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#& more of her mother's hair texture

writingwithcolor · 5 months

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A Careful Balance: Portraying a Black Character's Relationship with their Hair

@writingraccoon said:

My character is black in a dungeons and dragons-like fantasy world. His name is Kazuki Haile (pronounced hay-lee), and his mother is this world's equivalent of Japanese, which is where his first name is from, while his father is this world's equivalent of Ethiopian, which is where his last name is from. He looks much more like his father, and has hair type 4a. I plan to make his character very finnicky about his hair, both enjoying styling it, but also often being unsure how to style it (not in that he doesn't know how to, but has so many options for how to style it, he has trouble choosing). However, I know that there are some very harmful ways to write black hair, especially in regards to how the black character themselves feels about it. Kazuki does not hate his hair, in fact he takes joy in it, and I'm researching black hair and hair styles to be as accurate as possible. But I'm unsure if portraying a black character as occasionally overwhelmed by or vain about his hair is negative. How would you suggest either changing this or making it work? Does it need to be changed in the first place?

Black Character Overwhelmed by Curly Afro Hair

Your Black character wanting his hair to look its best and at times feeling overwhelmed seems reasonable and natural to me. It appears their challenge comes with how to style it. Not so much with struggling how it looks or how hard it is to manage. That is good, as this further helps avoid placing a strong negative focus on Black hair.

Him caring a lot about how it is style should not be deemed vain or frivolous, either. In any case, hair care is self care. There’s nothing wrong with having pride with your hair, especially hair that mainstream society, historically and present, might say is not beautiful. This still matters, even in a fantasy world, since your readers still exist in this reality. It’s empowering and a welcome change to see someone who loves their afro hair, actually.

There are unique factors someone with coily afro hair would experience vs. straight, wavy, or looser curls, but people struggling with their hair (too frizzy, too flat, too limp, too thin, too thick!) is universal.

There is a delicate balance to achieve.

Avoid Writing a Black Hair Journey Experience

An overall negative Afro hair journey might be the reality for many, especially when society deems Afro hair as unacceptable and slaps so many uninvited opinions, laws and policies over its existence and on certain styles (again, historically and very much at present), but that’s the kind of story that is best handled by someone with the background. Someone willing to commit to the research might also be able to pull it off, although it’s truly not the kind of thing an escapism novel needs in my opinion. If the story is not meant to delve into “A Black /Black Hair Experience” then I'd avoid going that route. That is moving a bit towards a struggle narrative, depending on how much it defines your character’s story.

Add positive and neutral hair language and interactions

For your writing, I’d avoid using unchallenged negative language about his hair. Being overwhelmed at times and frustrated is one thing and expected. If his hair is constantly brought up, and is associated with uncontrollable, ugly, or too [insert struggle here], then rethink the direction you’re going.

Add some positive or neutral terms, reactions, and interactions in the narrative towards afro hair, such as describing color and texture.

“His fine coils bounced in the wind.”

“Hair black and shiny”

“She wore her hair in two large, fluffy buns.”

“He admired his fresh, neat braids in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, before turning to leave.”

Another tip: It may have been for research purposes, but leave out any hair number categorizing in the story and rely on description. I’d say this goes for any story, as reading the number would feel off.

“He had coily 4a hair.” Nahh! :P

Also, I would suggest sending all passages that focus on his hair to a Black sensitivity reader for review.

More reading:

~Mod Colette

#asks #black #black hair #hair #afro hair #description #tragedy exploitation #struggle novel #creator responsibility #representation #guides #writeblr

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backwzzds · 6 months

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ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#konig x black reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #könig x black reader #könig x chubby reader #konig x chubby reader #konig cod #konig headcanons #dad!konig #dad!könig #könig x reader #könig x plus size reader #call of duty x black reader #cod x black reader

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asvterias · 4 months

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𝖡𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖣𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖣𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 + 𝖣𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀!𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖫𝖺 𝖱𝗎𝖾

clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of demeter)

word count: 1.3k+

author’s note: black!reader is described of having blonde hair. also hair texture is (h/t).

requested from anonymous!

the couple is definitely opposites attract, sunshine lover x sunshine protector, & friends to lovers! you can’t change my mind about that, this defines their relationship from the start!

at first, your relationship was kept a secret from everyone! no one expected your relationship from a mile away, not even your own half-siblings. you were the sweetest girl at the camp whereas clarisse was the meanest girl there so you understood their assumptions.

(annabeth had a hunch, but she kept quiet wanting to respect your private relationship)

she was the hot-tempered, intense, and mean gf whilst you were the calm, sweet, and loving mediator gf.

you were soft-spoken, kind, sweet, often being an optimist, inheriting those traits from your mother, demeter.

favorite nickname that she loves; my dangerous wildflower!

a favorite nickname that you love: my gorgeous girl!

your love for nature was unconditional and clarisse encouraged it, as long as you were safe. from a young age, you had a deep connection with nature that your mortal father couldn’t comprehend, but he didn’t stop you. instead, he planned daily camps out in the woods so you can explore and love the outdoors.

makes sense if you’re an outdoorsy girl, considering your power is at its strongest in the woods.

throughout your daily nature walks in the mid-afternoon with clarisse, you’d kneeled down, staring at the bare soil, telekinetically growing a beautiful daisy.

“for you,” you smile, sweeping the tiny flower behind her ear, securing a loose curl.

she’d falter, surprised by the endearing action, blushing intensely as she accepted it.

“thanks, babe.”

you kiss her cheek, intertwining your hands together as you two venture deeper into the forest.

to bypass quality time spent together, you’d do the other’s favorite hobbies or go on dates.

clarisse would train you to spar, often worrying if you accidentally got hurt. to be honest, she’s constantly stopping every few seconds to make sure you’re alright.

“babe, i’m sorry, are you okay?”

“darling, we didn’t even start sparring yet.”

