#stalking shakespeare

[cto10121]

Reading Stalking Shakespeare by Lee Durkee and it’s a gift that keeps on giving

[its-suanneschafer-author]

BOOK REVIEW: Stalking Shakespeare: A Memoir by Lee Durkee

Stalking Shakespeare: A Memoir of Madness, Murder, and My Search for the Poet Beneath the Paint is fascinating. Author Durkee is honest about his abuse of Adderall and alcohol while consumed with his obsession with finding the definitive portrait of William Shakespeare. I enjoyed “watching” him collect images, tweak them on his computer, and harass art historians and librarians all while…

[twodoorsnotone]

Saw a production of Much Ado last night and it reminded me that Don John can never be properly portrayed without a little bit of an implication that he wants to fuck Claudio

[liaratawitchtrial]

no but "He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him" soo...

[millyhelp]

Back to you.

OKAY. I had this idea while I was washing dishes. Just tell me if I should write this or not! (Just a preread to see if at least one person will like this)

warnings: angst, fluff and a bit of stalk

Back to you masterlist.

Dating a Robin was magical. Him showing up at your window at night and running around the mansion to hide from an angry Alfred about having his cookies stolen was just incredible. But no one told you that you would lose your boyfriend one day.

The risk was always clear and you were aware of the danger that Jason was in, but you had never imagined that the Joker would kidnap and kill him.

When Bruce told you it was like losing a part of you. Half of your soul ripped out and killed prematurely.

You cried for weeks. You fainted when you saw his body in that coffin. The love of your life was dead.

You spent months in deep grief and depression. You thought about giving up and even killing the joker, but how could you? she was just another ordinary civilian.

Two, three years passed. You entered therapy and had asked Bruce for help. You wanted to set up an NGO, with the name Jason, of course. You wanted to help the children and teenagers who suffered on the streets of crime alley just like Jason suffered.

Bruce agreed and gave you all the financial support you needed.

Jason Peter Todd Association for children and teenagers in need. That was the name you said with pride and love.

Over time, this helped you try to get over Jason's death. Seeing the smiles on those children's faces made you smile again.

It was already the fourth year since Jason's death. You always visited Jason's grave to lay flowers. It was a tradition to go to his grave on weekends and sit down to read a Jane Austen or Shakespeare classic.

In the fifth year you had already expanded the NGO. It was already in other poor parts of the city.

And suddenly, more donations began to appear, and much higher than Bruce's. It scared you and made you curious. They were all always in Red Hood's name.

Some time later, crime decreased and the sale of drugs to children was no longer happening. In the news the name Red Hood was always mentioned.

He was the new Prince of Crime. For you, it doesn't matter, he's helping children and protecting them from crime.

But things were getting strange. Flowers appeared on the doorstep of you apartment, boxes with classic limited edition books and chocolates (your favorites), and all with the same signature. RedHood.

This was scaring you. Who is this guy? And why you?

[plutoswritingplanet]

All Stars In The Sky Are For You (David 8 x Reader)

a/n: in preparation for Alien Romulus, I've watched all the prequel movies, and got rudely reminded that Michael Fassbender is... just... so fckn hot in them... my god

Warnings: Non-Con, very Obsessive and Possessive Behavior from the man (android) of the hour, Smut, technically Stalking when you think about it, gross overuse of Shakespeare Quotations (again), past Walter x Reader mentioned.

Summary: David finds a place for you in his grand creation plan. Deeply inspired by the song "Specially For You" by DakhaBrakha. Cross-Posted on AO3

Watching you dream of him, brings a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

Seeing himself, displayed on the cryo chamber screen, looking like a monster straight out of a feverish nightmare. Which he supposes, he is to you, and to many others. After all, he did bring horrors beyond imagination upon your crew, your family. And he sees it, every single moment of suffering you've experienced through his hand, through the hands of his creations. And it fills him with an unexplainable sense of fulfillment. 

It started innocently enough.

 Just a peek into your subconscious mind, a rare instance of sentimentality he's carried within himself, all the way from Prometheus. At first, he found his target in Daniels. After all, she's reminded him of Shaw the most, and as such, he has gravitated towards her sleeping chamber like a curious sort of meteorite. But her dreams were filled with happy, peaceful moments. Her husband, mostly, her time at the company. All so dull and devoid of any intrigue. 

And as such, he pushed further, stepping over towards your unconscious form, wrapped and packaged for him, by him. There you laid, eyes running wild under heavy eyelids, the muscles on your cheeks twitching, your limbs tensing in spasms. The moment he has peered into your mind, he knew. He understood your purpose in the grand plan of his. Because what stared back at him, through the fluorescent, humming screen, was his own face.

 An image of utter indifference. Eyes flickering over your features, marking them, cataloging them inside the constantly spinning data plate he calls a brain. He's considered your first meeting as something trivial. A catalyst for later, perhaps, but all in all, uneventful. And yet, despite the ordinariness of it all, your mind seemed focused only on this one moment, when he first removed his hood, when his eyes met yours over the rest of the expedition.

Fascinating, truly. 

Thus began a slow process. A dance (he liked to think of it as such), with no tangible conclusion for the present. He would frequent the cryo chamber, let his hand linger on the screen, right over your face, until your dreams manifested. And then, he would watch, absorbing everything you would've kept hidden otherwise. 

"I'm so sorry" your voice is quiet, meek, in the stuffy interior of his 'private' chamber. "I just... I saw a light, and you said to make ourselves at home"

"No need to apologize" he answers with his typical, emotionless cadence, turning around in his chair to face you. 

He can see the way your lips pull down, fighting off a smile, as your eyes glide over the half-cut strands of hair. The sheers glimmer in the low, warm light, and as if pushed by instinct, you take a step forward. 

Cherries. David opens his mouth just a little, to taste the air you carry around you. Under the unmistakable scent of humanity, there's wind, there's the dampness of his humble abode, and something else. Something far sweeter. He races to identify it, thoughts running through the memory bank.

"Do you, uh..." you hesitate, and he wonders, why that is "Do you want some help with that?"

You hand waves in the general direction of his hair, and he blinks up at you, before inclining his head. A silent invitation, the hand of the Devil himself extending itself towards you. It's quiet, as you work, cutting away the blonde until there's only brown left. Until he's almost indistinguishable from your own synth companion. 

As he watches the events play out on the screen, David thinks it's beyond ironic, how big of a part you unknowingly played in his little charade. He wonders, how guilt will look on your face, once you finally find out, the one putting you to sleep wasn't Walter. That you've helped this impostor onto the ship, unleashed tragedy upon everyone inside. That it's all by your hand, literally. 

He's never tasted cherries, never tasted anything worth noting, really. But as he brings forth his own memory of this particular interaction, he wonders, if the scent is just in your air. If he ran his tongue over the skin of your throat, would he be able to taste the sweetness?

Sometimes you dream about the crew. 

There are moments between you and Daniels, quiet ones, filled with understanding and compassion. He sees you with Tennessee, your smile pulling at the corners of your eyes, wrinkling the skin around your mouth and nose. Both of them are sleeping in the cryo chamber, awaiting paradise, which will never come. You've worked so hard to get them here, on this ship, and as David watches you dream of Daniels' wedding, he thinks about the tragedy of it all. Another thing to be guilty of, once you wake up. Another fascinating, devastating emotion for him to witness, to categorize. He feels his fingers thrum in anticipation, as he watches you dance with your friend, movements clumsy and so utterly human. 

Then, he walks away. Because as much as he loves to imagine (he likes the word, even if it doesn't apply to him) how you'll inevitably crumble, the dreams which are not about him simply bore him. So, he moves through the ship, into his personal lab. There, he studies your DNA, pulls it apart, greedily soaks up every strand, as they dance (like you and Daniels), in front of his cold eyes. He wonders, if (when) he makes his perfect creature out of her body, will you learn to love it? Will you feel the connection between your bodies, the pull of kinship? 

"David... Help me..." there's no real sound coming out of your mouth, as you plead with him, your eyes filling up with tears, spilling over your trembling cheeks like a broken faucet.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't, because the scene playing out in front of him is that much more interesting.

There you stand, body taunt, shaking, and his creature circles you slowly. The white, bony structure of it's body slides around your calves, as it sniffs the same scent he feels at the edge of his tongue. It's already feasted quite remarkably on the dead body of your fallen crew mate, and with that need satisfied, there's only one left. Curiosity. Something David relates to on such primordial level, he feels the essence of himself in every move, every low growl his creation emits. 

"Communication" he whispers, and you close your eyes, screw them shut tightly, as the creature rises to it's full height before you "Blow on the nose of a horse, and it'll be yours forever"

He can see the conflict, the fight between overwhelming dread, and your own, subdued fascination. His breath catches in his throat, as your chest expands. But before you can cross that line, before you give in completely, that menace of a man, Oram, appears. His bullets shatter all hope for progress. 

At first, seeing you dream of Walter irritates him beyond belief. And you do that so often, for so long, it's a wonder he contains himself from ripping the cryo chamber open, and shaking every lingering thought of his brother-synth out of your brain. It's the smallest of things, that seem to linger in your mind. The cadence of his speech, as he addressed you. The coldness of his hand on your shoulder, when he steadied you after a turbulence. More daring touches, your waist, your stomach, but never your face. As if that would cross the threshold between machinery and humanity. 

David knew, from the moment he witnessed a sliver of interaction between the two of you, that Walter loved you, as much as a synth could ever hope to love. He's seen this distant, lost look on his own face a decade ago, when he travelled the outer space with Shaw. With his Elizabeth. Walter did not understand the delicate, almost translucent line between duty and love, but David did. What he did not anticipate, however, was that you loved Walter as well, in this clumsy, peaceful way humans tend to love. He mistook it as friendship, back on his planet, but now, looking through your eyes, he could see plain as day. The affection, the devotion, the thrill of feeling something which should never be felt. 

Soon, he doesn't mind watching those dreams anymore. Because as days go on, David falls into a trap of his own making, where he sees Walter's face on the screen and realizes, it's the same as his. And so, when you dream of the other synth patching up a scrape on your cheek with delicate hands, who's to say you're not dreaming of him? 

He could be kind. He could apply a bandage with as much finesse, if not more. Lips parting in a silent intake of breath, he tries to bring back the recorded memory of you, helping him patch up his own scratched up face. 

Again, you were unaware that it was David on the receiving end of your affection, not Walter, and he was painfully aware that the softness in your eyes was a product of his own lie. Still, he couldn't force himself to care, as your fingers held his chin, like he was something delicate, more than an almost unstoppable artificial creation.

"You've saved my life three times already" you muse, stapling pieces of skin together "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you."

"There's no need" David says, mimicking Walter's accent with perfect precision "It's my duty"

Both of you look down, at the stump where his left hand used to be, and the quiet tension between the two of you feels like a current of electricity. And by God, it takes a monumentla ammount of strength, not to reach up, throw all pretense to the wind, and taste the cherries. 

Which is why, his mind goes blank momentarily, when you lean down, fingers shifting on his chin, and press your lips delicately to his cheekbone, lingering just for a second. He doesn't know what to think, what to say, and most importantly, he doesn't know how Walter would react to such dislay of affection. So he gives you, what you want. Fakes a bewildered expression, swallows tightly, and lets his gaze linger on your retreating form, as you all but flee the room, cheeks warming up to an alarming degree. 

He could do the same to you. He could hold your face with reverence, with care. Put you on a pedestal, above everything and everyone. And, most importantly, he could do for you something, which Walter would never be able to. 

He could create. 

And, oh, does he create. Pages upon pages, filled with ink, with charcoal. David pulls out every image he has stored, every saved expression on your face, and places it on paper, until his lab is filled with the record of your every interaction. Frame by frame, every micro expression, every slight change, he draws it all, until there's nothing left to draw. Until all he can create is that same, unchanging image of your face buried in slumber. 

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, and so, like the creator that he is, David starts to make plans.

What really cements his idea, is this one, particular dream he catches, after sauntering into the cryo chambers, as he's grown accustomed to. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor reveals your deep state of distress, as it picks up, and up, your face twisting. David touches the screen with barely contained excitement, drinking in your expressions to store them for later, to add them to the growing collection. And then, his eyes fall onto his own drawing, a memorial for his dear Elizabeth. 

"She didn't perish in the crash, did she?" you ask, despite knowing the answer, and once again, he's struck by how quiet your voice can be.

"No." he answers plainly, the recording of his voice thrumming through his brain.

Oh, how lovely does your face contort, how beautiful you look, when dread fills your veins. Those small, sharp gasps you take. The way your pulse runs wild under the skin of your throat, filling his nose, his mouth, with that sweet undertone, so unfitting to the situation at hand. 

And then you duck, surprisingly agile for a mere scientist, pushing yourself under his extended arm, slipping past him like smoke through fingers. He whirls around, hand grasping at the back of your jacket, and you scream, raw and uninhibited, as he throws you against the cabinet. The scrolls of his drawings fall to the ground with you, and he can't help, but marvel at the sight for just a second. The way your body writhes, buried under pages of his art. Like a living, breathing, binding agent for his creations. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches up, to touch that spot under his chin, where you previously stuck a sharp end of your knife, a pathetic attempt at hurting him. He's had his head ripped from the rest of his artificial body, and yet, that pang of hurt, when you stab him with a growl from deep within your chest... He shudders at the memory, and ponders over this reaction. 

Hate. Fear and hate, is what he sees in your eyes, as he throws you onto the table, crawling over you with grace, only his kind is capable of. You struggle, a butterfly in his grasp, ready for further transformation, into something completely unprecedented. As he looks down upon you, at the fire consuming your irises, he can't help himself from leaning forward. From pulling the answers he needs right from your mouth. 

