young woman.

CatNap feels a pang of envy deep within him.

Perhaps deep down he wishes he could've grown up alongside you.

CatNap doesn't hunt you for food or a sacrifice to The Prototype... he hunts you because you mean a lot to him.

Memories spark within him, times where you two would play and you'd even call him "brother".

It didn't matter if you were really related or not... you were bound together.

Even as the guardian of Playcare he cared for you.

He was devastated when you were gone.

But now you're here...!

Now you can play again!

CatNap would probably make his move eventually, stalking and watching you until the time is right...

Then, without warning, he'd use his Poppy Gas to knock you out.

If you had a gas mask, he'd break it before making you hallucinate.

When you eventually fall asleep... CatNap would pick you up by the back of your clothes and carry you down into the depths of Playcare.

Mini Smiling Critters scurry around in the dark but remain obedient when CatNap growls at them.

The large cat takes you deep into his territory before placing you down.

Like he did when you two were younger, he curls around you protectively.

You wake up eventually to the smell of blood and the faintest smell of lavender.

You're wrapped tightly in the tail of CatNap as the beast purrs and growls away in his sleep.

Upon your attempts to struggle against him, the cat shoots awake and glances at you.

You freeze when you see the beady white eyes stare back at you...

Only to hear and a loud purr as the cat nuzzles into you.

Nearby is CatNap's shrine to The Prototype, the cat silently happy that his prayers have been answered!

Now you two can play together... forever.

CatNap no doubt makes you, his little sister, worship The Prototype.

Mini Smiling Critters are docile towards you, mostly because CatNap would eat them if they weren't.

Speaking of eating... You often see CatNap hunt other toys and drag them to you.

The mix of toy and flesh is... nauseating to you.

However, you can't eat anything else.

Resulting in you trying to adapt.

Escape is near impossible without a Grab-Pack.

Even if you had one, CatNap never lets you out of his sight.

Despite you being an adult, CatNap still treats you like a little kid.

He never leaves your side and is incredibly protective of you.

If you tried to leave him, he'd have you gassed to drag you back.

In his own way... CatNap loves you.

He loves his little sister and playmate...

You two can now play in Playcare just like old times... even if it kills you in the end.

#yandere poppy playtime #yandere smiling critters #yandere catnap #platonic yandere

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xoxochb · 9 months ago

Text

⋆·˚ ༘ * only bought this dress so you could take it off (take it off!)

warnings: iykyk…

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of hades and persephone

series master list

this time aphrodite wasn’t here to help you get ready which disappointed you in a way. this time percy’s mother helps. a plus side was that your brother would still be walking you down the aisle

“does it feel weird not living in your palace?” asks sally

“well I lived there my whole life. I don’t think I ever liked growing up in royalty though, my father was always controlling of me and my siblings”

“so I’ve heard”

you nod your head. “it was awful. my sister even moved out when she was of age. I don’t speak to her often either but I’m hoping I’ll be able to visit some time”

“I didn’t know you had a sister?”

“melinoe. she’s a goddess”

“minor?”

“very. my parents kind of wanted her to be kept a secret but I suppose I told you so it’s not really a secret anymore” you laugh

sally finishes tying your hair back and puts her hands on your shoulders. “you look lovely. percy is very lucky”

your cheeks flush a pink hue at the mere mention of your soon-to-be husband. good gods of olympus— if someone told you a month ago you would be marrying him instead of his brother you would’ve laughed in their face. yet here you are. you can’t help but feel nervous about this, yes you had been seeing percy since you were twelve and you were beyond comfortable being in this relationship but what if he didn’t feel that way? gods this whole marriage was your fault, I mean you’re only eighteen what if it was too early? did he actually not want to get married?

“oh, dear. you look like you’ve seen a ghost”

“I don’t think I thought things through”

sally frowns and sits on the bench beside you. “nervous?”

“yes. do you think percy really wants to get married? or is he just saying it so I can be happy?”

“(name), marriage is the only topic he has been able to stay on since it happened. I can assure you he is over the moon about this”

you feel tears brewing in your eyes but you quickly push them back to prevent ruining your makeup. “really?”