“just making sure, wouldn’t want my gorgeous girl to get hurt.”

forest dates were often frequent for the two of you. packing a picnic basket filled with gourmet of different treats and sweets, spreading out a blanket on the forest floor and clarisse would rest her head in your lap as you rambled on about your day. her eyes would twinkle in admiration at your tactics as you two gaze at the many clouds floating above, purely just basking in the presence of each other.

clarisse suggested that you carve your initials into a tree for your 1st year anniversary but you politely declined that. you adored the sweet and swooning suggestion but you just couldn’t, the tree would have a marking, a permanent one, and nature couldn’t erase it away. as a child of demeter, trees are emotionally bonded to you, refusing the risk of feeling the immense pain it had to endure purely for the benefit of your love with clarisse. you hoped that she understood and thankfully she did.

at first, clarisse was intimidated by your powers but didn’t let it get to her head. she was so shocked yet impressed, despite not displaying it in her facial expression.

now whenever you show her your powers, she’d witness it in complete adoration. her favorite power of yours is when you communicate with animals, specifically deer. clarisse was certain that you couldn’t get any more cuter.

your powers consisted of many:

botanokensis is the ability to mentally and/or physically summon plant life, regarding fruits and flowers.

limiting your knowledge of how dangerous some of your abilities can truly be, like toxikinesis: which allows you to control and create the amount of toxins in a plant or fungus. you hardly even use this power because of the fatality it may cause against you or others.

it’s very rare to be given atmokinesis which is the ability to control climate, everything relating to the weather. luckily you gained that ability, but with a certain amount and limited time.

based on your emotions, especially anger or sadness, taphokinesis is decay manipulation, mentally/physically decomposing only plants. truth be told, if a majority of demeter’s kids are angry, most of the flora surrounding the camp would wither in seconds, including the trees. trees are oxygen so without them, everyone is as good as dead.

initially, you’re a fantastic chef, and as your gardening skills. gardening is your favorite hobby to do and it enlightens your day. during the day, it’s common to walk upon a child of demeter, deeply invested in gardening in their spare time. they’re definitely the leaders of gardening, you can’t convince me otherwise.

cabin 4 is surrounded by wildlife, anything and everything relating to nature, due to its close proximity to the forest. inside of the cabin is very homey, green blooming vines detail the cabin as a soft-like greenery carpet covers the floor. the entire interior was similar to actual nature rather than other cabins.

you’re very close with your half-siblings as you’re one of the oldest. your siblings look up to you and you try to be a good role model for them, even teasing you whenever clarisse comes around.

i guess it's possible to be a healer too, alongside persephone’s kids, discovering the remedies for various illnesses. some of your older siblings train in health care at the camp as healers.

sometimes, you create gifts homemade, flower crowns, and flower bracelets. anything you spent your hard time and effort on, clarisse would absolutely treasure it without any second thoughts. and it goes the other way around too. like she’d be so nervous at first, rocking on her feet, barely speaking with sense as she hands you the neatly wrapped-up gift.

bubbling up with anticipation clarissse would hesitantly observe your precise movements when unwrapping the gift and to see if your reaction shifted (even just a little) when the gift was revealed.

“do you like it…?” she nervously bites her lower lip.

your eyes sparkle in astonishment at her homemade gift, “oh, i love it, babe.”

a big ass grin would overtake her features, and she’d smirk definitely thinking: ‘oh i definitely knew that she’d like this!’ as if the ares girl wasn’t completely panicking over it a few minutes ago.

as you bring her in for a kiss. your girlfriend often resisted the temptation to linger on the kiss, but this time, she didn’t.

flower crowns are her favorite gifts from you. she has saved all of them, collecting them in her cabin on her bureau for keepsakes. the flowers don’t die out, your love revives them every day. (might make this into a drabble soon 😉)

take turns braiding each other’s hair, you adore each other's hair texture, clarisse was curly and yours was (h/t).

absolutely convinced her to wear flowers in her hair and sometimes you match with the same hairstyle and the same flower. you love it so clarisse immediately adores it.

to the other campers, it’s unusual to see clarisse so happy with you, and when you weren’t beside her, that mean personality would jump out so quick.

she’d scold anyone who had anything to say about you. clarisse would also glare down whoever dares to snicker at the pretty flower used as an accessory in her hair or anywhere on her body, cherishing the gift from you and she’d go absolutely livid. how dare they make fun of your gifts?! best believe, they’ll be receiving an ass-kicking later that day.

it was more common for clarisse to fight with someone and you’d be the one tending to her injuries (mostly little to none) afterward. you swear

that she intentionally starts fights in vain, or defending your name. without explanation, she’ll show up with a cheeky grin plastered on her face as you become her little medic.

TAGS BELOW:

@lvrue @ratjoe @mag03 @st4rzl7 @kroumi @lcvved @hoku-k @p0rkbun @zhivaxo @lacytalks @bumbl-eb @idkducker @guardianspirits13 @kazerka @liv444me @skittlesgirl @korizzybee @tinkerbelle05 @mariposa555 @inejsknifes @kyuupidwrites @xanasaurusrex @cherriesnbutter @justintinderlake4 @natasha-took-fall-damage @rocknr0ll @lixtinystay @2k7-sparkles @tinytea-biscut @dearlydarlings @importantpotato @kosmichs1 @applepie972 @julietxoxo123 @k4zuhas-visi0n @urbisexualfriend @marlswhore @anominous-writer @lovelyy-moonlight @laughingcheese037 @thegiganticgirlkisser @johanna-masons-lapdog @vi0lentg0d @igotanainhistory @thewritingbarbie @gabriellabailarina @radmugpartytrash @thedisapointmentfairy @buggieau @mariswift2

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x black!reader #clarisse la rue x black!fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue headcannons #daughter of demeter

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neowinestainedress · 6 months

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𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again. Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask.

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody.

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro.

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside.

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver.

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever.

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him.

What’s on the other side is worse.

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture.

“Surpriiise!!”

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting.

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck.

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.”

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh.

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?”

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.”

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?”

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt.

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle.

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.”

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed.

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.”

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin.

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on.

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up.

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead.

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.”

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose.

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.”

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.”

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens.

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.”

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.”

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.”

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?”

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.”