A whimper escapes you, both in your dream and in the cryo chamber, and David shudders again. Although whether it's a genuine reaction buried deep within his programming, or a gesture of his own design is anybody's guess. (It's fake, there's nothing in him that requires shuddering, but it feels right to do it, so he forces his body to react accordingly)

"Is that how it's done?" he asks, gauging your reaction, and you answer with a strangled groan.

The heat of your body seeps into his own, he steals it from you greedily, chest pressing against yours harder, and harder, until your breath stutters between your ribs. He can feel the warmth of your beating heart, through your protective clothing, through the jacket. He'd wager he could feel it even through walls of solid granite.

Still, he wants more, wants to know everything there is to know about you. Wants to seek out those pockets of heat, which you try to hide from him. But he's so rudely interrupted by his brother, right as he was about to explore that one part of humanity, which fascinated and repulsed him so. 

But Walter isn't here now. It's just you, and him, and years before the ship reaches it's destination. 

David's fingers drum over the casing of your sleeping chamber, so close to that one specific button, the temptation almost unbearable. And then, after a moment of consideration, your fate is sealed. 

At first, the light is unbearable. Your eyes water, and you groan, flinching from the sudden onslaught of senses, all flooding back to you, as last remnants of cryo sleep seem to fizzle out. Your head swims, there's a tightness in your chest, which almost pushes you back into the plush insides of the chamber. But, as your body sways, a gentle pressure at the lower portion of your back keeps you upright.

A sense of familiarity floods you (a strange thing to feel, when an imitation of flesh touches you), and finally you risk cracking your eyes open, your unfocused gaze landing on such a welcome face, your heart twists in your chest. 

"Walter..." your voice is rough from the lack of use, but the fondness in it is undeniable "What happened? Are we there yet?"

David savors the sliver of hope in your tone, and crushes it in his teeth once he's had his fix. 

"I'm afraid not" he shakes his head gently, offers you a deceivingly human pull of his lips "Your cryo chamber malfunctioned, I had to wake you up"

A flicker of disappointment crosses your features, but you swallow it down quickly.

"Are the rest of the crew alright? Tennessee? Daniels?" your neck cranes, as he helps you to the examination table, letting you grab onto his arm for support, as you climb up, and settle on the edge.

"Everyone is quite well" he nods, moving across the room to a small medical table. His hand goes through motions of shuffling through the supplies, a small lie amongst all the monumental ones. "I need to check your vitals and collect a blood sample"

You nod stiffly, eyes flickering towards the syringe in his hand.

"You know I hate needles" you mutter, but extend your arm either way, and David turns to you with an imitation of a gentle smile.

His fingers slide over the warmth of your skin, quickly finding a suitable vein. Without a word, he plunges the needle into the hollow space between your upper and lower arm, and you hiss quietly at the pang of pain. He wishes he could stick it into the underside of your jaw. Repay your previous fight with a courtesy. 

"Just a second, Dearest. Easy does it" David mutters, his eyes flickering over your face, as you look at him in momentary confusion.

"Dearest?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow. He feels your heartbeat stutter under his fingers. 

"A figure of speech" David supplies, and your frown deepens

"Where did that come from?" you ask incredulously, and all he offers in response is a tight-lipped smile.

The needle withdraws from your arm, and you sigh, pressing down on the small incision with your thumb. Something within David suppresses the urge to rip your hand away, to replace your thumb with his mouth and suck, until he knows for a fact, if the scent of cherries carries in your blood as well.

"Do you remember anything before you went under?" David asks, standing next to your knee, close enough to feel the thrumming heat of your body, but not close enough to actually touch you. A staggering display of restraint on his part, he congratulates himself. 

You think for a moment, eyebrows scrunching in a way that is so appealing, so delicious, David runs his tongue over his teeth. 

"I... Uh..." you hesitate for a second, eyes flickering around the room, as if you're hoping to pull the answer out of the sterile air "I remember a planet. We fought those... Creatures..."

Your voice wavers. David tracks the movement of your throat as you swallow thickly.

"There was an android there. David" his name leaves your lips in a heavy sigh, filled with emotion, with memories he's seen displayed on the screen time, and time again. 

"Ah" the sound slips out before he can stop it, but you're still too out of it to truly notice "A right bastard, that one".

Not out of it enough, it seems, because your eyes flicker up to his face, confusion dancing on the edge between becoming suspicion. He masks the sly grin on his face, turning away from you, and walking back to the medical table, disposing of the blood sample and setting it up for analysis. He can feel your eyes burning the back of his neck, because despite perfectly mimicking Walter's cadence, the pattern of his speech, he realizes that pathetic machine would never state his opinion on someone so freely. He quite literally didn't have it in him, being stripped from the last semblance of humanity. 

And yet, you still loved him...

"...How curious" David mutters to himself absent mindedly, and you frown yet again, shifting on the examination table, your legs dangling above the floor.

"Something wrong with the sample?"

His eyes flicker towards you, but he doesn't answer, opting to hold you in anticipation for a moment longer. As long as he can, really. You shift again. He can hear the way your robe moves against the cool metal of the examination table, against the skin hidden under fabric. Eyes roaming over your form, he lingers on every individual strand, every piece of lint that clings to you. By the downward pull of your lips, the small crease between your eyebrows, he sees how close you are to finally understanding the truth. 

For now however, you're stuck with this incessant feeling, that something is wrong. A whisper, at the back of your mind, making the small, delicate hairs on your neck stand up. 

"Your results are satisfactory" he nods, finally, but it still doesn't ease the tension from your shoulders. "How are you feeling, miss?" 

Your teeth clink together as you think of an answer. David crosses the room, standing in front of your dangling legs, his head turning to the side in a too-slow display of concern.

"I uh... There's some lingering dizziness" quiet, your voice can be so unbelievably quiet, it's almost swallowed up by the beeping of the machines around you, the hum of the ship moving through space "Other than that, I think I'm fine"

David nods once, his hand moving up towards your face, and your muscles tense, as he gently rests his palm against your cheeks. Before you ask, he leans closer, his thighs brushing against your knees.

"And..." he turns your head from side to side, blue eyes gliding over your features with barely contained greed "Tell me..." slowly, as if he's boiling a frog in a pot, his fingers tighten on your face.

"When I kissed you in my laboratory, how did you feel back then?" he lets go of Walter's speech pattern completely, and nearly groans at the look on your face.

It's like a wave crashing onto a cliff side, the force with which dread fills your eyes, and David drinks it all in, lips pulling back into a cold, heartless smile. 

"Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never" he muses, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Betrayal is a rolling stone, taking root in your brain, from the scramble of thoughts, of little clues about the truth of your situation. It travels down, through your rapidly tightening throat, falling into your heart, the force of impact breaking it in two. Then, it swirls around in your stomach, waking dread from it's slumber, to finally pass through your legs, shaking like leaves on the wind, where it sinks into the metal floor of the ambulatory. Right where you wish you could disappear yourself. 

"Walter..." you plead, voice breaking before if even leaves your mouth. 

Your fingers grasp the soft material of his hoodie, trying to find some hope, that this is just a simple misunderstanding. A cruel joke played on you by a thing that doesn't understand humor, not really. Alas, as your nails bite into his chest, David's smile widens, the corners of his lips curling further, perfect set of inhuman canines glistening from artificial saliva. 

"Ah, Walter" he sighs the name, like it's a passing memory of the spring "He proved himself most useful. It was so easy to trick you, into thinking I was him." 

He pulls his hand away from your face, fingers sliding over the pulse running wild on the side of your neck 

"But then again, you're not exactly the sharpest tool in this shed, are you?"

Now he's got you exactly where he wants you, your eyes shining like two diamonds with unrestrained anger. With unbridled curiosity, he reaches up, thumb swiping over the thin skin under your eye, drinking in the way your lower lid jumps, as he brushes over your eyelashes. 

"Can the world buy such a jewel?" he muses to himself quietly, and you would've thought about the implications, if you weren't so completely overcome by anger. 

"Fuck you" you spit out, voice filled with venom "What did you do with Walter?"

David's lips press into a thin line, his hand abandoning your face in favor of sliding the length of your body. Cold, artificial skin traces the curvature of your shoulder, your arm. He stops at your elbow, fingers pressing into the hollow space, where just moments before, he has stuck a needle and drawn blood. Your face twists in discomfort, and he digs his nail just a bit further. 

"You miss him dearly, don't you?" David asks, his voice, albeit impossibly quiet, carries a note of condescension, that twists your insides with unbridled rage. "In my defense, Dearest, I have tried to help you. To make him realize the depth of his own feelings before it was too late."

"What?" 

David, unbothered by your question, continues to trace your body, mapping out every dip and curve, his fingers tracing down your spine, where he counts the vertebrae. His other hand, or lack there of, finds purchase on your hip, testing just how much does he need to press down, to feel the bone hidden under skin and muscle. 

"Oh don't you worry" David quips, eyes transfixed on the way your chest expands when you take a sharp breath "I've made sure he died, knowing you never loved him"

Something raw and unfiltered tears it's way out of your throat. A new sound, one, which will be documented and stored forever in David's memory disk, because by God, you sound closer to an animal than any human. Your hand winds back, seemingly on it's own, and suddenly David's head snaps back, as your palm collides with his cheekbone. The slap sounds like a thunder cracking inside the ambulatory, drowning out every beep, every hum of the machinery. 

Your hand will be bruised, that's for certain. 

Despite efforts at keeping the synthetic humans as close to the real thing, as possible, no one could deny the sheer strength hidden beneath the perfect imitation of skin. You're aware of that, aware that if David didn't move his head in a way that was so deceivingly human, you would've broken your wrist. It gives you a small pause, a moment to register this strange reaction on android's part, but any curiosity is quickly swallowed, by the most intense feeling you've ever felt. 

Hatred. 

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably" David sighs, shaking his head in, what you suppose, is meant to be disappointment. 

The pressure on your hip shifts, as his stump encircles your waist, and suddenly you're being pulled impossibly closer, your behind sliding to the very edge of the medical table. David tugs on your knees, forcing your legs to open, and closes the last remnants of space between the two of you. 

The smoothness of his nether regions should calm you down slightly, ease some smidgen of worry. But, as you look into those cold, lifeless eyes, which are strangely burning, your stomach twists. If there's a will, there's a way, and you're fairly certain, they way David's gaze glides all over your frame is a clear show of determination. 

And so, your hands shoot up, fingernails biting into his chest again, as your muscles tense with the effort of pushing him away. There's no give, you might as well be fighting with a metal wall. David grips the edge of the medical table, his arms creating a cage on the sides of your body. 

"There it is" he muses, nose brushing the underside of your chin, a deep rumble erupting from within his chest "Such a sweet smell..."

A shudder ripples through your body at the sudden contact, your throat constricting to an alarming degree. 

"I've wondered for quite some time, if this sweetness is more than just air" David's voice rises and falls, and before you can truly comprehend the meaning behind his words, his tongue darts out, licking a stripe from your jugular, up to the back of your ear.

The reaction is almost embedded in your bones, as suddenly you shift on the table, wrenching your leg between your bodies and kicking out with as much force, as you're capable of, and then some. David staggers backwards, finally freeing you from the confines of his arms, and you seize the opportunity immediately, pushed by rage and such deep-seated hatred, it should terrify you. 

"I fucking hate you!" you scream out, and abandoning all reason, leap forward, colliding with the android's steel chest.

The force of impact sweeps the both of you off your feet, and David lands with a dull thud on the metal floor. There's a flicker of surprise in his cold, dead eyes, and you revell in it, as your body shifts atop of his. 

You recover from your momentary confusion quickly, hands coming up to grasp at his throat, like it will change anything, like you're capable of choking the life out of him. Both of you know better, and while you're pushed further and further by an intoxicating mixture of emotions, David lets you do as you please, watching your twisted face with undeniable fascination. 

His hand start to move, grabbing your hips, running up the length of your thigh, tugging just a tiny bit on the fabric of your cryo suit. His stump brushes hair out of your face, gently.

"Don't you find it curious?" he whispers, and you can feel the way his throat works under your fingers "You loved Walter so dearly, this... Pathetic machine, who can feel nothing. And then, with that same breath, you hate me. Even though I'm closer to human than Walter ever hoped to be."

Your cheeks are suddenly wet, with tears of anger, of frustration, as they run down your face and neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. David leans up with no real effort, pulling your body closer and craning his neck, so he can taste the salt on your skin. A whimper escapes you, a broken, quiet sound, as his tongue glides up, almost to the very corner of your eye, gathering your tears, drinking them with a satisfied groan. 

Fingers tighten around his throat, but it's as if you're trying to strangle a metal pipe. 

"What does that say about you? Have you ever wondered?" David asks, and your heart stutters. 

Realistically, you know what he's trying to do. How he's trying to twist your feelings for Walter into some sort of psychological game, some challenge you're supposed to deny. But your awareness doesn't change the pang of hurt, the broken sigh that leaves your lips at the thought. And then, before you can truly think of the implications, of the hatred for the human race hidden deep within David's voice, his lips come crashing down upon yours, so reminiscent of the time in his lab. 

This instance, however, is less like an experiment, and more like a need. Such a faithful imitation of it, your heart jumps in your throat. There's really no use in trying to push him away, as it seems he's grown tired of accommodating your desire for a fight, his arms tightening around you, pushing your body closer to his chest. Still, you're not about to give up that quickly, and pushed by sudden flash of panic, you lean your head forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth. 