“yes, darling. I’d never lie to you”

you open your mouth to speak but the door opens, revealing your brother. “we’re starting in five”

you turn back to sally and mutter a quiet ‘thank you’ before exiting the room with nico and you begin walking out to the double doors leading to the beach

“take two” nico jokes, holding his arm out for you to link yours with, instead you throw your arms around him, without a doubt he returns the embrace

“thank you, nico”

“for what?”

“for being my brother”

“well then you’ll be happy to know I’ll always be your brother. even if you decide you hate me”

you pull away with a sigh and loop your arms through his. “I think I’m ready”

“promise me something”

“anything”

“you’ll visit me in the underworld”

“I will. I’m sure percy isn’t very welcome there anymore though”

you both burst out into an uncontrollable laughter. when you try to get any words out your stopped but your inability to breathe

“oh my gods— imagine dad’s face!”

the image of hades seeing your boyfriend husband fills your mind, making you lose any breath you had left. you decide to add onto the fit, “do you know— how dad was so eager to get me married-” you breathe out “he was obsessed with triton I’m starting to think he likes him more than mom”

“now that’s a wedding I would like to attend”

when both of your breathing steadies back to normal you collect yourself and wipe the slight tears that streamed down your face, fixing your hair to assure you like presentable for guests

“okay I’m ready for real now”

“then let’s get you married!”

you take in one last deep breath before opening the double doors and walking out onto the platform covering the sandy ground. the scent of salt water fills your scenes instantly. this time it wasn’t because of your asshole ex husband. this may have been the most nerve wracking part of the wedding— people watching your every move, but when your eyes meet a pair of sea-green ones your nerves feel at peace

when you finally make your way to the altar you hug nico once more before ushering him to his seat, then taking both percy’s hands into yours to prevent them from shaking anymore

“strapless dress? how’d you know those are my favorites?”

your cheeks flush red and you roll your eyes. “shut up”

“want me to save the dirty talk for later? I understand, my mouth is sealed”

when everyone finally settles the officiate begins speaking all that nonsense that they say at weddings. you’ve never actually been to one but you supposed if you were in the crowd this might have been the perfect opportunity to take a nap. he talked on and on for what felt like forever until the vows and until the ending kiss— your personal favorite part. when he finally said the iconic ‘you may kiss the bride’ you were sure you’ve never seen percy move as fast as he did then, quickly throwing your arms around each other into a very non-audience appropriate kiss which on a normal day you would’ve scolded percy for but you were to happy to care about anything right now

ੈ✩‧₊˚

you didn’t end up getting home until around midnight unfortunately. and you should have seen it that the moment you got walked through the doors percy would be eagerly sliding your dress zipper down. you made him wait however— finding it amusing every time you pulled his hands off you, making him wait until you were in your shared bedroom. after what felt like percy’s whole life (he was sure it had been) he was able to unzip your white dress

“you’re quite eager” you laugh. percy ignores your comment and slides your dress off once the zipper was undone, you fumble with your legs to throw it on the floor, then connect your lips back with percy’s as you unbutton his white shirt

“have I told you that you look gorgeous tonight?” he mumbles into your mouth, making butterflies erupt into a frenzy in your stomach

“fifteen times”

when finally you unbutton the rest of the shirt you tear it off and throw it to the side— you only hope it didn’t hit anything important. percy then slides his hand from your bare waist to your underwear, and slowly slides them down your legs. you know for sure you’re not getting even a second of sleep tonight

@azure-drag0ness @itzmeme @leathesimp @pevenxie @mp-littlebit @inclusivesimping

#xoxochb #cries and throws up #I am sooo not ready for this series to be over #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader

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ilovedinodino · 6 months ago

Text

…i was so miserable? l. hc smau

36. I’m not miserable anymore. (written) wc: 1719

You open the door and find Haechan standing right on your doorstep. He’s wearing a black hoodie, his hands tucked behind his back.

“What are you doing here?!”

"I wanted to see you," He said with his mischievous smile.

"At twelve o’clock at night?" You asked, looking at him in surprise.

Haechan just shrugged and confidently stepped into your apartment. While you were closing the door, he turned around and stopped, looking at you.

There was something shining in Haechan’s eyes, and with a wide smile, he pulled out a bouquet from behind his back. Your favorite flowers. He never forgot such little things, and that’s what made you love and appreciate him so much.

"Flowers? What’s the occasion?" You teased, pretending to be shocked. Haechan mimicked your expression.