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be.

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.

“Why?”

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour.

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?”

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?”

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat.

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?”

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.”

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction.

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away.

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?”

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought.

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?”

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow.

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.”

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you.

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.”

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself?

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?”

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again.

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department.

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans.

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?”

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?”

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.”

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.”

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.”

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop.

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.”

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle.

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?”

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again.

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?”

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?”

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not.

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.”

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again.

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair.

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.

You gulp and automatically close your legs.

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.”

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —”

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest.

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.”

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating.

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.”

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.”

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?”

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right?

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.”

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be.

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.”

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving.

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass.

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette.

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down.

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?”

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?”

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.”

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.”

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.”

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.”

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.”

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?”

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.”

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.”

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward.

“We didn’t kill anybody there.”

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?”

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?”

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you.

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.”

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down.

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask.

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly.

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.”

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie.

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.”

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.”

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.”

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky.

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip.

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you.

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.”

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones.

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.”

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly.

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?”

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ”

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person.

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?”

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds.

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.”

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment.

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.”

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.”

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done.

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.”

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly.

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?”

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess.

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words.

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.”

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity.

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?”

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?”

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.”

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.”

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again.

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin.

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust.

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair.

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs.

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly.

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it.

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?”

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation.

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?”

“No,” you mumble.

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.”

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly.

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?”

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.”

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.”

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.”

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it.

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.”

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans.

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?”

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?”

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now.

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.”

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe.

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven.

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.”

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should.

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place.

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.”

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet.

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.”

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note.

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ”

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iloveaustinelvisandmannymore · 4 months

Text

Warnings: Pregnancy, Thoughts of abortion, Graphic birth, smut, Somnophilia, and kidnapping. Poorly translated German and Korean, if you know either, you can correct me nicely, please.

(I was given permission by the one and only @diejager, that I can write something inspired by her series of stepdad! könig and dbf!Neighbor Horangi. If you haven't read them which I doubt, go check her out, this was a little longer than I wished but I think once you start reading, you'll like it.) fanart, not mine

Erotic sounds of smacking skin echoed within your bedroom. Horangi's rough burned-like tiger scars rub against your cheek as he groans into your shoulder, "너무꽉. (So tight)" He grunted, "Gonna be such a good mama." his cock plunged into your soaked depths with abandonness as you wept, your body and breast jerked, this wasn't right.

This shouldn't feel so good, you shouldn't love the feeling of your stepdad's best friend thrusting into you, shouldn't like the sight of said stepdad watching from the side of the room on your vanity chair and touching himself, pumping his cock to the rhythm of his best friend and your neighbor thrusts.

You shouldn't at all.

"I'll be such a good dad to our child," Horagni growled, drilling you into the soft texture of bedsheets, his curved bulbous head bullied your cervix, and your legs rested on his shoulders as he leaned back, his head thrown back and sheathed in glistening sweat. The sight of a beautiful man, of a beast above you rushed your climax.

"씨발! (Fuck!) That's it, baby! Cum on your Neighbor's cock." He groaned as fastened his pace. "Ja. Cum, unser wunderschönes Mädchen. (our beautiful girl.)" König cooed, his thick digits rubbing that bud of nerves as he sat down on your bed beside your head, his other hand continued to jerk off of his big, fulsome, and lengthy cock.

The pleasured symphony of your ecstasies wasn't held back, ropes of König's seed painted your skin, and shot after shot of Horangi's semen overflowed your womanhood.

"It is my turn." Your stepfather grinned and pushed his friend away from you once he had pulled out to leave you leaking but not for long who simply chuckled at könig's rare playfulness. Horangi placed his dick on your lips, his usual honey-brown was dark brown as he looked upon you with a dark kinda of lust "Suck."

You wake up a couple of hours later, body in such gyp it was like pins and needles. Groaning you sat up from your bed, the room was empty, bare of the monsters that used and obsessed over you, their cum dried on your thighs and the rest was clean of the evidence of what existed. The walk to the bathroom that linked to your room left you to the mercy of your own thoughts. The very notion of abortion was quickly shot down, it was obvious that they had wished for you to bear one of their children, and the number of times cum stuffed into you was uncountable, and the fact that birth control wasn't always reliable was its own tissue so truly what would stop them if you did get one? Even in secret, they would find out sooner or later more akin to sooner being who they were.

The brightest of the ceiling light ached to your eyes for but a second and the insulting sight of your forgotten pregnancy teat was a big fuck you to whatever was up there. Your freedom was truly gone, taken away forever, your feelings, and wants be damned.

After a relaxing bath, you dry yourself and your hair. Changed into clean clothes that consisted of some black shorts, and a loose black T-shirt and you went downstairs. Laughter came from the living room as you walked into your kitchen, the want to dig your feelings deep in your food was strong and the laughing of your mother irritated you to no end, how can she be happy with that monster of a man? You rolled your eyes and finished making your snack "Oh honey!" your mother called out with a lovesick smile as she hung onto könig's arm like a puppy wanting the attention of its owner. "Yes Ma?" you asked, hiding the venomous bitr you sure would come out. "I heard you got good news for me." She giggled as König kissed her neck and you could see Horangi roll his eyes, It was not so stable but like always your mother didn't notice. "Where did you hear this?" you had a hunch "König and Horangi did. So what is it?" she asked you sighed and looked down. "I'm pregnant." you muttered, half-hoping she'd wouldn't hear it. "What?!" she inquired "You're pregnant baby? Who's the father?" she got up from her seat on the long couch and rushed to you, resting her hands on your shoulders.

"I am." Horangi's deep, accented voice answered one of her questions "Your daughter and I have been seeing each other in private." he declared as he wrapped an arm around your hip and pulled you into his side. "Isn't this wonderful, ja? You're gonna be an Oma (grandmother)" König smirked as he hugged your mother from behind, a smirk he shared with his friend. "I guess." she trailed off yet smiled reassuringly "I'll be here for you my sweet baby" she announced and pulled you into her comforting embrace, which did little to help as you saw the wicked glint in the eyes of the men before you.