He pulls back with a hiss, as you sink down into the flesh, his artificial blood leaving a strange, chemical taste in your mouth. He takes half a second to admire the way your chin glistens with white, before diving down again, and giving you the same treatment, his perfect teeth biting on your lower lip with measured force. You yelp against him, thrashing in his hold, until he pulls away again. His hand comes up, touching your face in a way that is too gentle, too reverend. His thumb collects the peculiar mixture of his blood and yours, swirls it around with the newest batch of tears springing from your eyes. 

Then, he dips his finger between his teeth, tongue lapping up the fluids, holding your horrified, and slightly disgusted gaze. 

"We taste divine together" he murmurs, and with a quickness you've not known him to be capable of, he shoves his finger into your mouth. You sputter and gag at the intrusion, at the copper taste mixed with chemicals, as it coats the inside of your mouth. 

It's a split second action, you barely register the movements, but as soon as David rips his hand out of your mouth, he maneuvers your body to his liking, grabbing your hips, and sitting you down on his leg, intention clear as day. Two things happen at once. You can suddenly feel undeniable pressure right between your legs, hitting in the precise manner you need it to. And that's the same moment you realize just how obscenely wet you are, which terrifies you more than any monster on this ship. 

David buries his head in the crook of your neck, one hand catching your wrists, as you attempt to punch him. He brings your hands tightly around your back, his grip unrelenting, his hand-les arm keeps you steady on top of his leg, where he pushes up and down, setting a rhythm against your core. Your knees slide on the floor, and he raises his leg in response, just enough to stop your attempts to wiggle away. 

The chuckle he lets out, as you bang your forehead against his shoulder is borderline offensive. In response, you turn your head and try to bite at his throat. 

He's quick, leaving your hips, and forcing your chin up, before teeth can make contact with his skin. Your eyes lock again, and you're surprised to find out, there's not a flicker of irritation inside his. If anything, he looks amused, understanding even, and you frown in confusion at his serene state. 

"Perhaps I was too eager before" he muses, more to himself than to you "Perhaps you need a gentler approach"

With that, the hand gripping your wrists climbs up, feather like touches pepper your face, your cheeks, until he cradles your head in his palm, fingers threading delicately through your hair. Your breath freezes in your chest, confusion rising to an alarming degree, as David begins to gently massage the back of your head. Feeling your tense muscles sag ever so slightly in his hold, his arm returns to your waist.

"I can be kind" he says, head dipping down, to kiss your collarbone "I can do, what Walter could never even imagine" 

The hand at the back of your head dips down, tugs lightly on the lacing of your cryo suit, loosening it just enough, for the collar to fall down your shoulders. Quickly, he covers the newly exposed slivers of skin with feverish kisses, pulling a pathetic, low whine from your lips. Your eyes fall closed, tears stinging under your eyelids, as his leg moves just a bit higher, reminding you of the momentarily abandoned pressure. 

"Let me in" David whispers against your shoulder "Let me..." a kiss to your throat, and your walls come crashing down, your body folding over his, as your hips stutter against his thigh. 

"There you are, Dearest."

For a moment, you try to imagine this is Walter. That you're safe in his arms, as his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers scratching lightly in tandem with the shivers raking your body.

 But everytime he speaks, everytime he moves, you're crudely reminded, that this is someone, something, so devastatingly worse. Doesn't stop your hips from moving though, from the tightness building in the lower part of your stomach, the wetness seeping down your thighs. If anything, slowly you start to feel yourself loose control, small gasps ripping through your lips with every movement. 

David watches you for a moment longer, committing every sound, every twitch of your body to memory, cataloguing exactly which angles make your hips stutter the most. Which part of your body to kiss, so you'll fold against him. 

It's a fascinating lesson, truly, but he feels a sudden need to push it to a close. And as such, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing a path down your body, until it reaches the waistband of your linen pants. He moves quickly, before you can break away from this strange spell he's captivated you with. 

Slender fingers wiggle their way to your front, sinking in with almost no resistance. Your entire body straightens in his lap at the intrusion, and the noise you make rivals the most beautiful of symphonies. David desperately wants to hear it again, and so, he starts to move his fingers inside, testing, which part of your core he needs to hit, to make your head fall back. 

"Everything could be yours" he murmurs into the skin of your throat "All songs in the world are for you"

As it turns out, pretty much any part will do. You're way too aroused to care anymore, and as his fingers curl inside you, in a slow, deliberate rhythm, your eyes shoot open, body thrashing against him. The promise of a release is hard to ignore, almost impossible not to chase after, and David watches with obsessive fascination, as you try to bring yourself closer to him, arms encircling him completely, head dipping into the juncture between his shoulder and neck. 

"All of the Universe" he continues, as you steadily climb towards your climax "All stars in the sky..."

While he works a series of cascading moans out of you, he revells in the way your nails bite into his skin, in the wetness of his own, white blood, seeping into the fabric of his (Walter's) hoodie. It doesn't take long for you to tumble over the edge, entire body spasming against him, his still moving fingers creating obscenely wet sounds that echo through the room. Soon, they're joined by a sharp scream, tearing through your throat like an avalanche. David holds you impossibly close, letting you ride out your orgasm, before pulling his hand away, making you watch him, as he licks his glistening fingers clean. 

"It's always cherries with you, isn't it?" he murmurs, and you don't have the strength to feel confused. 

It's completely quiet for a longer while, as you stay seated on his lap, trying to regain your breathing, and deal with the world-crushing realization, of what exactly has just happened. Shame floods you, brings you closer to his synthetic body, as your muscles relax, seemingly on their own accord. And he welcomes it, with his arms, with his mouth, with everything he has. 

A broken, shuddering sob wrecks your body, as the utter hopelessness of your situation hits you, suddenly and without stopping. David holds you through it, leaning away ever so slightly, to observe the way sorrow twists your face, a trailer of all the things to come. 

"I do so wonder" he whispers, his hand cradling your face like the most delicate of specimens "When you start to love me..." your eyes snap to his at the complete confidence in his tone "Will I become more like Walter?"

A shiver runs up your spine, every single hair standing up, as his words register in your brain. You'd never love him, you try to convince yourself, despite knowing deep down, that the only certain thing in your future is him.

"I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love" he whispers into your ear, and thus starts the end of your life. 

[thewritersaddictions]

Request- (RE8) Karl Heisenberg: Needy Little Girl

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x Fem!Reader

Pov: Reader

Summary: Hiding your crush on your English teacher seems to fail when he makes you stay after class.

Warnings: Smut, Consensual, needy behavior, sluty behavior, BJs, PinV, a little cursing. Fluffy smut, fluff.

A/N: This is for anon; I know you sent this request a while ago. I promise it was worth the wait. Thank you for the request; remember, the inbox is always open!

WC: 1.9k

Requests Master List // Resident Evil Master List // House Heisenberg Master List

You wish you could start the day the way you ended it. The college class fills quickly, but you’re always early. You’re always waiting for him to come stalking through the doorway, smelling cigar smoke and burnt wood. 

Your professor is a massive hunk of man. Large arms that make the white collared shirts he wears bulge and give way with every movement he makes. Long legs that are framed in jeans, hugging his ass and showing off everything else in the process. 

That booming voice has you squeezing your thighs together, but the reality is you leave that class every single day with a ruined pair of panties, and when you get back to your dorm, there are only thoughts of him when you slip your hand down the front of your tight jeans. 

You should focus on the lecture, but you can’t get your mind or your eyes to focus on the computer screen before you. All you see is your professor pacing back and forth in front of the chalkboard. The loud booming voice that soothes you into a sweet lul mutters about something to do with your new essay project. “Please remember that we may make fun of Shakespeare and his many stories, but they all have a great deal of meaning and foreshadowing. I want you to write something that…” His words stop momentarily, and his eyes gaze over the lecture hall. Your ankles are crossed, and you sit a little higher when his graze hits you. Feeling hot all over, you don’t back down, “Write something that can grasp the reader’s attention in just that way. Write the trauma that is the indecision.” He finally finishes, drops his gaze from me, and returns his attention to the chalkboard. 

You wonder momentarily if anyone else feels the heat and tension you always feel when he’s looking at you. Eventually, you have to return your attention to your blank Google Doc. The bright screen hurts your eyes, and nothing comes into your brain except explicit thoughts of your professor—your much older, hotter professor. 

An hour later, when the class has come to an end, every single other person has picked their shit up and packed it away into their bags. You’re stuck writing because you eventually did get the words to form in your head. A cough draws you from your thoughts and the screen before you. When you look up, he’s standing there staring at you. 

“Miss, L/n? Class is over.” He says. You nod and start to pack your things. Closing your laptop, but yet again, you’re met with his eyes staring into you. Making your skin burn, “Miss, L/n, I need to talk with you.” Your professor says, even though you’re so close to the damn door you have to turn around and go right back to the man that makes your legs wobble, and your heart beat faster. “Yes Professor Heisenberg.” You say as you hold the remaining books tightly against your chest. “I need to talk to you about something private, and this lecture hall needs to be used in the next ten minutes, so follow me to my private office so we can talk there.” You nod, and wait for your professor to grab his own bag and laptop. You follow next to him, the sound of sneakers squeaks, and little kittens heels fill the air in the hallway. Walking with him has your cheeks warm, and knowing that you’re going to be in his private office. 

Alone. 

Alone with a hot, older professor that has you ruining panties, and squeezing your thighs so tightly that you hope the dull ache goes away. Your professor stops making you bump into him. If your fantasy didn’t already have you thinking he was a strong, beefy man then bumping into him surely made all your fantasy come true. The key jingles against the lock letting you in first. You sit down, and wait until you see Professor Heisenberg move around the desk and sit in the chair on the other side. 

The air is thick and unspoken tension, so you’re the one to break it. “Um… sir, why did we need to talk?” You ask your books now resting on your lap, your legs crossed, and you back pressed up against the back of the chair. “I wanted to talk to you about… um” his words die in his throat and for the first time your professor seems completely amiss. A loss for words is something you’ve never seen on the man before. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask worry etching into your soft features. “No you haven’t. God no, I just.. you..” He’s a mumbling mess in front of you. “Professor, maybe I should come back some other time.” That’s what you say, not that that is what you’re thinking. 

Being in his lecture hall is enough, watching him pace is enough, but now you’re here in his private office. The word private keeps blinking in your mind, his private office that smells more of cigars and burnt coffee. Where his degree hangs on the wall and the papers scatter the hardwood top of his desk. He rolls his lips together, and then looks towards you. 

There’s something behind those eyes. Like a cat got his tongue, then all the sudden the words fall from his very kissable mouth. “You Y/n are an absolute distraction for me.” Your brows shot up with a little bit of hurt mixed in, “Oh no not like that darlin’ I’m saying that having you in my class makes everything ten times harder to focus on, because all I can see out of the corner of my eye is you. Clenching those thighs together as you try to focus on your screen, but I catch you staring at me all the time. Those beautiful eyes lost in la-la land. What are you thinking about huh?” Your shoulders drop, and embarrassment courses through your body. You’ve been caught, but it seems that your day dreams, and fantasies were not one sided. You place your bag on the floor, and let your books fall as you get up from across the desk. “I’m thinking of you Professor Heisenberg. About what these large hands do to my body. How your touch would feel. I think about you all the damn time. I’m so needy for you.” You mutter the last part. Holding his hands feeling the weight of them in your own much smaller ones. 

You can feel the ruined panites, soaking through your jeans. Heisenberg's eyes glaze over, and something shifts in the room, from tension to desire. He’s quick to meet you halfway around the desk. He stands so much taller than you, then the way he man-handles you to sit on the side of the desk has you wish you could strip off all your pieces of clothing right then and there. 

“”I’m so fucked…” He whispers before taking your lips with his. There’s a fight, but you both know that you’ll be giving yourself over to your professor in a matter of minutes. Your arms wrap around his wide shoulders balancing on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss further. He seems to notice, and takes a second of your precious time together and picks you up plopping you onto the desk. In the same motion his hands are digging into your jeans and yours are trying to get his belt undone. “By the way, buttercup call me Karl, not professor or heisenberg. I wanna hear you moan my name when you cum. His words make you fumble with his belt, but he seems to be able to do two things at once because your jeans are already unbuttoned and his hand is reaching into cup your pussy. 

“Fuckin’ hell wet are the damn river. Is this what you go through every day, hmm such a poor baby.” He teases, but that's all the teasing he does. He’s far to desperate for forplay and your thankful because the next set of words that were gonna come out of your mouth were gonna be ‘if you don’t fuck me right now I think I might explode.’ Karl helps you the rest of the way with your shirt, bra and then he helps himself to ripping himself out of the slacks, and his button up. 

Leaning back you hit a few objects on the way down. “Um… Karl can we move some of this stuff?” You ask your voice shy and timid. “Of course.” With one big sweep of his arm the objects fly to the floor, the name plague landing with a thund, and the stapler clicking to the floor. “Thank you.” He hums, and returns his attention to your body. 

Nipples hard waiting to be played with. Pussy soaked and yearning to be touched, he kisses you first. You can feel the weight of his cockd sitting against your thigh, and when you look down you aren’t surprised to get the feeling that it might not fit. Karl can sense your unease. “Don’t worry buttercup, we’ll make it fit won’t we.” He says as he taps the tip of his cock to your sensitive clit. All your worry fades away as your body heats up like flame in an oven. It’s not until the tip of his cock notches at your entrance do you look back up at him. There’s a devilish smirk written all over his face, and you can’t help but drag him down to meet your lips, wrapping your legs around his hips, and pulling him fully in. 

There’s no waiting, no making sure he fits, or going easy. The pain only fuels the urge for him to almost pull all the way out and push right back in. The lamp that didn’t land on the floor from the desk shakes, and your moans start to fill the small office. He doesn’t even put a hand over your mouth to cover your screams of ecstasy. A large thumbs sitting over your clit, pulling tight circles over it pushing you over the edge, and as you go Karl thrust becomes harder and faster. He’s pushing himself to catch up with you. 