"Can’t I just give you flowers?" Haechan asked innocently.

"You can… but on a random Saturday at midnight?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly" Haechan replied with a sly smile.

You took the flowers from his hands, inhaled their scent, and Haechan leaned down to gently kiss your forehead. His attention to detail always amazed and melted your heart. You put the bouquet in a vase and returned to the living room, where he was already sprawled out on the couch. As soon as you sat down next to him, Haechan immediately wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin.

"I missed you so much" He whispered softly, his voice tender.

"God, you’re still so clingy and romantic, even though it’s been a year" You said with a small smile, slightly pulling away to look at him.

"How can I be any different when I have a girlfriend like you?" Haechan looked into your eyes, his gaze warm and deep. The way he looked at you made you flustered, and you quickly averted your gaze.

"I missed you too… By the way, I really liked that photo" You mumbled.

"Photo?" Haechan paused for a second, but then his lips curled into a smirk.

"Yeah, the one you posted on Twitter" You clarified, rolling your eyes, though your voice betrayed that you had secretly stared at it more than once.

"So I did get your attention!" He said triumphantly and then added slyly: "But you decided to keep quiet about it? My baby… I knew you were obsessed with me."

Before you could reply, Haechan pulled you into his arms again, burying his face into your neck and peppering it with soft kisses. His touch made you giggle and squirm.

"Haechan, stop! It tickles!" You tried to wriggle away, but his laughter drowned out all your protests.

“How was your appointment with the psychiatrist today? Did everything go well?” Haechan asked kindly, looking at you intently.

You hesitated for a moment but then smiled. You had been seeing a psychologist and psychiatrist for eight months now. At first, it seemed scary and pointless to you. You didn't believe that talking or treatment could change anything, but it was Haechan who convinced you to try. He was there with you at the first sessions, holding your hand and reassuring you that you'd make it. In the beginning, it was really hard: there were a lot of tears, fears, and disappointments, but gradually, things started to change. You felt yourself getting better, breathing more easily, and not drowning in your own thoughts.

Haechan had always been your steady anchor, your support, and your inspiration. He didn't let you give up and helped even when you couldn't believe in yourself. For that, you were grateful.

“It went well!” You finally said, not hiding your happy smile. “I think it was my best session ever. Usually, after them, I feel this emptiness inside… But today I felt calm, even good.”

Haechan smiled in response and gently ran his hand through your hair.

“I'm so happy, my love” He said warmly. “I'm glad you're doing well now.”

“Thanks to you” you replied, softly snuggling into him.

Haechan shook his head, his gaze turning firm yet gentle.

“No, it’s all thanks to you. You did it on your own.”

“Alright, I won’t argue” You giggled, and he nodded in satisfaction.

“That's right.”

Haechan pulled you closer and kissed you gently on the lips. This kiss was special — slow and unhurried. It carried only love and care, which he desperately wanted to convey to you.

Suddenly, a loud phone ring broke the moment. You pulled away, a little disoriented, and looked at Haechan.

“Who is it?” you asked, and he only grimaced, clearly unwilling to let you go.

“Don’t pay attention” he muttered, unwillingly whispering words to you on your lips, trying to pull you back into his arms.

“Answer it! What if it’s something important?” You insisted, pulling away from his embrace.

With a heavy sigh, Haechan took the phone out of his jeans pocket. On the screen, the name “Jenoya” was flashing.

“What do you want?” Haechan muttered, answering the call, still holding you with his other hand.

You laughed and playfully hit Haechan on the arm for answering Jeno so rudely. Haechan just scoffed, continuing to listen to the caller.

A few seconds passed, and you noticed his expression suddenly change. He froze, eyes wide open, then covered his mouth with his hand. Your heart started pounding faster in surprise.

«What?» you whispered nervously, trying to figure out what was happening.

Haechan pulled the phone away from his ear, switched it to speaker, and brought it closer to you both.

«Say that again to Y/N,» he demanded, barely containing the excitement in his voice.

«Y/N? Hi!» came Jeno’s voice from the speaker. He sounded excited, but at the same time, a little concerned.

You swallowed, still confused, and replied:

«Hi, Jeno. What’s going on?»