You heard of the horrors of morning sickness, from your mother and online alike. You were sure that it would be the same tale yet it was the opposite, the only symptom was extreme nausea when you smelled eggs or your favorite breakfast even then that hardly led to throwing up. You were luckily still able to attend college but you feared not for long as Horangi and König continued to reason with your mother why you should stay home.

It took them an entire month to do so. How? If the screaming of ecstasy and filthy-worded grunts from an Austrian voice in your mom's room were to go by you knew exactly how, unfortunately. Your first appointment was spent with the one that birthed you and luckily without the father, whoever that is before she left on a business trip leaving you to the wolves. König decided that Horangi would stay with you both until she came back, almost every day you wake up from either the feeling of a skilled tongue lapping your love juices or a heaviness on your tongue or the eye-rolling, toe-curling feeling of a thick appendage sparing you open.

Today you woke up to none of those but a smell that didn't make you want to vomit no, it was mouthing watering.

It's a craving you haven't gotten sick of and one you want every morning. You throw on a shirt and a pair of panties and rush downstairs. "Morning 여자 아기 (Baby girl)." Horangi greeted you, lifting a cup of pure, bitter black coffee to his lips, his eyes closed as he took a sip. "Mornin'." you greeted back and sat down on the dining table, boredly watching as he began to read the newspaper as you waited for your breakfast. "Ah, Liebling. There you are." König smirked playfully and sat down your plate of food which you wasted no time in scarfing down. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as The men chuckle at the sight "So cute." Horangi smiled. "Ja. She is." König agreed and grinned, watching you mutter under your breath about them, and took a bite of his breakfast.

You all ate in silence, a..peaceful silence. After you finished your second helping, you up away your dish and stretched, joints pop from sitting to long, your hand coming to rest on your three-month baby bump. "How's my baby?" könig uttered into your hair, his beefy arms around your middle, pulling into his sturdy chest. "Or mine!" Horangi called out from the linked dining room. "Fine," you replied loud enough for both to hear, your form tensing up before relaxing in your stepdad's embrace. This has been going on for a while, their softness, playfulness, and sweetness, a part of you acknowledged that this could be a ploy but the scared part, the part that wanted comfort and love overpowered that sense, you began to find comfort in their company, you felt...safe in their arms. König and Horangi had business to do with so you would be left alone for the day for once in the whole months you have been with child.

You sat in your craved indoor window seat, your book laid on your thighs. You tried and failed to distract yourself from all the new and old feelings. You just can't love them, they hurt you, used you, mean to you then they're loving, caring for your needs, and soft to you. You were so lost that nothing could help but sleep so that's just what you do.

You nervously tapped your fingers on the plastic armrest of the chair in the clinic as you impatiently waited to be called back. "Nervous?" your stepdad asked, grasping your hand in his large one, making your hand look like that of a kid. "Very." you chuckled humorlessly, and Horangi's hand grabbed your other hand. "It will be okay, we're here." His deep voice, sent a wave of comfort within, tooking a deep breath you calmed yourself.

"Ms. Schäfer?" the male nurse called out and looked up from his clipboard, he immediately took a small step back as the two men stood with you and walked to him. "M-ms. Schäfer and?" the poor nurse stuttered as his eyes shifted to the masked gigantic mammoth of a man and his smaller masked companion. "Boyfriend," Horangi spoke up before könig. "Stepfather," König answered not bothering to hide his amusement at the squirming male nurse. Sadist.

"Umm, right this way." the nurse hesitated to his back on two veterans and led you to the room where the doctor would see you. You glanced back at them with a small glare, knowing they intimidated the man on purpose, and sighed as they showed no remorse then again what did you expect? The walk was short, the nurse dipped the moment you entered since you were the last one in, and on top of that, you already began to show a little waddle in your step even just being four months along. With a little help from König you sat on the ultrasound bed as Horangi took the closer chair to your left, the doctor in question wasn't a minute late. "Good day! How are you today Ms. Schäfer?" Dr. Patel smiled, shutting the door behind behind him. "Good doc. curious about the gender of my baby." you smiled back, and shook his hand, completely missing the look that both the men you came with shared. "Well, we'll get right to that. If you'd be so kind as to lift your shirt," he said and busied himself with turning on the ultrasound equipment.

You yelped as the cold gal graced your belly, the noise instantly made Horangi and König tense, and their overprotectiveness almost an appearance. "Mr. Kim, would you turn the lights off?" The doctor requested, grabbing the transducer. Wordless Horangi got up from his seat beside König and turned off the lights. Suddenly the projector on the ceiling turned on and shined on the blank wall before you, a picture of black and white filled the wall soon after the transducer touched your baby bump and there was a baby...another baby across from the first.

"Congratulations Ms. Schäfer! You're having twin.." the Doctor trailed off "Boys!" he exclaimed as he turned off the machine and got up, "I'll go get the ultrasound pictures while you let everything sit in." Dr. Patel shut the door to giving you privacy.

The drive home was silent as well as the rest of the day, each one of you, stuck in your heads. In the weeks after Horangi and König were frequently busy, and each time you asked why they simply glared at you or scoffed and ignored you, it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

The loneliness didn't last longer, your mom was finally back. She barely got out of the car as you were waddling as fast as you could, you had no doubt you looked like a penguin running for its life. "Oh, Baby." your mother cooed as she hugged you, "You've gotten so big!" she smiled, "How's my grandbaby?" she asked as she walked with you to the steps of your house. "The boys are good." you smiled softly, waiting for the realization to show on her face. "Y-you're having twins?" She stuttered, coming to a stop in the doorframe, her eyes wide with shock. "Ja, two strong boys," König answered her, walking out of the kitchen and kissing her with a fiery kiss that he had saved for you, not anymore. You just walked away, they didn't seem to notice as they began to make out in front of you, forcing the painful ache down, and you decided to hide in your room to lick at your wounds.