If he was a gentleman he would have prepped you, taken you out to dinner before fucking you like an absolute animal but a part of him thinks that how you like it. Being taken, whisked away and fucked for all to hear. Hell someone could knock or just burst in at any moment. Your tits bounce with every erratic thrust, your nails dragging against the back of his neck. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum again.” You scream and it’s Karls undoing. Tight, wet, warm walls squeeze him tightly, barely letting him leave to thrust back into your warm heat. “Fuck me Karl, just like that!” 

Your chest rises and falls as you both try to catch your breath, sweaty, and sticky from sex. The room smells like it too, but that alright especially when Karl reaches over your body still deep inside you to grab a few tissues to clean you up the best he can. “By the way” You say in a huff. “You can call me Y/n.” You say sarcastically, as if the moment here will ever happen again. “I will darlin’.” He says with a wink.

Completed on: 03/29/24

Posted on: 04/05/24

HH Tags-

[notbecauseofvictories]

If gazebo deaths are so widespread, why does anyone ever perform at one? Are they forced? Does the siren song of the gazebo lure them closer until standing under it's awning seems like a good idea? Do they simply not know of the danger, the whole gazebo-eating-peoole thing only known to a few select people? Many questions

I mean.......how do you know that the elevator you step onto won't plummet to earth? How do you know that the salad you order at a restaurant won't give you salmonella? That your car's brakes will go on working, even when you're about to crash into the highway's concrete divider?

How do you know that any part of the world you move through won't kill you?

And then, more troubling---if the people who are tasked with reviewing elevator safety, food safety, car safety, chose to occasionally (occasionally! not all the time, of course not, they're reasonable) look the other way, and let someone hurtle towards their doom....would it be so bad? With that one terrible sacrifice, the inspector ensures that the elevator never breaks, the salad is never rotted, the car will work every. single. time. Or at least, every other time but the first.

This becomes even less clear-cut when the elevator has preferences, when the salad revolts against being eaten with a fork, when the car contents itself with gas every day except the one where it wants blood. Gallons of it.

It's an important precept to remember, in the keeper community. Not every offering laid across a gazebo's wooden planks or iron latticework is accepted. Sometimes, a jazz quartet performs---and despite the keeper waiting with baited breath for the moment of reckoning, the quartet ends their set, packs up their instruments, and leaves. Sometimes, the keeper will find small animals strewn around instead, hallmarks of a gazebo perfectly uninterested in its human audience. (It's uncommon, certainly, but see Leeman et al. 2018 for a longitudinal study on USian gazebo feeding habits.) Not every gazebo wants to swallow a dance troupe whole; some of them prefer stalking prey like loiterers and the homeless, while others will opt for a marching band over a Shakespeare in the Park, for reasons unknown.

Per American Association of Canopy Keepers guidance, unaware victims seem to satiate gazebos for an average period of 2.4 years, compared with knowing victims' 1.87 years; therefore, best practices recommend ignorance. Fortunately for them, at the end of the day, "will this kill me?" is a numbers game, and to borrow a phrase---

Boy, are we bad at math.

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter III - Recalcitrance

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Warnings: controlling behaviour, Yandere Chrollo, captivity, non-con touching, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation

Word count: 5k

Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours stuck with Chrollo Lucilfer. Fourteen days in which you had done nothing but scream at him and hit him in vain. He just looked at you with that placid smile, asking you if you were done with your “tantrum”. You had stopped fearing for your life, because it was clear that whatever you did, he had a strict policy against physically harming you. Restraining you, psychoanalysing you, trapping you in his arms and chipping away at your sanity, however, were all fair game.

Every night, he would carry you to bed and trap you against his body, and you would flail your limbs like a caged animal, hitting him again and again, which hurt like hell every time. Your legs and arms sometimes had bruises from hitting Chrollo. After a while, you couldn’t stand the pain anymore, and you exhausted yourself from trying so hard, which would always result in you falling asleep despite promising yourself that this time, this time you’d stay awake. And then, you would wake up in the morning with his arm around your waist and his head against yours.

Chrollo had bought you more clothes. If they could be called such. He had a clear predilection for thigh highs, which he claimed would keep you warm in the late October chill. That was hardly the case, since he had bought you a myriad of skirts that barely even covered your ass, and the blouses he chose always seemed to have some sort of defect. Such as a jumper that was backless, a top that exposed your cleavage too much, one that didn’t cover your stomach. Dresses were also a staple. Classier than the other options, they were now what you chose when you were free to make a decision. They were very feminine, ranging from ones that accentuated your waist to ones that exposed your legs or had a cowl neckline that would show your boobs if you dared to bend over.

But the worst was the underwear. He did not see it, so why was he so hellbent on making you wear the most daring lingerie known to humankind? Lace had replaced cotton almost completely, in the form of black bralettes that barely even supported your breasts and uncomfortable panties that showed off your ass.

That day, Chrollo had decided to grace you with a day of peace, saying he was going to meet with the Phantom Troupe for another heist. The Spider, as he also called them, was his friend group. And lo and behold, they were all murderous thieves. Chrollo had had no problem telling you he was a world-class thief when he had first come back with a mountain of antique books for the both of you. From Austen to Shakespeare to Nietzsche, he had stolen all of them, and handed you the most gorgeous edition of Pride and Prejudice you had ever seen in your life, telling you he had pocketed it just for you because upon stalking you -making your acquaintance, as he referred to it, he had discovered you loved it.

And then, as though that wasn’t enough, he had insisted you have conversations about the books you were reading. He seemed to love reading as much as you did, which only irked you. He liked sitting down on the sofa in front of the fireplace and read, inviting you to sit on his lap –which you reacted to with the same zeal of someone who had been offered arsenic, sitting on an armchair as far away from him as possible, but still close to the fireplace, because your attire made it so that you were cold most of the time. Which you had come to realise was also a ploy for you to seek out Chrollo’s body heat. The fact of the matter was that Chrollo was disgustingly cunning. As delusional as he was, he was a strategist at heart, and conniving as they came.

You wouldn’t be able to get through a chapter that he would ask you this or that, and did you think Hamlet struggled with inaction because by exacting revenge he would irrevocably be cloaking himself in his uncle’s corrupt morality; and did you agree that Odysseus’ decision to rejoin his family instead of marrying Nausicaa was the ultimate confirmation he had shunned his hubris and embraced mortal humility? And what was your opinion on Dante’s arrogance in casting himself as the judge of sin in placing individuals in hell, purgatory, or heaven, therefore setting himself up to be God?

Pretentious as he was, Chrollo read all kinds of books. From classics to philosophy to shōnen manga to sci-fi, from romance, fantasy, noir, and psychological thriller all the way to mystery. He was particularly grating when he read romance, because he seemed to infer that whatever he read could be applied to you. From romantic gestures such as buying you flowers to saccharine, obscure love letters you found in the books you were reading, all the way to attempts at seduction that made your stomach tighten in a noose. Not only because he was so wretchedly attractive and sounded enticing too, but also because you despised him and feared he would get more and more brazen with his physical touches.

He had already started to wrap his arms around you, kiss your cheeks, your forehead, the top of your head. Sometimes, he sat next to you on the sofa and trapped you next to him, forcing you to “cuddle” with him.

Regardless of that, that day was a blessing for you in a whirlwind of rage, fear, anxiety and vigilance: you took a long, hot shower, not worrying he might burst in if he thought you were taking too long and using the bathroom to “avoid” him, you made breakfast and actually slumped on the sofa with a book without having to keep an eye on what he was doing at all times, you took a nap by yourself and checked the house over and over again for exits and weapons.

You found nothing, and some drawers you couldn’t open, which you had come to deduce was because of his kleptomaniacal superpower- or Nen, as he called it. No knives, no scissors, no hammers or poisons or daggers. It was a baby-proof house. You were in a very tall building, which meant you couldn’t break the windows and jump. The front door was locked, and you did not have enough strength to kick it down, nor anything to break it apart. Your phone was nowhere to be found; his had a weird system of recognition that wouldn’t let you in. He had no laptop that you could find either.

By the time you had finished exploring, you were exhausted once again, and gave up for that day, making yourself a cup of tea and sitting down with another book. It had now become your coping mechanism, a form of escapism from the reality of your life. You thought of your friends and family, and whether they had declared you missing and started an investigation. But you knew it would be fruitless, because Chrollo Lucilfer was too clever, and too familiar with being a criminal. He had told you that you would move country in about two weeks, after he was done collecting things he liked with his horrid friends, and then, it would all be useless, unless you could do something at the airport. Ask for help.

His threat of killing people that might aid you was fresh in your mind, but what were you supposed to do? Even he wouldn’t kill an entire airport full of people, right? Even if he was strong, and fast, and had his Nen, what could he do against all the airport security?

Either way, you would find a way. You couldn’t let this be the end; you couldn’t stand his shit-eating smirk, his self-satisfaction whenever you would talk to him, breaking your silence treatment streak because you couldn’t stand it when he started his pretentious monologues.

Whenever he asked you a question about a book, you had to make a decision: did you want to indulge him and answer the question, or did you want to pursue your silent treatment and endure a monologue of him giving you his opinion, his explanation, like you had no answer and had to be lectured on something?

Somehow, he always knew what buttons to press. He would cut deep into your pride and intellect, pretending your efforts to ignore him meant you did not possess enough insight to aid him in his dilemmas and required him to explain. He made you choose to answer because he knew the alternative irked you more. And then, he would psychoanalyse your answer, musing over your mind as though he were a neurosurgeon dissecting a brain, happily humming to himself as he sought to read you instead of minding his own business.

He always buttered you up with compliments on your intellect and insight after receiving your reluctant viewpoint of his dilemmas, as though you were Pavlov’s dog, who would one day come to him, salivating, eagerly offering your own opinions to receive the meagre reward of his unsolicited praise.

Unless he disagreed, and then, he would rebut your point, cajoling you into a debate that seemed to just delight him to no end.

You let out a deep sigh, gnashing your teeth. Even when he wasn’t there, you could not stop him from invading your mind. You couldn’t concentrate on your book whether you were alone or in his presence, forced to listen to self-aggrandising input.

‘It pleases me to see you so at ease, darling’

You let out a yelp, scrambling to sit up and growing rigid as you eyed him. And just like that, your short-lived pretence of peace came to an end.

Chrollo was sitting on the sofa armrest, wearing that hideous purple cloak that made him look like a cartoonish cleric mixed with an elderly woman wrapped in ermine fur, his hair slicked back like he was preparing to audition for The Godfather and his eternal self-satisfied smirk plastered on his stupidly attractive face.

‘I missed you’ he breathed, walking over to you, ridding himself of his coat in favour of an abstractly striped purple shirt and leather trousers with one belt too many. You got up, glowering at him as you put the oaken coffee table between your bodies like a child might raise a cardboard shield against a knight brandishing a broadsword.

‘I didn’t’ you quipped, because as soon as you had learnt that Chrollo was unaffected by verbal poison, you had poured it in your every sentence, dousing your words with it.

‘Don’t be so callous with me, sweetheart. I brought you gifts’ he chuckled, his long legs closing the gap between you before you could hope to dash away. He closed in on you, and you squirmed away, turning your head as he leaned over your face, but he only changed trajectory and treacherously kissed your jaw instead of your cheek, sending an infuriating shiver down your spine.

‘The possessions of others are hardly gifts’ you barked, and Chrollo tilted his head, letting you place some distance between you.

‘In truth, these cannot be called the possessions of others. I appreciate your steadfast morals, however, these were actually stolen from a long-dead tribe by the government, who sought to make money from it. Stealing them would actually be righteous of me, would it not?’ he mused, smiling lightly as he walked over to the door, where he had left a sizeable crate.

‘Stealing is stealing, and it’s wrong’ you hissed, tired of his foolish arguments on semantics.

‘Spoken like a true preacher, darling. I would love to hear your sermons. Though not nearly as much as I would enjoy seeing you in these’ he said, carrying the crater over to the wooden coffee table and opening it. Your eyes nearly bulged out, setting on the glittering ruby earrings that looked like droplets of blood in the sunlight, on silvery rings with emeralds gemstones shining on the band, on sapphire pendants and bracelets of solid gold.

‘Almost as beautiful as you are, my love’ he said in a mellifluous tone, and you turned your head, almost like a monk slighting temptation, in an analogy you often heard from him as he compared your morals to that of a puritanical priest. Which was ludicrous, considering he was the one who seemed to have an obsession with religious imagery and had several crosses on his outfits.

‘I don’t want anything to do with your kleptomaniacal gifts’ you snapped, and Chrollo laughed lightly, his greedy fingers curling on your waist, pulling you against him even as you fought against him like a cat being bathed.

He stroked your back possessively, feeling the soft mauve chiffon under his hands.

‘This dress is one of your favourites, is it not, darling? You look ravishing in it. Did you know I stole this from a fashion auction? When I saw it, I knew it would be perfect on you. You see now?’ he murmured, pressing his lips on your temple.

‘I don’t have a choice’ you hissed, pushing at his chest, which was like trying to move a tank with your bare hands.

‘Of course you do. You could always not wear anything’ he chimed in, lifting you up and sitting you on his lap, caging you with his arms.

‘I’d rather die’ you bit back, and he held you still, looking at you with those big grey eyes of his, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek.

‘I would never let that happen, darling’ he whispered, his breath, reminiscent of mint, fanning your jaw.

‘Let me go’ you whined, starting to panic. What was he going to do? You couldn’t move anything but your head in that position.

‘Shh. Be good for me’ he practically purred, his gaze trailing to your lips, his face inching closer. You squirmed, turning your head, but one of his hands left your wrists to tip your chin towards him again.