«Do you remember that worldwide, very successful dance competition that was held last year in LA? “Dance World”?» Jeno began, pausing slightly. «I… submitted your project with Haechan from last year for the selection, and… they accepted it.»

You froze, staring at the phone in disbelief, then looked over at Haechan. He was staring back at you with the same shocked expression, but slowly, a wide, almost victorious smile began to spread across his lips.

«What?!» You jumped up from the couch, unable to believe your ears.

«“Dance World”? The one everyone talks about? Are you serious? Don’t joke with me like that, Lee Jeno,» your voice trembled with shock and panic.

«I’m not joking!» Jeno exhaled loudly through the phone. «They accepted my— I mean, your submission, and now you can participate this year in the “duet” category!»

«Are you insane?! Why did you submit it?» you exclaimed, unsure how to react.

«I liked your choreography so much, I couldn’t help myself,» Jeno’s voice sounded both guilty and pleased. «I had to send it somewhere… so I accidentally submitted it for the audition.»

«Accidentally?!» You stared at the phone, completely stunned. «You’re crazy, Lee Jeno.»

Your strength left you, and you sank back onto the couch, staring blankly at the floor. The silence was broken by Haechan’s voice.

«Y/N… let’s participate?» His voice was soft but filled with sincerity and hope.

You looked up and saw him gazing at you with those big, puppy-dog, pleading eyes. You knew very well there was something deeper behind that look.

«We don’t even know where it’s happening!» you weakly protested, though you already felt the decision was made.

«In Japan,» Jeno’s voice suddenly rang out from the speaker.

You turned to look at Haechan again, who now seemed as though he might cry from the overwhelming emotions.

«Please?» His voice wavered, and his lips trembled into a tender smile.

You sighed heavily, trying to gather your thoughts.

«Haechan, I’m still battling my anxiety, even when performing in the studio. How will I step onto a global stage?» you whispered, lowering your voice.

Unexpectedly, Haechan dropped to his knees in front of you, tossing the phone onto the couch beside you. You blinked in surprise. He took your hands in his and spoke softly but with confidence:

«Y/N… it’s going to be okay. I promise. It’s just always been my dream to perform at this competition. But most importantly… now I have the chance to not just participate, but to do it with you. With the person I love.»

You stared at him for a long time, trying to process his words. Haechan was so genuine and moving that something inside you clicked. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you understood how much this meant to him. You wanted to thank him for everything—for his support, his love, for always believing in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself. Maybe this wouldn’t just be his chance, but yours too.

Taking a deep breath, you met his warm gaze.

«Okay,» you said quietly.

«Okay?!» Haechan froze for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

«Yes,» you barely nodded before he scooped you up and spun you around the room, squealing with joy like a child who’d just found the perfect gift under the Christmas tree.

«Y/N! Y/N! I love you!» he shouted, spinning you endlessly, while loud celebratory screams erupted from Jeno on the phone.

Finally, Haechan carefully set you back down, his face glowing with pure happiness. He cupped your face in his hands, his big eyes sparkling with love and gratitude.

«Y/N, I love you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you,» he whispered, as though speaking any louder would be impossible.

You couldn’t help but smile. Looking at him, you knew you’d made the right decision. Leaning in, you kissed him, feeling a sense of peace settle over your heart. Somewhere deep inside, a thought crossed your mind:

I’m not miserable anymore.

When you finally pulled apart, your fingers brushed along his jawline. Suddenly, Jeno’s voice from the phone made both of you freeze.

«Oh my god, Jaemin’s going to lose his mind when he hears he’s coming to Japan!»

«Jaemin?!» you and Haechan shouted in unison, spinning toward the phone, staring at the screen in disbelief.

«When did you two get so close?» you asked, but all you got in response were the sounds of a disconnected call.