The next few months were neither good nor bad, you and your mom collected, baby clothes, toys, and everything the twins would need or want. König continued his blunt affection for the woman who birthed you and Horangi has yet to come back around, seeming too busy to see his possible baby mama. Isn't this what you wanted right? To no longer deal with their abuse, their twisted sense of love, if that was what they called love yet it pained more than you thought, and you became envious of your mother, you missed könig kisses, his big body against yours, to feel all of him, and with Horangi it was no better. Were you truly to be a single mother?

You awoke from your nap, panting and in pain, as a puddle of wetness soaked your thighs and the sheets below. You throw off your blanket and scream, your water has broken, they are coming now. The door was ripped open by your mom, your stepdad right behind her, through the words they spoke sounded like you were underwater, and you suddenly hosted into König's arms as he walked out of the room and sat you down in the back seat. The last thing you saw before passing out, the pains of your contractions too much for you to handle as your mother on the phone with Horangi.

A sobbing scream pierced the delivery room as sweat covered your clammy skin. "Miss, Push!" the Doctor yelled above your screams. Gritting your teeth. you pushed and grabbed onto the railing bars beside you. "I can't." you sobbed, throwing your head onto the pillow behind you. "No, baby you can do it. Come on push." your mother moved your drenched hair off your forehead. "Push,애인. (sweetheart)" Horangi encouraged and took one of your hands and kissed it. Their support helped to give you the strength to continue, so you took a deep breath in and pushed once again. "That's it! He's crowning!" the doctor spoke, you groaned as you pushed with all you got. A numb relief spread through you as a small but strong cry of your baby boy echoed but the relief didn't last long as another contraction hit you. The doctor quickly handed your firstborn to the nurse to her right before getting back into position.

With a few more pushes your second-born was welcomed into the world.

"You did good, Liebe. (love)" König finally spoke since you all entered the room, his large hand resting beside yours on the bar. Too tired to reply, you instead gave him a tiny smile. "Ms. Schäfer, meet your first baby boy." Dr. Smith smiled and laid your baby on your chest. He was so.. beautiful, tears welded in the corner of your eyes, his hair was jet black, that stood up a bit from being dried of the liquids he was born into, his little eyes open a bit, enough to see the honey brown color, his soft skin was like yours, it was no doubt who's the father. "What's his name?" your mother asked, watching the scene with awe. "Baek-hyeon," Horangi spoke with proudness that you never heard, his glazed locked upon you and his son, love and happiness apparent in his brown eyes. You handed Beak-Hyeon to his father as you made space for his twin, the room was so quiet that you could hear a pen drop, the nurse laid him onto your chest, he was a bit more on the chubbier side than his brother...and his hair was a nice shade of ginger, his eyes a bright blue, he was the spitting image of your stepfather. A fearful daunting feeling lingered inside as you turned to your mother, no emotions were on her face, and no words were said as she rushed out of the room, König following her.

"What's his name?" a brave nurse softly asked. "Gunther."

Your mother didn't visit you after that, the only people who did was that of your baby daddies, mostly Horangi than könig. You were gonna get discharged and you feared what your home life would be like until your mother got you and the twins before the set date.

"Mom..I'm sorry. I-" you started once you all got into her car.

"Don't. I didn't believe you and I'm so sorry you suffered." She looked at you, regret and love in her eyes. "Thank you." you whispered and pulled her in a hug,"I forgive you."

"So where are we heading." you smiled softly as you pulled away. "A friend's house, one könig doesn't know about. I'm here now." she turned on the car and started the long journey there. The twins weren't that much of a hassle, eventually, you had to get in the back seat with them, feeding them wasn't hard since the nurses were a great help. The house was big, a three-story with four rooms and three bathrooms, you got the biggest guest room which you couldn't be more grateful for.

Life was great, or it was supposed to feel that way. You knew you should hate the men who took advantage of you, who bred you, who had abused you yet you couldn't find it in yourself too..you fell in love with them, you missed them, and It didn't help that their sons looked so much alike to them, it hurt to look at Baek-hyeon and Gunther despite this you loved them more than anything and you wouldn't trade them for the world.

Baek-hyeon was more vocal than his little brother, he smiled a cute gummy smile at anyone or anything with a pulse, and he adored being held. Gunther only smiled at you or his toys, he was a lot more attached to you and would get fussy if anyone but you tried to hold him, a true mama's boy. Your mother decided for you to file for custody over Horangj and König, and it seemed you were winning, you didn't want that but you had no say, she'd think you were crazy.

Moaning you stirred awake, a thickness pounded into your cunt, a familiar firm grip on your hips. You moan loudly as the person thrusted particularly hard "Wake up, Prinzessin." König's warm breath rolled across your skin, one of his hands grabbed your jaw and turned you to look into his pale blues. "König?" you asked still dazed of sleepiness. "That's right. Daddy's back." he cooed, rolling his hips, his wet pubes brushing against your rubbed raw clit. You moaned and pulled the giant into a kiss, all the feeling you felt toward him poured into it, and his kiss was just as passionate.

His thrusting never once stopped, his strong arms wrapped you into an embrace as he drove his cock deeper within your wet pussy. So lost in the pleasure that you almost didn't feel the bed drip and a hand weaves its way into your hair. "여자 아기.(babygirl)." Horangi groaned, "Missed you." he confessed and kissed you, his tongue swirling around yours, his lips dancing with your own, the kiss became hot, and messy, and drool slowly trailed down your locked lips. He pulled away, his sacred chest heaving as he wiped his chin clean of your shared saliva.

König grinned naughtily as he watched his stepdaughter and beat friend make out like it was just them, he couldn't have that. Taking your legs he held them flat against his broad chest and snapped his wide hips, hitting your cervix just right making your toes curl. "Fuck!" you cried out as könig did this a few more times, you moaned, whined, and mewled all night as the two ex-military men showed you how much the missed you.

You came to find out that the whole time they ignored you was because they were building a home for you and their sons.

Building a big, happy family.