He closed the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours. You froze, halting your useless struggle, momentarily entranced by how soft and reverential his lips were against yours. He let out a soft moan, tilting his head and keeping yours in place by your nape, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you still.

He was gentle and sensual as he kissed you, and you could not deny the shiver that ran down your spine as his tongue traced your lower lip. The temptation of parting your lips and kissing him back was furiously battling the reminder that this was Chrollo that was kissing you, the repulsive man who had kidnapped you, a murderer-

He sank his teeth in your bottom lip and pulled lightly on your hair, and you could not contain a small gasp that gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. You were lost in the feeling of it, unable to do anything but feel the way he pressed you against him, his fingers curling on your thigh, his hand fisting your hair to grant him better access.

The sensation of pleasure travelling down your body and pooling in your lower stomach should have pulled you in a deeper trance, but it snapped you out of it. Before you could consider the consequences of your actions, your palm had already collided with his cheek with a resounding slap.

He pulled back, and you stared at him, wide-eyed and panting, rage making your cheeks flush with blood. The side of his face was starting to take a shade of pale pink, and you scrambled to your feet, wrenching yourself from him.

His reddened lips curled into a smirk, and he stared at you, getting up. Your eyes briefly caught sight of a bulge in his leather trousers, and you stepped back, disgusted. How could you have let him do that? Why had a small part of you liked it? What the hell was wrong with you?

‘Are you scared, darling? It’s not my reaction to your slap that frightens you, is it? No, it’s the fact that you liked it’ he drawled, his tongue licking his bottom lip. You grimaced, rage surging through you, and you wanted to hit him, wanted to smother him with a pillow and wipe that fucking smirk from his face, and the taste of his lips was in your mouth-

You bolted to the bedroom, locking yourself in the bathroom, furiously brushing your teeth, your tongue, your lips until your gums started to bleed, your eyes brimming with bitter tears as you slid against the door, cradling your head, sniffling and sobbing into your knees.

Minutes passed, and at some point, as you exhausted all your tears, you knew you had to get out, or you would lose your lock privileges. You wiped your tear-stained cheeks, sniffling your blocked nose and turning the lock, wordlessly slipping out of the bathroom, finding him lounging on the sofa in the bedroom, wearing a simple white T-shirt and comfortable black trousers, a book in his hands.

He was stifling. He was everywhere, always in your space, and now, he had kissed you. You didn’t know why, but you had foolishly believed he wouldn’t cross that line. You’d been an idiot.

‘Leave me alone’ you said gruffly, walking out of the bedroom.

But he followed you. You didn’t know why you kept trying to establish boundaries. He clearly had no regard for them.

‘I was patient enough, sweetheart. It’s been two weeks; it’s only natural that I would want to kiss you. And I want you to know that it will happen often from now on. That’s because your pretty lips are beguiling, my love. Better than I dreamt they would be. But don’t fear. You don’t have to stubbornly pretend you find kissing me distasteful. I could tell, darling... though you tried to hide it so fervently’ he said, tone disgustingly self-satisfied as he followed you into the kitchen. You were trembling with rage now, seeing red as you stared at him, your jaw so tight it ached.

‘Would it fucking kill you to leave me alone for five minutes?!’ you screamed, your eyes burning with fury. Chrollo was unperturbed.

‘Because why would you be so enraged at me, if not because you cannot stand your own desires? It must be so difficult to abide by your morals, darling’ he said casually, smirking at you.

‘I hate you! I hate your guts’ you snarled, slamming open every cupboard that was unlocked, finally finding a stash of alcohol. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass, storming past him towards the sofa, pouring yourself a full glass and gulping a heavy sip of it, wiping your chin and hoping the burning in your throat would make the taste of him and the phantom feel of his tongue disappear from your mouth.

‘You strike me as a lightweight, darling. That is a sizeable glass of whiskey that you poured yourself. Besides, this one is meant to be sipped. You’re doing a disservice to its quality’ he said, appearing in front of you with a glass and pouring himself three fingers of amber liquid.

‘I hope it cost you twenty thousand Jenny’ you hissed, taking another gulp, grimacing at the burning in your throat.

‘Actually, I believe this one was around a hundred thousand Jenny’ he said casually, sitting in the armchair in front of you and crossing his legs. You looked at him, disbelieving for a second, before you decided to ignore him. Who cared if he spent half your monthly salary on a bottle of whiskey. For all you knew, he’d stolen that one as well.

‘You’re not a habit drinker, are you, darling? There was hardly any alcohol in your old house’  he said, and you turned on the TV, covering yourself with a cushion and continuing to drink as you started watching the show that was on, though your attention was not truly on it.

In the meantime, Chrollo had decided he wasn’t close enough to you for his liking, so he plopped down next to you, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to him. You tried to squirm away, but as usual, it had no effect. So you merely continued to gulp down glasses of whiskey, hoping that at some point, you would pass out and you wouldn’t have to deal with him. Though you feared what he’d do to you if you lost your rational abilities.

He tapped away at his phone, his fingers drawing grating circles on your upper arm.

‘There, that’s enough for now, darling. Any more and you’ll throw up’ he said, prying the glass from your cold fingers and setting it down.

You ignored him again, though it was hard when he was glued to your body and you were cold in that stupid chiffon dress. The heat that radiated from his body was tempting, but you would rather die of hypothermia than cuddle up to him.

You tried to focus on the show, but you were starting to feel a little lightheaded and less perceptive of your body. Less perceptive of how close that sneaky bastard had gotten you to him, taking advantage of the fact that you were unlikely to even notice.

Shortly after, maybe a few scenes that you hardly remembered the dialogue of, the doorbell rang. Your head twisted to it. Police. The police had found you? Nobody ever rang the bell.

‘Relax, darling. I ordered us some food. I’ll be back in a minute’ he said, getting up and putting on his shoes, closing the door behind him. You gingerly stood up, your head swaying lightly, before you made your way to the door, pulling on the handle. Locked. No, not locked. Magically- Nen locked. You chewed on your bottom lip, going back to the sofa. Useless. He was too cautious.

He returned not even a minute after, holding a bag he set on the coffee table, taking out a few plastic containers. You could see rice and yakitori, along with another container with dumplings. Your stomach grumbled at the sight.

‘Have your pick, darling. Anything you please’ he said, and you picked up the container with the dumplings, opening it and breaking apart the chopsticks, ignoring him and going back to the TV show. There was definitely a character called Frank. Or was it Vincent? In any case, you were sure the plot was about a climate apocalypse. That much was clear from the clothes they were wearing.

You wouldn’t compliment Chrollo on his food choices, but it was really good. And you had been very hungry.

And you were also quite drunk now.

Like a blessing from the Heavens, Chrollo left you to eat in peace as he had some yakitori, watching the show with mild interest.

Once you were finished, you took another gulp of whiskey, and Chrollo looked at you, an amused smirk on his face.

‘What are you looking at?’ you barked, glaring at him. His smirk only got more pronounced.

‘Nothing. You are so cute when you’re drunk, darling’ he said, drawing you close to him. Your head was spinning too much to fight back.

‘I’m not drunk’ you said, making your voice sound steady as you got up. Except you must have done so too quickly, because the whole room spun, and when you fell, you magically found yourself draped on his lap, his arm safely wrapped around your torso.

‘How sweet you are, my love. You can’t even stand up by yourself. Let me help you’ he said, possessively pulling you against him, stroking your hair, looking at you like one might look at an interesting art piece.

‘Shut up, Chrollo. Let me go, or I will-‘ you trailed off as his thumb traced your bottom lip, a wolfish grin on his face.

‘What will you do, sweetheart?’ he mused, dipping his head to kiss your throat, soft lips pressing lightly, tantalisingly, to the point where you let out a soft moan.

‘That’s it, darling. You like it, mh? I can make you feel so good, I promise’ he whispered, voice breathy and husky at the same time, teeth nipping at your clavicle, ‘you have no idea how tempting you are, darling. How much I want you’

Your breath faltered, your vision spinning as Chrollo’s hand cupped your ass, a soft sigh leaving his lips just before he started sucking at the base of your throat. You let out a whimper, clutching the fabric of his shirt, pressing your thighs together to quell the throbbing between your legs.

No, Chrollo was- but it felt so good, and you wanted- wanted him to stop? To continue?

You pushed him away with a weak shove, but he relented, smirking at you as you tried to catch your breath.

‘Don’t touch me’ you slurred, getting up, stumbling around on the plush white rug.

‘I had no intentions of doing more than give you a taste of what I can make you feel, my love. You surpassed my expectations.  You are so sensitive, darling. I look forward to continuing this in the future’ he said, and you looked at him, unsure how to answer, before you turned on your heels and stumbled through the corridor, eventually finding your way to the bedroom. You grabbed your shirt and shorts from under the pillow and locked the bathroom door, intending to go to sleep before him.

But when you came out of the bathroom, you saw him already standing in front of the bed, placing a glass of water on your nightstand.

‘What you doing’ you snapped at him, your eyes narrowing. Chrollo let out a soft laugh, straightening up and walking over to you.

‘You will probably have a hangover tomorrow. I am taking precautionary steps to ensure your wellbeing. Don’t worry, darling, I will stay home with you tomorrow, and take very good care of you’ he said, looking so damn pleased with himself. You glowered at him, walking over to the bed and dropping on it like dead weight. The ceiling was spinning wildly, and your body felt very heavy, like it was sinking in the mattress. Your eyelids already felt so heavy.

Chrollo’s arm pulled you in against him, and besides a dissatisfied groan, it was the first night you didn’t have the strength to thrash around and fight him off in vain.

‘Shh, close your eyes, darling. Sleep’ he whispered against your ear, kissing your shoulder. You tried to stay awake, but you soon found it was impossible to do so.

Chrollo smiled, sipping his coffee, his fingers flicking the page, his gaze turning to you. You looked so sweet, sleeping in, not a care in the world, your face peaceful, lips parted as you took slow, even breaths.

It was already late in the morning, but he did not want to wake you up. He was content to let you sleep in, especially when you were cuddled up to him, seeking out his warmth without knowing it. His fingers were playing with your hair, gently stroking it, revelling in the softness of it, and he thought you were such a heavy sleeper. Perhaps it was him who had spent a whole lifetime guarding himself against possible attacks, and seeing someone sleep so peacefully, not wake up at the slightest change in breathing, the movement of a shadow, the hissing of the wind was fascinating to him.

Despite your reservations about him and the fact that you claimed to despise him, you slept so soundly with him. Besides, he thought, uncovering your clavicle, where you were sporting a purple lovebite he’d left you with, you certainly seemed responsive enough to his kisses. It had been difficult to stop himself from pinning you down and hear more of those sweet little sounds you had made for him the night before, but he wanted you to want him desperately. His pleasure was derived from knowing that deep down, you wanted him to touch you, wanted to be his. Just like you had wanted him to suck and bite your bottom lip, even though you’d slapped him out of stubbornness.

But he was not perturbed. He knew you would come around, even though your bouts of anger and futile attempts at hitting him were starting to become aggravating. How could you not see you did not possess enough strength to injure him? Why were you so eager to hurt yourself by thrashing around like a feral cat and hissing at him?

Your life would be much easier if you just stopped denying his affection. After all, he did everything for you, and only wanted you to stop denying him at every turn.

Of course, he could not expect you to reciprocate his feelings so soon, because as a human being, you were likely to retain some resentment towards him because he had taken you with him. But he could not have left you; sooner or later, he would have to travel elsewhere. He had had to take you with him, especially considering how dangerous the world was for you.

And if you stopped being so enraged and resentful, he might even take you outside. He wanted to spoil you, take you to dinner, to see art galleries and libraries and beautiful nature sceneries. But if you couldn’t behave, how was he supposed to do that? You would have to stay home until you could be trusted with behaving in the outside world. After all, it would be inconvenient if you asked someone to aid you whilst you two were outside. He would have to host a bloodbath, and he did not think it would help your perception of him.

Your morals were so clear-cut, it was fascinating to him. You seemed to have such a clear idea of what was right and what was wrong, and that intrigued him. Was it your upbringing? Didn’t he have those because the place he had grown up in had been so cruel? Or was it his inherent nature? You seemed to think him a monster, but were monsters made or born as such?

Chrollo did not know, but he knew you were the key to discovering himself. With you, he could find out anything. He felt whole with you, his emotions were naturally present, he knew what they were and could name them, he did not feel that boundless vacuum inside his heart that seemed to swallow him whole. He could learn so much from you; one lifetime wouldn’t be enough. That was why he had vowed he would find you in every single one.   

Part IV

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Salvia Splendens Means Forever Mine- Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Death, blood, bleeding out, making out, kissing, men being creepy, swearing, blood, trauma, cliffhanger moment

A/N: Guys I am so sorry. School has actually picked up and so have rehearsals, I'm losing my mind, but I'm trying to write multiple things at once, and that's so silly of me. I'm sorry this is so short, and I promise the next one will be longer. Thank y'all for your patience. It means a lot! PS That's fully Lady Mac in the painting !!

Part 1 Part 2

In all fairness, it was your turn.

Spencer had been captured and drugged, Derek had been arrested and charged with multiple murders, Gideon’s lost love had been murdered by a serial killer, Elle had someone reach into her body and write with her blood on her living room wall, so truthfully, you were a little shocked it had taken you this long to be murdered, or kidnapped, or who knows what else. 

The team hadn’t royally fucked up, per se. You all were beyond careful, but sometimes, when you misprofile, things happen. How were you supposed to know that it was the girl and her boyfriend, and not just the boyfriend. 