SYNOPSIS : Haechan was in love with a girl from his dance studio, but one day he accidentally found her Twitter account with her terrible secrets

or how Haechan found out that his crush suffers from depression and anxiety

prev / masterlist

note: it’s done omg😭 thanks to everyone who read this! it was my first smau ever so I still think it was a mess but at least I finished this ✔️ please feel free to send me feedback on this smau, i will glad to read your opinions🥺 and i will do extras so stay tuned!

taglist (open) : @alethea-moon @dinonuguaegi @jenoleeaesthetic @gukuwii @doughyk @elsbunny @dudekiss3r @yuthabitz @thegracerammy @soobinbunnie5 @joyzluvr @yewshi @miniature-tragedy @jaymelee @foxy-kitsune @slayhaechan @chibilino @sleepyvic @minkyuncutie @olladecaramelos @samvagejkflxhrt @gomdoleemyson @nctjunie @ypoom151999 @silvsie @bitchzitschimi @defzcl @cigsaftersuh @spacejip @onlyforyoukook @taeeflwrr

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deansbeer · 2 days ago

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hi hi sweetpea! i have a new request, 'cause i'm obsessed with your writing. how about knight!dean x princess!reader? i have been obsessed with that trope lately. and i would love if you used demon!dean, since he's a knight (somewhat, right?) <3

i never got around to writing this (it’s been sitting in my inbox since april) bc i had to do some research on medieval/fantasy themes and i still don’t think i did it right 😭 i even tried to write it as if someone were narrating it (??) so yeah <3

dean wasn’t always a demon. once, he was the kingdom’s most loyal knight, your father’s right hand, the man who taught you how to hold a sword when you were twelve and your governess wasn’t looking. but that was before the war, before he made a deal to save sam’s life, before his green eyes turned black and his soul was claimed by hell.

your father should have executed him when he returned, something dark and dangerous coursing through his veins. but dean had dropped to one knee in the throne room, placed his sword at the king’s feet, and swore his loyalty hadn’t changed. just his nature.

you’d watched from behind a pillar as your father deliberated. watched as dean’s jaw clenched, waiting for judgment, his new demonic strength barely contained beneath his armor. “i’m still me, your majesty,” he’d said roughly. “still loyal to the crown. to the kingdom.” his eyes had found yours somehow, even hidden as you were.

“to what matters.” your father had eventually agreed, though not without conditions — dean would serve, but from a distance. he’d handle the kingdom’s dirty work, the threats that required a monster to fight monsters. he wouldn’t be allowed near you.

that lasted exactly three weeks. you’d snuck out to the stables one night, restless and seeking your favorite horse for a midnight ride, only to find dean there. he was tending to his own mount, movements careful and controlled. “princess,” he’d said without turning around, and you froze in your tracks.

“bit late for a ride, isn’t it?” when he finally faced you, his eyes were their familiar green, but you could see the darkness lurking beneath. “your father finds out you’re here with me, he’ll have my head. demon or not.” but he was already moving to saddle your horse, hands steady and sure just like they’d always been. some things, apparently, didn’t change.

being around dean now is an exercise in controlled tension. he maintains perfect distance in public — the appropriate three steps behind when escorting you, eyes forward, voice formal. but you catch the way his jaw tightens when visiting nobles get too familiar, the way his hand drifts to his sword when someone’s tone with you is less than respectful.

“careful,” he’d muttered to one particularly pushy duke, and though his voice was calm, you’d seen the brief flash of black in his eyes. the duke had stammered apologies and kept his distance for the rest of his visit. your father pretends not to notice these moments, but you know he’d grateful. better a loyal demon than a treacherous human.

in private, when you manage to steal moments together, dean is different. still protective, still respectful, but there’d a rawness now that wasn’t there before. “you know what the worst part is?” he’d told you once, sitting in the abandoned tower that had become your secret meeting spot. “i can feel everything. every emotion is... amplified. the anger, the hunger, the...” he’d cut himself off, looking away.

“especially around you.” you’d reached for his hand, and he’d let you take it, his skin running warmer than any human’s should. “sometimes i think this curse just made me more myself. stripped away all the delusion i was using to mask how i truly felt.” his thumb had brushed over your knuckles, gentle despite the strength you knew he possessed. “made it harder to pretend i don’t—” but footsteps on the stairs had interrupted, and he’d been gone before the door even opened, leaving only the lingering scent of sulfur and leather.

the court whispers, of course. about the demon knight who shadows the princess, about the unnatural devotion in his eyes. they don’t understand that dean winchester’s loyalty isn’t forced by his demonic nature — if anything, his new instincts should make him rebellious, hungry for power. instead, he channels that darkness into protecting you, turning his curse into a weapon for the crown.