#könig x you #könig x y/n #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig fic #könig fanfiction #König x reader au #horangi x reader #horangi smut #horangi #horangi cod #horangi call of duty #horangi x you #Horangi fics #könig smut

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sepherinaspoppies · 6 months

Text

whatever may come - dark! aemond targaryen x servant reader

summary: aemond punishes his maidservant after catching her talking to a stableboy. he, however, will not recognize the consequences to his actions later on.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, noncon, dubcon, oral m receiving, cum play?, p in v sex, rough sex, possessiveness, degradation. I think that's it?

wc: 2,700

series masterlist

my masterlist

notes: lol this was inspired by a tiktok edit?? anyways I think this is dark? I apologize if this sounds like crap, I ruined my sleep schedule for this?? haha

byka līve: little whore

She silenced her whimpers to the best of her ability, her lower lip caught between her teeth so tightly that she could taste the metallic drops of her blood as the man above her painfully gripped the very roots of her hair jerking her trembling body away from his lap to the stone cold floor.

She looked up through her eyelashes as she watched him correct her posture to his liking like a mere doll, the same ones she would watch him play with in the privacy of his sister’s chambers whenever she did her maid duties.

After he had settled her into her knees, she immediately let out a sigh of relief as that burn waved itself away to solace. She continued to look at him, back and forth between his lone violet eye and his sparkling sapphire that only seemed to strangely glow whenever she was present. His expression was unreadable from the previous austere one where moments ago he remorselessly and brutally, to be quite clear, hit multiple blows against her bottom, making her count each and every single one without tears in her eyes. She never knew how to count, but Aemond made sure to teach her with each hit upwards to twenty.

She knew Aemond was angry and he had every right to be. Earlier on the day as he was training with his mother’s knight, Criston Cole, out in the outer yard when he spotted his favorite maidservant blushing and laughing with a plainly featured stableboy as his dirty little fingers swept back a piece of loose hair out of her face.

Never once did Aemond ever see his maidservant smile that brightly before much less directed towards him. And she had no reason to whatsoever. His presence did not bring her joy or an ounce of merriment, it was much the opposite of that. So why did Aemond believe that he deserved a little smile when all he ever did was defile, break and use her all whilst making her cry in the end?

There was only one reason a low born male like him smiled that way and Aemond shunned those ill fitting thoughts out of his mind for he did not want to think of another man touching his maidservant.

She was his and his only, no one else’s. And she’d do well to remember that.

“Undress me, byka līve” Aemond demands, speaking the last two phrases in his ancestral language. Never knowing what they meant, if they were expressed appreciatively or aimed in an appraising matter.

Deep down she had an inkling that they were not.

She blinked, hesitantly bringing herself up from the floor. Just as she began to unfasten his black leather doublet, her hair was tugged yet again before her knees were bent back down against the stone.

She winced, carefully not to make any sound.

“No, byka līve, not there. Here—” His fingers threaded her hair more tightly, pressing her face flat against his pelvis. She could feel the swellness of his cock across her face, where the base of his manhood started nudging at the bottom of her chin and where the pulsating tip pressed a little above her eyes.

But what astonished her the most was the small wet patch that amplified the smell of his sex. Surely, this was not what she thought it was.

There was only one way to find out.

The one eyed prince released his tight grip on the roots of her hair. She wondered that by the end of the night, after he was done with her if there would be any hair left. Her hair was the only thing she liked about her appearance, the smooth texture with hidden silver highlights.

“Look at me while you undress me”

With a shaky breath, she nodded as her hands moved to unlace his breeches, tugging down just below where his stones ended until the garment pooled at his feet. A part of her felt grateful it was him she was looking and not his throbbing parts.

Aemond was determined to peak again, seeing his red faced maidservant so obedient and frightened before him. It almost made him want to reward her with either his fingers or tongue or mayhaps both.

But she wasn’t here for a reward. She was unbefitting for such a thing. It was because of her whore like behavior akin to the sordid ones in the Silk of Street that filthy stableboy had his eyes already set on her.

And he can not have that happening.

Without further warning, she feels two of his fingers ruthlessly being shoved at the back of her throat. He gives her no time to settle what he was doing to her as his long digits begin to pump in and out of her at an outrageous pace that involuntarily makes her eyes produce tears.

Above her, she hears her prince hum with a dark look in his eye that sends shivers down her spine. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, it was wrong. This act, along with the various ones from previous nights and mayhaps the forthcoming ones, were suitable for a married woman and her husband. Not a prince and his maidservant. She stood to gain nothing from this.

“This mouth is mine” Aemond breathlessly whispered as his fingers curled in a come hither motion, her lips kissing his knuckles. At his words, she lets out a series of sobs loud enough for Aemond to tug her head back in distaste.

“What? Do you have something to say in the matter? Do you not think you belong to me?”

She shut her eyes, flinching at the sonority of his voice, thinking by doing that he would go away dissatisfied and search for someone to take her place.

But her silence only seemed to anger him more.

“Fucking answer me, byka līve!” he yells close to her ear.

For the first time since her counting, she spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-y-yes, Your Grace”

“Yes what? Hmm?”

She gasps and opens her eyes feeling her prince’s fingers twist and pinch her covered hard nipple, “I’m- I’m yours, my prince”

“You don’t sound so convinced that you are, byka līve” he licks his lips before tutting. Such a sound made her feel alarmed and more frightened. “Do I need to remind you, again?” Aemond asks, bringing his hand to his manhood.

As familiarized as she was with his nakedness, she could not help to invite herself to look at all of him. Centimeters close to her face, stood his very erect cock, thick and heavy as she saw last, skin pulled back to reveal his needy red tip with mix remnants of arousal and spend.

It brought her shame and disgust the way her core seemed to long and yearn for the fullness he brought upon her.

Aemond, frustrated in her lack of words, taps the tip of his cock on her bottom lip before he shoves his way into her warm mouth. He could feel his maidservant whine uncomfortably from only taking half of him. Fucking weak whore. Aemond cursed to himself. He knew she could take more, she had done so before.

“Fuck”

Her chest heaves rapidly trying to keep her air supply to the best she can and opening her mouth wider to make it easier for her to suit his thickness since it had been a while since his cock rested around her lips. Her prince, as of late, preferred to be inside her walls in all the hours of the day and night. In that order.