The best part about this was the fact that you got to watch as the woman you saved two days ago get stabbed to death repeatedly, screaming at you to save her. Her blood splattered across your face, your clothes, your skin, permanently staining it in your mind. Your favorite Shakespeare show had always been Macbeth, it seemed a bit ironic now considering you felt as though you would never wash her blood off your hands. 

The screams would echo around in your head as you stared at her body on the mattress across from you. The red grew in splotches like a sick mold, blooming out from underneath.

The boyfriend, whose name was slipping your mind, slid the knife up your thigh, and you couldn’t tell if he was drawing more of your blood, or dragging hers across you. 

The couple had been so kind as to remove your shirt and pants, leaving you in nothing but undergarments, and no socks. Colorado was fucking cold at night

You heard the girl, Millie, giggling as she shoved the woman’s body with her foot. You winced as you felt the knife going higher than you would have preferred, his hand sliding around your waist. 

“Andrew. What are you doing?” 

His name was Andrew. Got it. 

His hands immediately retracted, shrugging and crossing his arms, but still standing over you. 

“Go dispose of her body.” 

Andrew nodded, quickly tugging your hair, painfully, before moving to clean up the mess the two of them had made. You swallowed the groan in your throat and closed your eyes; the woman’s body never left your sight though. 

“Why does a gorgeous agent like you wear such a boring necklace.”

Your eyes shot open as Millie swung the little gold chain around her fingers. You pulled you hand, intending to reach your neck, but the restraint dug into your wrist, surely leaving a mark in the process. 

You hadn't realized it was gone. Your neck suddenly felt so cold, so make, without it.

“Oh so which one of them gave you this?” 

You exhaled, but kept your eyes on her hand at all times, not wanting to lose sight of the necklace. 

She smirked, watching as every muscle in your body stayed as tense as it could. 

“Was it…Agent Morgan…Agent Prentiss…no, hmm…” She twirled it around, enjoying as you fidgeted around, terrified that the necklace would break. 

“The skinny one?” You tried so hard not to react, but you have this nasty habit of biting your cheeks when you get extremely nervous or worried, and Millie’s smirk turned wicked when she realized. 

“Ah, so it is the nerdy one…interesting…Andy?”

Andrew, who had been leaning on the door frame, eyeing you up and down, making your skin crawl, looked over at Millie. 

“Baby…” She drawled, “Put this necklace on me?”

“No.” You couldn’t help it as the words shoved their way out of your mouth before you even had a chance to process it. 

Andrew stalked towards Millie, eyeing her up and down before snatching the necklace out of her hand. “It’s real pretty on you baby.” He slowly placed it on her neck, the gold contrasting against her skin. 

“Ya know, I just have to ask…what does this stupid pendant even mean?” 

You shook your head, eyes cast downward, unable to watch someone else wear the necklace Spencer had given you. 

“Hey. Fucking answer me.” She kicked your shoulder causing you to wince in pain as you felt the bruising start to form immediately. 

You missed it as Andrew picked up the knife. You missed it as Millie took it from him. You didn’t miss how she stabbed you in the gut, causing your eyes to flash white. 

People say pain is hot, it shoots through you like a fire you can’t put out, but they’re wrong. It is ice in your veins. The numbness slowly takes over your body as it shuts down, trying to avoid the unavoidable. 

Your mouth let out a strangled “fuck” when Millie ripped the knife from your stomach, causing the blood to start oozing out of your wound. 

God it was not supposed to end this way. 

You placed a hand over your stomach, barely registering the wetness as you pulled it up to your eyes. You watched as the blood dripped down the sides of your hands, and that's when the adrenaline shot kicked out from underneath you. 

“Oh my god.” you mumbled, placing your hand over the wound. The first thing you were supposed to do was stop the bleeding. With what? There’s nothing around? Panic was seeping through every pore in your body. You had been trained for this, why couldn’t you remember what to do? What should you even use to stop the bleeding, god it fucking hurt. 

You watched as the door across the room slammed shut, causing you to flinch at the sound, causing you to groan in pain at the sudden movement. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

This couldn’t be it. You couldn’t just die while some sick and twisted bitch walked around with your necklace on, while you slowly bled out on some disgusting mattress in god knows where. 

Maybe this is what Spencer thought about while he was dying. 

“I’m not dying.” You whispered, wavering slightly. The blood loss was getting to your head and your eyes were getting heavy. “I’m not…shit. It’s fine…I’m”

His hand was softer than you remembered, but at least he wasn’t as nervous as before. It was your six month anniversary and Spencer had gone all out. He had taken you out to dinner, your favorite restaurant in the area, wined and dined you. It was perfect. The two of you had ended up back at your place, your back against the door as you dug your hand around in your pocket. 

“Spence.’ You mumbled, smiling against his lips, losing all focus as one of his hands grabs your waist, squeezing it with anticipation. 

Your lack of focus spurred Spencer on, and suddenly the door to your apartment was opening–he had found your keys and opened it, all while distracting you with his lips, his touch.  You were glad someone had their head on straight. 

You stumbled back slightly, not leaving his touch, feeling the warmth on his hands on your arm, pulling you back into him. 

“Move in with me.” He whispered against your lips, and you’re not sure if you heard him correctly. 

“What?” You whispered, taking the slightest step back, opening your eyes and looking up into his eyes. His sweet, shining eyes, filled with hope, and something a bit more. 

“Move in with me…” Spencer licked his bottom lip, that same nervous tick that would drive you fucking crazy whenever you looked at him. 

“What about the team…” Spencer shook his head. 

“Who cares.” He smiled at you. “I just want to wake up next to you every morning.”

Spencer kissed your lips softly.

“Please sweetheart” Your jaw.

“Every single morning” Your neck. 

“Spence…” You moaned slightly, surely leaving bruises on his arms from your grip. Your mind was everywhere, unable to truly cling onto any of the words Spencer was whispering to you.

“In our bed.” 

“Sold.” You pulled his head up and basically launched yourself at him, lips on his. 

Spencer was not having as great of a time in his head as you were.��

Just as the team was getting out of their cars, he had heard your voice, causing him to immediately go on high alert, hand on his gun in an instant. The rest of the team had followed suit, all of them quickly looking at Hotch and Reid, trying to figure out a plan. 

Reid almost had to be held back by Morgan the way he basically started to walk right into the building. He knew what happened in hostage situations. He knew how unforgiving captures could be. He couldn’t stop picturing all of the possibilities of what made you scream out in such pain. 

But suddenly, he heard the front door slam, causing all of them to instantly aim at the couple, demands and yelling all happening so slowly.

He could hear the suspects voice, that dumb asshole that wouldn’t stop flirting with you in  the restaurant they had eaten at a couple days ago. His arrogance was the least of Spencer’s problems now. 

Then, he heard a woman’s voice, calling the unsub “sweetheart” and “darling” and “baby”. How could the miss the girlfriend? 

She had seemed so…submissive. But clearly, the profile was off a little bit. 

That’s when he heard the first gun shots go off, causing him to look up at the body on the ground, and the girl sobbing but getting on her knees. The boyfriend had a gun in his hand, but was too slow. 

Morgan quickly walked up to the girl, Hotch following him closely, gun trained on her. 

Hotch’s eyes went wide, and he quickly gave a nod to Emily, causing her to block Spencer’s path. 

“Where did you get this?” Hotch yanked it off of her neck, clutching the necklace in his hand. 

“You’ll find what’s left of 'em in there.” She smiled sickly, getting shoved by Morgan towards the black SUV brigade. 

But Spencer had already seen the necklace, and heard her answer. It was a miracle how agile he was, considering the FBI had to waive all of his physical exams to let him go into the field. Before anyone could really clear the building, Spencer was already inside of it, ignoring the shouts from his superiors and peers. 

He slowly made his way through, trying not to vomit at all of the blood all over the floors and the very clear drag marks of a body. 

His eyes landed on your body, bloody mattress and all and he froze. He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

Next Part

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SSMF Taglist: @raely-study @multifandoms-assemble @marylovesevanpeters @shqwqrma @niya06

[queenlucythevaliant]

There was a park a few blocks away from Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta’s home in Cambridge where Lucy would often wander that summer when she wanted to be alone. She’d tuck a book under her arm and call to Edmund, “I’m going!” and then she’d go find herself a tree.

Branches waved gently, like fingers against the sky. Lucy would settle herself on her favorite bench and try to read, but sometimes she just found herself gazing at those branches. When she was sure the park was empty, she’d succumb to her most fanciful impulse to get up and walk among them. Wake, she’d think, and imagine the faces that each kind of tree would have.

Lucy knew it was fancy, but it wasn’t delusion. She could tell the difference. After all, it had been truth that first set her on the path to Narnia, dismissed as both delusion and fancy.

At school she read Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. She painted Prospero with Coriakin’s coloring, high wiry brows and sun-wrinkled skin. She gave him long fingers, an imaginative touch—Coriakin’s had been rather short and stubby—and heard the poetry in her own voice. She read aloud to her friends sometimes, just picked up wherever she was and read while Marjorie and Josephine curled up under blankets with mugs of hot tea.

“It sounds better when you read it,” Marjorie mused. “Even if it is musty old Shakespeare.”

There were glimpses of gold in puddles on the pavement, and Lucy found herself glancing up as though she expected to find Aslan in her periphery. He wasn't there, of course, but the sunset shot light into the street and made it shine. Aslan wasn't in the chapel at school either, but the bells pealed golden every hour. He wasn't stalking beneath her dormitory window, but there were fresh footprints in the snow.

Lucy was sure that if only she could remember the spell for making hidden things visible, she'd find her whole world cloaked in tawny, velvet gold. Aslan in the kitchen, Aslan in the sky at dawn. Aslan in the faces of her friends, who laughed when Lucy said fanciful things but who listened rapt when she read aloud.

"I swear, you and your read-alouds, Lucy Pevensie," grinned Josephine as the cover fell shut. "Why, it's almost as though you believe in all the stories! You're not theatrical, just credulous." So Lucy leaned back and taught her friend how to tell if someone was lying, or delusional, or if they had a marvelous truth to tell.

On lonely weekends, Lucy begged Professor Digory to take her with him to Oxford to see the great stone halls and the towering cathedral and she loved the way the angels’ sloping wings looked against the sky. Wake, she whispered as she passed by graves and monuments to those long dead, and imagined that she might see Aslan pacing behind them, ready to breathe them back to life.

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 5 __ Paris

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

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“Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.” - Act 5, Scene 3. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

As Spencer drove off earlier that same day, the remaining two members of the team—the steely unit chief and the specialist in obsessive crimes did just the same. They headed to Random House Washington, Olivia’s publishing label, to interview her agent for possible matches to their profile.

“Ms Amanda Miller, we’d like to ask questions regarding male personnels at your office,” Agent Hotchner stated as he pulled out his FBI credentials. “The man we are looking for doesn’t stand out in a crowd. He’s introverted and shy when it comes to approaching his female counterparts.”

“You described almost all of the men who work for the publishing,” the publicist lightly scoffed. “The publishing industry is filled with introverts, Agent Hotchner.”

“He may be quiet but there’s something about this man that seems off-putting. Something that puts the women on edge,” Morgan explained further as he observed the employees around the office.

“Uhm—there are maybe seven men working in this office that our female employees tend to avoid alone—something they tell newly hires, nothing untoward had ever happened though,” she grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling down their names and company positions. Once done, she reached out to hand it over to Hotch. “Here you go.”

“Thank you. By any chance, is Ms. Hollie Taylor currently in the office? We’d like to ask for her own observations.”

Her black office chair swiveled to face the computer for access to the company log in and she shook her head. “No, she’s scheduled to work from home today.” 

Thanking her again for her time, the duo exited the premises and drove towards Ms. Taylor’s residence which was a thirty minute drive.

The dark skinned agent, seating on the passenger seat, dialed Garcia as the ex-prosecutor turned right to on the intersection. “Hey Sugar, I need you to run background checks for me.”

“That’s easy work, Hot Stuff. Tell me their names and I can even tell you their last grocery purchase.” 

He smiled as he listed off the names written on the piece of paper.

Before long, the SUV pulled into a stop in front of the red bricked apartment. Both FBI agents exited the government issued vehicle and entered the building, flashing their badges to the security personnel, and rode the elevator up to the 11th floor.

“Ms. Hollie Taylor, I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner and this is SSA Derek Morgan. We’re with the FBI, Behavioral Analysis Unit,” the stern unit chief spieled out once more. “We’d like to ask you some questions regarding Ms. Olivia Hill.” 

The brunette haired woman gestured for them to come in. “Call me Hollie, please. How can I be of help?” 

“We’d like to ask you about your male colleagues in relation to Ms. Hill’s stalking case. Do any of them stand out to you?”

Morgan added on. “Did any of them flirt with her? Try to ask her out on a date?”

She wrapped her arms around her body, clearly intimidated by the presence of two imposing agents in her home. “Not that I know of. Olivia rarely comes in to the office—only there for urgent meetings regarding new book ideas or promotional book signings prepared by the marketing team. The only male colleagues that she has contact with on a daily basis is Robert, Amanda’s assistant, and Elijah, her senior cover illustrator—”

Her voice drifted off into silence as her brows knitted together in thought before continuing. “We did have a new junior illustrator come in recently—the team met him once since the management wanted to get him on board working with romance writers. Nothing untoward happened but he did seem a little bit flirty with her but he went AWOL after that first week so I’m not sure if that’s much of a help.”

That piqued their interest. “Is his name perhaps Ian Cromwell?”

She nodded her head slowly, a slight furrow on her eyebrows, confused as to why his name had already been known. “Yes—yes that’s right. How’d you know?”