“let ‘em talk,” dean had said when you’d mentioned the rumors. “they fear me, good. means they’ll think twice before moving against you or your father.” he’d paused, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “besides, they’re not wrong. i am devoted to you. demon, human, or anything in between — that doesn’t change.”

the first real test comes when a neighboring kingdom sends assassins. you wake to the sound of fighting, dean’s roar echoing through your chambers as he tears through would-be killers. by the time your guards arrive, it’s over. dean stands among the bodies, blood on his armor, eyes pure black. “princess,” he says, voice rough and inhuman, “are you hurt?” you shake your head, unable to look away from the carnage. this is what your father meant — dean’s protection comes with a price, painted in blood across your royal floors. “don’t look at me like that,” he says, and suddenly he sounds exhausted. “like i’m a monster. i’ve always been capable of this. now i’m just... better at it."

you find him later in the castle’s chapel, of all places. he’s not praying — demons can’t, at least that’s what he'd told you once, churches make his skin crawl. but he sits in the back pew, staring at nothing. “holy ground hurts,” he says when you sit beside him. “burns, actually. constant reminder of what i am.” you want to ask why he’s here then, but you already know. punishment. he once said it was a better way to confess his sins.

dean’s still trying to be good, even with hell running through his veins. “those men tonight,” he continues, “i didn’t just kill them. i enjoyed it. enjoyed protecting you, but also... enjoyed the violence.” his hands clench and unclench. “that’s the real curse. not the strength or the immortality. it’s that i like what i’ve become, and i hate myself for it.”

the breaking point comes during the harvest festival. a visiting prince gets too bold, too drunk, too aggressive with his advances. you handle it with royal grace until he corners you on a balcony, and then dean is there. not violent, not yet, but the promise of it radiates from every line of his body. “the lady said no,” dean says simply. the prince makes the mistake of pulling rank, of reminding dean that he’s just a cursed knight, a pet monster on the king’s leash.

dean smiles, and it’s all teeth. “you’re right. i am a monster. which means i’ve got nothing to lose if i throw you off this balcony.” the prince pales, flees, and dean turns to you with eyes flickering between green and black. “this is why your father wanted me to stay away. because i’d burn this whole kingdom down to keep you safe, and i wouldn’t lose a minute of sleep over it.”

things change after the harvest festival. your father summons both of you, and you expect exile for dean, or worse. instead, the king looks tired. “i’ve been foolish,” he says. “trying to separate you two, pretending that distance would change what’s obvious to anyone with eyes.” he turns to dean. “you’ve proven your loyalty a dozen times over. demon or not, you’re still the man i trusted with my daughter’s sword lessons.”

then to you: “and you, my dear, have been sneaking out to meet him anyway. the stable boys sure do love to gossip.” you flush, but your father waves it off. “i’m lifting the restrictions. if a demon’s devotion is what keeps my daughter safe in these dark times, so be it.”

the new arrangement takes adjustment. dean is officially assigned as your personal guard, no more pretense. the court adapts, as courts do, especially when dean’s presence means no one dares plot against you.

“doesn’t feel real,” dean admits one evening, standing on your balcony — the same one from the festival, now with very different memories. “keep waiting for someone to remember what i am, to take this away.” you step closer, close enough to feel the unnatural heat that radiates from him. “you’re dean winchester,” you tell him firmly. “knight of the realm, protector of the crown, world’s most stubborn man who literally went to hell and back. the demon part is just a little… seasoning.”

he laughs, a real one that makes his eyes crinkle. “seasoning? i corrupt everything i touch, princess.” you take his hand deliberately, lacing your fingers through his. “you’ve been touching me for months. still feel pretty uncorrupted.” his grip tightens carefully, like he’s holding something precious.

the truth is, you make an effective pair. dean’s demonic abilities make him the perfect protector, while your influence keeps him grounded, human enough. he teaches you to fight with the brutality of a demon but the strategy of a knight. you teach him that darkness doesn’t mean evil, that choice matters more than nature. “you know what i think?” you tell him one night, after he’s saved you from yet another threat. “i think you were always this protective, this devoted. the demon just took off the filter.” he considers this, absently playing with a strand of your hair.

“maybe. or maybe you just make me want to be better than what i am.” you lean into him, feeling safe despite — or perhaps because of — the monster at your side. “you already are,” you whisper, and for once, dean winchester doesn’t argue. he just holds you closer, this demon knight who would tear apart heaven and hell for his princess, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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