Once the one eyed prince was certain her mouth had accommodated his size, he took no more time yanking her head down sheathing every inch to the back of her throat, sighing in pleasure.

The vibrations of her whimpers spurred Aemond on as his hips started to thrust in and out of her lips, slowly at first to enjoy the soft ridges that her throat had to offer and her tongue. Seven Hells, her tongue instinctively raising up whenever his tip rested there for a second, making him forget the reason why he was doing this in the first place. Her punishment.

“Are–you…fuck– starting to fucking remember who you b-belong to, byka līve? Hmm?” Aemond asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out.

“Y-yes” she forces out through the tightness of her throat, trails of drool escaping the corners of her mouth. Aemond darkly laughs and moans at her response as his hips hasten their speed, chasing his nearing peak.

“Good girl” he coos, his eye looking down at her flushed face. “My good sweet girl” —thrust— “I’m going to cum on your face” (a/n: listen to this tiktok if you want to hear him say it lol xD okay byeee)

She has no time to react as she feels hot ropes of his seed spurting all across her face. From her eyes to her cheeks and lips she feels it all.

She hears her prince groan, as he pumps his cock faster feeling his second release coming again.

And this time she knew to tilt her away to not get any more on her eyes or her hair. She heard stories from other maids that a man’s seed would knot into hair, making it impossible to get rid of. She didn’t know if it was true or not but she did not want to take her chances.

“Just as I was beginning to think to reward you” He hissed, pulling her to stand. She whimpers, her head hot and spinning from getting up too fast.

The raged prince spins his maidservant around, using the dagger Cole gifted him for his fourteenth nameday to rip through her night shift right below the dimples of her arse. The temperature of his chambers, which wasn’t too cold nor warm, caused the little hairs around on her body to raise.

She tried to cover her bareness with her hands, whatever could fit on her palms. Since the beginning of their coupling, Aemond commanded her that she was to keep her shift on, only slightly raised to her hips. Not that she had any complaints, but it made her truly wonder why he’d be bare and not her.

“This” Aemond cups her soaked mound, “Cunt is mine. Mine only to fuck and to do whatever I please. It’s not some filthy– dolt stableboy’s” He growls next to her.

She parts open her lips at the realization that he was the heated gaze she felt on her back when she was discussing with Linus at the outer yard. She should have known her prince would be there training every morning like he always was. But it must have slipped her mind somehow.

Aemond scowls, “I saw you, byka līve. Saw you speaking to him and letting him touch you. Saw him leave your room”

She doesn’t get the chance to reply; to tell him that what he saw was not what it looked like. But her tongue was caught between her teeth before he roughly drags her body to slightly bend her over by his dressing mirror, giving himself a few vigorous pumps as he watches his proud work dripping on his pretty maidservant’s face.

“Please, my prince. It isn’t…oh!” Feeling him enter in one sharp thrust deep, she gasps at the sudden fullness. There wasn’t any part of her that was empty, her cunt felt so deliciously stuffed to the brim.

“It isn’t what? Are you telling me that my eye deceived me?” He asks in a strain voice, trying to hold his authority over her whilst controlling his sounds of pleasure. “Did I or did I not see you fucking laughing with him or—Seven Hells—letting his dirty little fingers touch you? Must I remind you it is a grave offense to lie to your prince, byka līve?”

White hot pleasure runs deep inside her belly as his thrusts quicken to get an answer from her yet she struggles to keep her composure. “N-no, my prince, Linus came t-t-to meee. He said I had a ladybug on my hair and—” she rolls her head back to rest on his shoulder feeling her peak coming closer and closer. “Said I was pretty b-but, my prince—”

Wanting to hear no more of this, Aemond stopped his movements, much to his dismay, wrapping his hand around her throat so tightly she knew it would bruise like the other times he took her from the same exact position.

“Oh, he called you pretty did he? I wonder what he’ll think now with my spend on your face”

Fear and embarrassment wormed itself to her body. She did not want anyone to see her this way, exposed, bare, and being fucked by the prince of the Queen’s second eldest son. Soon enough when the time came when she was no longer useful to him, she thought about lying to her future husband–if she ever met one worthy of taking her far away from King’s Landing–persuading him she was still pure, not touched by a possessive prince.

“No please, my prince” She protested as Aemond grabbed the small little bell that was used to call in a Kingsguard.

He ignored her pleas not even attempting to hide her nakedness or her pearly white soaked face as Ser Arryk walked into the chamber being instructed to bring Linus from the stables.

“Hush, byka līve” He cooed behind her, repositioning his cock back into her entrance. Any moment longer, he felt like his cock would explode from another release being denied. “Now, I might not let him in but only if you do not hide your sounds”

She nods to the vigorous deep thrusts Aemond sets in, feeling more of her slick dripping down her thighs, aiding to the heavy slapping sound of their sex coming as one. She arched her back against Aemond’s chest, releasing mixes of intense pants and moans, gazing at the way Aemond’s face scrunches from bliss through the mirror.

“Give it to me” Aemond groans, feeling his maidservant’s cunt flutter and clench around him. A sign that her peak was forthcoming. He snakes his hand down to her bud and curses loudly at how wet she was.

She is a whore. Aemond thinks as he circles the bundle of nerves.

At this, she gives Aemond a series of loud cries that she knew would be heard throughout the Keep. And in the morrow the castle would be surrounded with heavy gossip of who the lewd sounds belonged to and who caused them.

“Gods, fuck!”

Aemond smiled through the mirror, fucking her through her peak until he too began to yell out in ecstasy. His seed spilling deep into her womb.

After their breaths settled, two loud knocks followed by the voice of Ser Arryk caused her to look at her prince in panic, hoping he’d dismiss them since she did what he asked her to do.

“Come,” Aemond loudly announced, grabbing a cup of Pentoshi wine from his dinner table, ignoring the sobbing pleas from his maidservant.

She tried to back away, desperately needing to shield herself away but that only caused the silver prince to tut and shake his head as a warning.