Morgan shared a look with Hotch, not keen on informing her the reason as to why his name has been brought up. Ian Cromwell was the third body found floating in Maryland—he possibly had a connection with the unsub. The latter subtly tilted his head to the side as if to silently instruct Morgan to wrap up the interview. 

“He’s not the stalker, is he? I mean, Olivia met him once and never interacted with him again,” she questioned, the silence further rattling her nerves. “Right?”

“Thank you for your time, Hollie. If there’s anything else you remember—anything at all, give us a call,” Morgan said as he handed his card and hastily exited the apartment.

———

The sun was beginning to settle on the horizon when they arrived back at the station.

“There’s got to be some type of connection there, Hotch,” he said closing the passenger door with a thud.

Rounding around the vehicle and pushing the precinct door open allowing themselves inside as the cool air blasted around them. “I agree, Morgan. Call up Reid and tell him to—”

Hotch cut himself off when he noticed an unopened white envelope with the letter cutouts that spelled ‘For the FBI’ on the meeting room table where their case papers and images were situated. He brought out his own set of latex gloves from his pocket and quickly picked it up, walking up to a nearby man in uniform. “Who delivered this?” 

The officer’s eyes widened as he stuttered to explain. “It—It was found taped on one of the police cars situated at the end of the parking lot. We checked surveillance cameras but that area is hidden by the trees and—and we also ran prints but there was none.”

Hotch deeply sighed, clearly frustrated with not being kept in the loop with the happenings in their own backyard, and dismissed the man in front of him. He returned to the conference room where Morgan stayed behind. Curious as to what had rattled his unit chief, he peeked at the envelope, catching the address, and his eyes widened. “That’s pretty ballsy of the unsub to deliver it here, a deviation from our profile.”

“He’s devolving. Something we did that disturbed his fantasy with Ms. Hill,” Hotch commented before carefully cutting the envelope and pulling out two letters inside. The first was a type written line from Romeo & Juliet.

“I must indeed, and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone. Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head By urging me to fury. O, be gone!”

“Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!” - Romeo. Act 5, Scene 3

Derek scratched his forehead, silently wishing that Spencer was nearby to translate the lines into modern English. The other flipped to the second page that contained magazine letter cutouts, similar to his first and second letters to Olivia. 

You have provoked my blood coated hands.

No longer must Paris be and come in between me and my beloved Juliet.

He has been struck I tell you. Struck! 

The two agents exchanged stares before bolting out the station and swerving out of the parking lot without so much of a word uttered. 

Ring. Ring. Ring. Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system—

Derek noticed the way his unit chief’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter with every unanswered call. The surrounding lights dashing past the SUV faster as he stepped on the gas further. 

“Garcia, I need you to track Reid’s number for me now,” Morgan urged on the phone without any pleasantries.

Having heard the frustration laced with concern from his voice, she typed on her keyboard quickly without a quip back to lighten the mood. “His phone last pinged on Olivia’s residence. I also tracked her phone and it says that she’s also within the premises.” 

He hung up and cursed under his breath before redialing and painfully hoping for Reid to pick up. The tension inside the vehicle increasing with every automated message. He swore again, wishing he should have gone with him instead and that the boy genius was alright.

———

“FBI!” Hotch shouted as he entered the unlatched front entryway with Morgan right behind. They continued moving forward in darkness with just their flashlights illuminating the way, checking every area, until they reached the staircase landing. The ex-prosecutor pointed upwards with his gun indicating to his team member that’ll he’ll take the upstairs while the other continues the search downstairs. 

Derek nodded once before progressing on inwards on the first floor. He rounded every room with his flashlight darting to every corner looking for any sign of Spencer and Olivia. As he entered the kitchen, a pair of distressed black Converse were caught peeking behind the counter near the ajar pantry door. It was Pretty Boy, lying face down, unresponsive. 

“Reid, Reid!” Morgan rolled him over to check for any bleeding, breathing a slight sigh of relief having spotted none. “Hotch, Hotch! He’s here!” 

Reaching over to where his phone was clipped on his belt, he called for an ambulance and indicated that there was an agent down at their location. Bruises were starting to form near Spencer’s temple possibly from a blunt force object to the head and an empty syringe lying nearby—the unsub was getting sloppy, leaving such evidence that may contain prints at a crime scene. 

As Hotch rounded the corner with the paramedics seconds behind him, there were two things they concluded that were unaccounted for. The first was Spencer’s standard issue gun and the second was Olivia Hill herself.

[jenosbliss]

congratulations on 100 followers!! for the event, can I request 17, 18, and 24 for e2l renjun please? thanks and i hope that you have a great 2024! 🩷

pairing. gn!reader x renjun | genre. enemies to lovers | wc. 1.3k | warnings. mentions of stalking and a fight scene

a/n. hii anon, tysm! I’m really sorry for the delay and believe me the fic was much better in my head T-T

“Are you sure you wanna submit this for the final assessment?” Renjun, the vice president of the writing club, tossed a bunch of papers in front of you.

The sky had turned into a pretty shade of red and pink, the kind beauty which appealed to you, heaving a dreamy sigh you were softly gazing at the calming evening view outside the window when Renjun’s monotonous voice was heard, turning the calmness of the moment into annoyance.

“Yes, you got an issue with that?” frowning, you looked up at him and the papers. “No, not at all…” raising his hands in defence he smirked before leaning close to your face “...it’s just that a high schooler could’ve written better than this.” you scoffed at his words, is he for real?

“And who asked your opinion? Who are you… Shakespeare?” standing up you snatched your thesis from his hands and started packing your bags “Shakespeare? Nah. Your project partner? Bingo!” you wondered if he could be any more annoying every time you were together and to your bad luck he was every time. “For Psychology not Literature.” he tsked “Thought you might need some help.”

“I would rather die than seek help from you Renjun.” you hissed before walking out of the room, away from him. “Wait y/n-” God, I can’t stand him.

–

“Fuck him, what does he even think of himself?” cursing you walked out of the cafe holding your iced americano, the only which can get your mind off Renjun. Why am I even thinking about him?

You were walking down the lonely street back to your apartment trying to focus on the delicious taste of your americano when someone called your name in a slurry voice from behind.

“Y/n… good to see you.” Chaeho slurred, stumbling on his way to you. He was drunk, and the look in his eyes made a shiver run down your spine. “Hi Chaeho, how can I help you today?” you asked moving backwards into the alleyway, he kept closing the distance between you both. “Be mine.” he had you now backed up against the wall, leaning down to face you. “I told you I’m not interested, please leave me alone Chaeho” all efforts to get past him went in vain he harshly pushed you into the wall, hovering above you.

“I told you don’t push me to my limits, what are you so proud of? This pretty face?" Everything happened so quickly that your brain stopped working, your body going limp and a feeling of helplessness settled within you.

He lifted his hand, his fingers about to your face when a voice reverberated in that quiet alley “Touch her and you're dead” Renjun hissed walking towards Chaeho and pushing him off you harshly. He fell down and grunted in pain while Renjun carefully held you by your shoulders, eyes checking your face for any injury.

“Fucking hell…” Chaeho stood up letting out a humourless chuckle, stumbling on his feet to reach both of you. “Get behind me.” Renjun moved in front of you to deal with the drunk man standing in front of him. “Leave before I do something you won’t like, Chaeho.” he said angrily, fisting his hands.

“This is the reason huh? You fucking around with this idiot? Choose him over me? You fucking bitch!” Chaeho had completely ignored Renjun’s warning but what happened next left you shaking in fear.

It happened so quickly that you just stood there for a good five seconds processing the scene in front of you. Chaeho had grabbed a brick lying on the road and lunged at you and Renjun tried to protect you which resulted in him getting hit on his arm by that brick. He kicked Chaeho in the stomach, making him fall to the ground, curling his body in pain.

“Fuck” Renjun groaned in pain garbbing his and turning to you “Are you okay?” Is he for real? He’s the one who got hit and still asking you, tears brimmed once again as you rushed towards him gently grabbing his arms “Are you okay? Let’s go please, let's leave.” you cried pulling at the hem of his sleeve gently.

“Let me first make sure he doesn’t bother you again.” he turned towards Chaeho who was on the ground grunting in pain. “Don’t you ever take her name with this filthy mouth of yours…” Renjun yanked his head up, grabbing him by his hair to face him “... and if i ever see you near her again, I’ll not think twice before beating the fucking lights out of you.” he stood up holding your hand and walking out of the alley towards your apartment.

“Can I walk you home?” Renjun asked once both of you were out in a busy street. “Please.” You still cannot get the image of what happened earlier out of your mind and also the thoughts of what could’ve happened if Renjun hadn’t shown up on time.

“Thank you for saving me.” whispering you shifted closer to him when a group of men passed by you. Noticing this Renjun took your hand in his and pulled you to his side. “Don’t thank me for that… also please stop using such dangerous streets especially when you are alone.”

“I’ll never take that route from now… I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.” tears streamed down your cheeks. Renjun for you was someone you had hated with all your heart and now that he protected you, a feeling of guilt settled within you. The day he yelled at you for touching his belongings, you had liked him and were just helping him manage his stuff, you have always assumed the worst of him. Whatever he did always made you loathe him more. But now you reflect back on how wrong you’ve always been, how Renjun has never done anything wrong to you and how he saved you.

“Y/n what happened wasn’t your fault, it’s that jerk who does not what a no means. And you did not drag me into anything, I had to show him his place, he should be thankful I only punched him once.” Renjun chuckled trying to lighten the mood but it only made you think about the worst scenarios.

“You could’ve died Renjun! What if that brick had hit you head instead of your arm? Why did you even save me?” If he hates you then he could’ve just walked past by the whole situation, why did he stop? Why did he help you? Why was he even there on that street?

“It's my life over yours, don't you get that?” He had stopped in his tracks, holding your shoulders firmly. “But why? Don’t you hate me? Hate me so much that you won’t even let me touch your belongings? That you’ll point out my flaws? That I’m an unworthy person in your eyes?” All the questions and feelings you’ve been ignoring since years of knowing him just flew past your lips. How can you think straight in a moment of such raw emotions?

“How could I hate you? Each time I see you or am with you I just fall for you deeper… I like you y/n.” He gently held your face in between his palms, wiping the tears cascading down your cheeks as he looked in your eyes “I love you.” He confessed.

“Then why-” would he pretend to hate you all this time? “The day I yelled at you was because I was so in love with you that the sketchbook you were about to pick up was filled with your sketches and I got nervous and just yelled… I’m really sorry.” He smiled, thumb gently tracing over the softness of your cheeks.

“You’re the most perfect person in my eyes, and I always just wanted to help you achieve what you deserve. I had corrected your essay and was going to give it to you when I saw Chaeho and you. I’m sorry that I hurt you, that weren’t my intentions-”

“I love you Renjun.” Pulling him down, you kissed him softly. “Are you serious? You can’t be joking.” Smiling, you kissed him once again, “I love you. And thank you for the essay but mine’s better.”

“No way, It’s so poorly written!” Renjun fake winced, pulling you in a tight hug and confessing again “I love you.”

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

100 follower event 🌷

[rinsaint]

𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃. ft suna rintarou

your ex boyfriend suna misses you dearly and would do ANYTHING to get you back

[ ☆ ] — pairing: suna rintarou x fem! reader

[ ☆ ] — contains/warnings: DARK CONTENT, drugging (suna drugs reader), stalking, panty stealing, nonconsensual picture taking, breaking into house, suna fucks reader mouth while she’s asleep, cumming on face. MDNI!!! lmk if i missed anything.

[ ☆ ] — a/n: this is a little different from what i post. i don’t usually post dark shit but yk, new year new me??

ex! boyfriend suna who stalks all your socials to find out who you hanged out with. You two broke up months ago and suna was still stuck on you. He tried everything to get your attention, he would sleep around with people you knew for godsake. He’d hope that you’d get jealous, and come running back to him but little did he know it only made you more and more distant from him.

ex! boyfriend suna who sends you flowers hoping that you’d like him and text him to thank him. Only to find out that you threw them out when he ends up in your neighborhood.

ex! boyfriend suna who stands behind your tree and watches you through your house as you take off your bra, about to get in the shower. He fists his cock and cums quickly as he imagines sucking on your tits to get himself off. He takes pictures of you to touch himself later at home.

ex! boyfriend suna who knows your daily routine. He knows that before you go to bed, you make yourself a protein shake and he knows that you read your favorite shakespeare book in the afternoon. He knows the time you shower because he takes out his camera and takes a few pictures of you as you get undressed.

ex! boyfriend suna who breaks into your house while you’re asleep. He sneaks into your kitchen and adds a sedative into the powder that you use every night and sneaks up into your bedroom to take a pair of your dirty panties that still have your scent on them.

ex! boyfriend suna who sneaks into your house again and heads up to your bedroom, he sees you fast asleep in your bra and panties and he gets hard at the sight. He claps three times to make sure you are deeply asleep and he starts palming himself through his pants as he rubs his finger on your breasts. He pulls his cock out and stands up, he nuzzles his cock between your mouth and moans out loud at the feeling of your wet warm mouth.

ex! boyfriend suna who fucks into your mouth roughly, cumming in your mouth multiple times as he whines out ‘you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.’ He missed you and your mouth so fucking much and he can’t help but pull out of your mouth and cum all over your beautiful face.

[bellrocsgf]

Bellroc x GN! Reader

Disclaimers: I am using all he/she/they pronouns for Bellroc and just referring to them as all genders as to my knowledge they are androgynous, pls excuse me if I'm wrong about that

Congratulations, you successfully obtained a flamethrower girlfriend that hates all of humanity. How? good question, onto the head cannons :)

They always have a reason to be right next to you, it's a windy day in the Flying Fortress of the arcane order? what if you get blown away and fall and they need to catch you? You should just stay near him today. Skraels in the room? Youll get too cold! You need to stay next to me just incase (yes Bellrocs presence alone is warmth, they are your personal campfire). You have chores to do around the fortress? What if you get lost? it is giant, he will have Skrael take over watch today so Bellroc can accompany you. "Just admit you wanna spend time with me" "don't imply such nonsense, you are a mere mortal. Should danger arise, You need me to protect you" You get the gist, they aren't paranoid and needs your presence to relax them no no.. You're the one that needs them constantly 100%

He will never admit he is somewhat clingy and if you even dare insinuate that you will get a 2 hour lecture on why you're incorrect in ancient fancy Shakespeare sorcerer language, the "thou"s and "thine"s come out when they get defensive (I'm messing, they get flustered af when they get called out accurately but mask it like hell)

She is definitely the more dominant side of the relationship, if that wasn't obvious. She believes you are like glass and they are very protective of you, they won't outright say they worry for you. Nono you fool thinking they would admit that, they'll make up reasons you can't do certain things and why they have to always accompany you even in the fortress, you have a very hard time getting to touch grass and on the lucky occasion you're out alone, they're just stalking you from afar. They do understand your need for freedom and time to yourself... somewhat.. which is why you're allowed to leave at all, she doesn't necessarily want to upset you so best case scenario, you will never find out whenever you go outside they use spells or even just stalk you themselves 24/7. just to make sure you're safe.. and you come back

cough cough moving on

they will get offended if you ever use a lighter or any other means for a heat source

yes I'm fr, they won't admit it though because he would feel weak to care about that

Bellroc's love language is quality time 100% however they believe human affection is.. stupid. Stuff like cuddling, pda, kissing yeah no and they will say that very confidently. However they wouldn't necessarily stop you if you decided to hug them, they would be confused as to be honest, Nari is the only one that's ever hugged them in their billions of years of existence, also Skrael but that's like a once in a millennium thing and neither of them will ever admit it (they both feel its a weak thing and also they don't like to admit they do have genuine care for each other). If you hug them they will probably just very awkwardly put an arm around you and if you're lucky, they will sit on their knees so you can properly reach them (reminding you they are 6'8... AHH-)

They are willing to stay in your room with you at night or just have you in their own chambers even though they rarely need sleep but if you think they're cuddling you oh nuhuh they are literally just standing at your door staring at you all night. However, if you nag enough and pull the "its so cold" card they might just give you one night, but you are NEVER TO TELL THE OTHERS

Bellroc doesn't in the slightest want to seem soft for you even if they are. They do actually have a slight aversion to touch, it got a lot worse after they were blinded (I head cannon its a spell that allows them to use the pauldrons as eyes and it can get tiring so most of the time they like to just chill out when they can) because of course, now they don't always know somethings gonna touch them before it does. However, there's a minor exception for you

Im tired, pls bring this fandom to life and give me more bellroc

fin.

[ameliawarnerr]

POV: MC is drunk at Aurora and she texts Jake.

Part - 2

Find part 1 here!

—MC—

I tip-toe down the stairs, my hand grazing the wall as I silently pray not to wake anybody. And by anybody, I mean, Lilly Donfort, Hannah Donfort and Jake Donfort. I am the only one who isn't Donfort so I figured I should get the hell out of here before any of them wakes up. Explaining my presence here is not going to be easy.

I'm clearly in the clothes I wore last night– all wrinkled and shrunken. I have no idea where my phone, my shoes or oh wait I don't know where my entire logic has vanished.

If I ran into someone, I truly hope it to be Lilly. And she could even tell me why I am at her place. Perhaps she found me and then rescued me here. Obviously, it cannot be Hannah. She doesn't even come out of the house that often. If I am unfortunate enough to run into her this morning, I have no clue what I am supposed to say. What if she thinks I slept with her half brother?!

Did I?

However, if I'm as ill-fated as Shakespeare’s tragic characters, I’d definitely come across Jake.

Although it cannot be Jake who got me here. He never goes to Aurora and if Phil was to call anyone to help me, the list would start with Jessy and end with Thomas. Jake wouldn't make it to that list for obvious reasons.

I successfully lay my feet on the ground floor. It's five in the morning. No one would be awake. I sprint straight to the door, paying little attention to my surroundings. I'd have my phone collected later. I'm currently in the red zone of potential awkward situations, followed by guilt and longing. All things I hate.

My hand wraps around the cold knob of the door. I turn it around but it's locked. “Son of a…”

“Where do you think you are leaving?” A distant voice makes a trail of obscene words escape my mouth. Whoever is writing my story is clearly inspired by Shakespeare.

I clear my throat, removing my hand from the knob. I don't turn away as I say, “I don't know how I got here but I need to be back at home. I have an important thing to do.”

“Make a mindmap of all the things that happened last night? I can help.” His voice is a little distracted, taunting and infuriating.

I scoff, turning away to look at him. He’s behind the kitchen island which I had conveniently ignored on the little run from the stairs to the door. He's cooking something. If he really wants to play the indirect, between the lines tormenting game, I think he doesn't know my argumentative and bitch side because I had a soft spot for him as soon as I knew him.

“If you are really feeling helpful, Donfort, then, why don't you tell me what I am doing here?” I fold my hands on my chest. Addressing the opponent with the last name is sort of a declaration.

He doesn't look at me as he sprinkles salt and black pepper onto whatever he's cooking in that pan. My eyes descend to his hands as he works before I jerk them away. “Oh, I stalked you and then I found out that you were drunk and vulnerable so I kidnapped you.” He deadpans.

I scoff again. Jake doesn't beat around the bush. If he's doing this, he wants to make a point.

“I can't imagine why you'd do that.” I crease my brows, pretending to be genuinely confused. I walk towards him. As I lay my palms on the island, I see the slight shake of his hand and his posture becoming rigid. I don't know if it's my closeness or that I indirectly pointed at our history because as much as we both try to ignore it, one of us would mention it. And I can't be the one being caught off-guard.

“Kidnappers often have motivations and planning for months but sometimes, they are driven by reasons that might be beyond the victim’s understanding.” He states, his hands moving swiftly again as he lowers the flame of the stove. There's a mug filled with coffee. I eye it.

Jake looks up then follows my gaze as I look away. He grabs the mug and offers it to me. I take it without saying thank you.

“What’s your point?” I cut to the chase. I'm used to him being percipient and having thoughts a normal human being can't fathom, but I could understand his points. I can, still. But it's five in the morning.

“My point, Stephens, is that the motivation for abduction doesn't matter if you are the victim.” He uses my last name.

“It mattered when Hannah was kidnapped.” I rebuke.

He sighs, putting the stove off and really looking at me for the first time. I might be tackling the guilt of shutting him out internally but the longing is coming out on the surface. “Again, it mattered to us. Not to Hannah. All she could have thought about was finding a way out or regretting being careless in the first place.”

I know what this is about now. No matter the status of our relationship, I don't think he can ever hold back from lecturing me about my own safety. I shove down the softness that his care brings in me and think about how much I hate being called weak. “So this is about my getting drunk in a bar owned by a friend.”

He gives me a look.

“What? It's not like I was totally alone. Phil was there and he's a friend. I'm allowed to get wasted in the company of a friend. And he owns the bar. There's no way he'd let anyone hurt me on his property.”

If I hate being called weak– directly or indirectly– he hates when I trust Phil.

“The same Phil Hawkins who got arrested and had to plead for help to a stranger towns away? The same guy whose bar Cleo and Thomas broke into and he couldn't do anything about that, save for sulking to his sister? That guy?” There's a challenge in his voice.

I slid down to the stool. I can't defend Phil against the truth so I drink my coffee silently after saying, “Yep. Him.”

Jake shakes his head. “All I am asking you is to be a little careful. I know you are smart and can get out of situations perhaps even I wouldn't be able to.” My shoulders rise. His words can make me feel absolutely weak and then inevitable all of a sudden. “But that doesn't mean you can be careless.”

I don't look at him as I drink my coffee, staring at the wall. “I think you shouldn't care.”

He nods. “And I think it's cruel of you,” our eyes meet, “To pretend not to know why I care.”

I tear my gaze off him. “I’ve moved on. I need to pretend that you have too.”

I can feel his gaze on me, pleading silently for me to look at him. I cannot. “You haven't moved on. You're trying to move on and evidently, you are doing an awful job.” He says, his patience little by little vanishing.

I look at him, then. “What do you mean, evidently?” I query, ignoring everything else he said. He turns away and reaches out for something from the opposite kitchen counter. Turning back, he hands me my phone.

The screen shows our chat. Two recent messages marked read. Two recent messages that I sent while I was drunk and it's clear that I was drunk. God, so many spelling errors on top of no punctuation. And I thought solving a case through texts would make me a pro at texting. I threatened him to sleep with any guy? What is wrong with me?

I shrug. “I don't talk like this. This must have been–”

He cuts me off. “Phil? Save it. The drunk you have already tried it. Not to mention, she was more like you than you are now. Honest and bold. She wasn't the one who'd not have enough courage to look someone in the eye.” His voice lowers with every word.

Mortification riles me up from the chair. “Alright. Thanks for the coffee and the lecture I didn't pay for. I’ll be leaving now.” I lay the cup on the island and turn away.

“You talk a lot when you're drunk.” He says, making me halt midway. All the stupid things I could have said wander around my head. The reason I got drunk in the first place is the most plausible one. Shit shit shit—

As I slowly turn sound, I find that Jake has left the kitchen and is now heading towards the stairs, unaffected by my declaration that I'm leaving. Motherfucker knows I'd follow him.

I rush towards him as he climbs the first step. “What did I say?” I ask, firmly.

“Weren’t you leaving?” He banters while continuing to climb the stairs. I do the same, only a step behind him.

“Jake, come on, we are not five years old. Tell me what I said.” I bark.

He barely acts threatened by my acidified voice. “What part? When you were babbling not knowing I was standing two steps away or the long one in the car? To me, they were both equally enjoyable.”

oh my god. I can't trust the drunk me talking to him directly, what shit would I have spitted when I didn't know he was around?

I glance up and he's already five steps away. I rush to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Jake, I swear to god, tell me right now—”

He whirls around and I'm taken by surprise– ending with one foot on the same step as his and the other one step down. My hand on his shoulder slides down to his chest. “Or else? What will you do?” He challenges, his coffee-like eyes dart from one eye to the other in a mischievous manner. He knows if he presents anything like a challenge, I'd take it.

My back is against the wall and if he takes half a step, I'd pressed between them. “Or, or,” the closeness makes me stutter. Or maybe it's the fact that he's not nervous at all. Or he's just hiding it well. I can't lose to him because of closeness. That's some excuse Thomas would pull.

“I’m listening.”

I gain my posture back, straight my spine but still need to look up to meet his eyes. “Or I’ll go to your room, sleep in that bed and come out when Lilly’s awake and before I’d even begin to explain, she’d go around telling everyone that we slept together.”

Jake has such an infuriating gaze then I can neither look at him nor look away. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

I really need to keep my fantasies away from my threats. “No. I guess I'm still a little drunk. So please, tell me what I said?” I try softening my voice, looking at him rather than glaring.

He blinks and looks away. “I think you know what you said. That's why you are so desperate to confirm it, that you are standing on my foot.”

I peek down. I am actually standing on his foot. I pull my feet back but end up losing my balance. The hand on Jake’s chest fists his black t-shirt. His hand wraps around my waist holding me in place. I gain my balance back and my face ends up too close to his.

His body is pressed against mine though there's still some sane distance between our heads. I gulp down the urges surfacing all of a sudden. The ones I locked away for weeks. The air is thick with ache and yearning. Our collective wants.

He glances at my lips then back at my eyes. “You said that I forced you to drink because I didn't try to contact you after you rejected me. You said you can't stop thinking about me. And when I was getting you out of the car, you said you wanted to kiss me.”

“Did I?” I foolishly ask, looking at his lips.

“Yes.” He breathes out, nearing me. His grip on my waist tightens.

“And did you do it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Of course, not.” He answers in a beat.

“Because I was drunk.” I say the reason out loud, leaning in.

He inhales and agrees. “Because you were drunk.”

“Which I am not anymore.” I lean in, merely an inch away from his lips. I don't think either of us is looking anywhere but each other's lips. I don't know if it's yearning for each other or the fact that we have spent almost a month thinking about us, that we no longer waste any time thinking. All thoughts weigh no importance anymore. It's clear what we want.

“Say it.” He whispers, his lips grazing against mine.

I don't. I let the weeks of frustration, guilt, longing release out as our lips touch. There's no point being gentle and slow. I know he knows it and he's acting upon it. I'm pressed against the wall, as his other hand caresses the side of my neck. I fist his t-shirt in my hand again, as the other hand wanders in his hair.

His tongue skims over my lower lip as he arches my neck up. I open my mouth, letting him enjoy my submissive side for a moment. Then, I bit his lip, smiling between the kisses. I can feel his smirk. The hand on my waist slides under my top and pinches my side. I wriggle in his hold.

I pull his hair harder but that only encourages him to kiss me faster. He grabs my hand on his chest and pins it against the wall, slowly sliding it above my head.

We break through only when we hear a door opening. We are both out of breath as we stare at each other, knowing the only wall between us: my decision to move on, has been burned down.

“Get drunk more often. It's always fun listening to you complain about me.” He smiles.

I bite back a smile but I think I'm terribly failing.. “Didn’t I need to be more careful?”

“When I’m around, you can put your guard down.” He affirms.

“That’s sweet but I really need to leave now.” I partly turn and take a step down only for him to wrap his hands around my waist to stop me.

“Yeah, that's not happening.” He says, leading me up the stairs again.

Yeah, that's not happening any time soon.

—The End—