The door shut loudly behind Linus as he came into the chambers, slowly and unsure why he was being called into the Prince’s chambers at this hour when he should be sleeping.

“Linus, is it?” Aemond questioned, even though he knew the answer.

Linus averts his gaze from the Prince’s nakedness, and nods. “Y-yes, my prince, if it pleases you”

“Well, Linus. I am in need of your opinion, and I want you to be honest with me. Do you think that she looks glorious—pretty even, with my cum on her face?”

She can not bring herself to look at the red headed man she considered a friend, knowing that the loud silence lingering around confirmed that he did not find her pretty like he had called her, hours ago.

In fact, no one would ever find her pretty now. She was ruined and now a whore, like her mother had been when she too was seduced by a prince.

a/n: if requested ill release two parts of this (one when aemond meets her and another for what happens next lol)

taglist: @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @fullmoonworshipper @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @kittendoll05

bold is who I couldn't tag!

if you wish to be tagged in my general taglist go here!

#aemond targaryen #dark aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #aemond x reader #one shot #maybe??#aemond targaryen x oc #lol I need sleep its 8am #ewan mitchell #prince aemond #Spotify

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justawritterwithideas · 1 year

Text

Boy Wonder and the Rockstar | s.r

✩ previous part | next part ✩

summary: The BAU rushes to Washington after discovering that the lead singer of a famous band may be in danger, causing Spencer to come face to face with his past after 15 years.

general warnings: this series contains topics such as mentions of death, alcohol, drugs, strong vocabulary, as well as talk of heartbreak, disappointment and arguments. It also contains content regarding CM season 13, so it clearly contains spoilers.

chapter warnings: this chapter contains mentions of murder, vomiting, mistreatment, as well as the use of strong vocabulary. this is a spencer reid x famous!reader story.

words: 4,269 words.

a/n: hello! here i come with the second chapter of "boy wonder and the rockstar", i had fun writing this chapter as i also suffered from lack of creativity ( T T ), but finally inspiration touched me. I hope you like it. Remember to read the chapter cautions and have a good read.! English is not first language, so I may have mistakes, if so, I'm sorry. :(

𝟎.𝟐: 𝐌𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫.

For many people, memories that are related to times in their lives relate to certain aspects of the five senses, whether it's certain sounds or textures, music that brings them back to that exact memory, or simply tastes of foods that remind them of what their loved ones used to make.

For Spencer, it was smells.

Despite possessing a memory that makes him remember even the smallest detail of what happened the day before, his olfactory memory was much more developed than other senses.

During his childhood, or what he considers childhood, his memories smelled of the pages of old books that his mother read to him and her perfume, impregnated in the bed sheets when they sat together to read some classic of literature. When he was in his youth, sometimes the smells reminded him of the charcoal in his pencil, writing mathematical exercises on white sheets, or sometimes the smell of chlorine, because of the thousand times bullies forced him to go to the bathroom.

But during his college days, he always thought that the smell that would be his favorite was the soft smell of the library, of wood and humidity; but no, those memories had the smell of freshly brewed coffee, cherries and menthol cigarettes.

His good memories always brought smiles to his face in the middle of nowhere, as if he was remembering one of those old bad jokes they used to tell him and he couldn't find the humor in them, or maybe the less thought out answers to such logical questions. His good memories caused his stomach to clench tightly and his chest to feel heavy, as if a stone was replacing his heart.

Spencer knew why. Why his body felt that way.

But he didn't want to admit why.

Because if he admitted it, he knew the only reason he did would make him regret it, he would have to give reason to his sentimental side than the rational side.

And he hated not being right.

"Spence."

J.J.'s voice brought the boy back to his desk, taking his eyes off the nearly iced coffee with a pound of sugar to keep him awake.

He'd been daydreaming about Y/N's laughter in his ear for nights now, just like when they had sleepovers at her apartment. He couldn't get her out of his head, let alone get the smell out of her hair when she was the small spoon.

"What, what's going on?" the opposite replied, looking at the blonde. She seemed to be trying to decipher what was going on in her friend's head.

"I'm asking you, is something wrong, are you sleeping well?"

"Yes." Bullshit.

"Are you sure? Your eyes say otherwise." The black circles under his eyes gave him away.

"I've been sleepless for a few days, but it's because my neighbors won't let me sleep." Another bullshit.

"You should talk to them, you know." The boy nodded, giving the blonde an elongated smile and returning to his paperwork.

"Really all right?"

"Yeah, J.J. It's fine."

"'S okay, you know what you can tell me."

"Yes J.J., thank you."

The answer didn't leave the blonde satisfied, but she made an extraordinary effort to ignore his attitude and return to the desk with Luke and Matt, who had been staring at him for a couple of minutes.

"He's rambling again." Commented J.J as she returned, who kept her eyes on her best friend and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

It was usual at this time of year, when the leaves were beginning to turn their last summer colors, that Spencer would go blank staring at a spot in the room more than once.

No one quite understood why that happened to him, the only one who knew was Gideon. But he never shared any of Spencer's secrets, not even if a gun was held to his chest.

"Guess whateee, my dear friends!" The conversation was interrupted by a cheerful and enthusiastic Penelope, who commanded everyone's attention with her sonorous voice.

"What's going on, Garcia?" Luke turned to see her, who was coming with an envelope in her hand.

"Your genius did it again, rub the wishing lamp and I got tickets to the best concert of the year - Paradox in Virginia! Can you believe it?"

"You got them!?" J.J. was the first to startle, coming closer to see the tickets for the most anticipated concert of the year.

"That's right, my dear friend! A girls' night out to see Paradox. You, me, Emily and Tara."

"No way, god. I'll talk to Will and rest assured I'll be ready for that night." J.J smiled hugging her friend's arm.

"What's Paradox...?" muttered Luke, causing Matt to turn to look at him. The poor Luke was trying to comprehend what his friends were talking about.

Was he too out of date on pop culture or were they speaking in some kind of secret code?

"Oh Luke, why did you ask that?" Matt shook his head, earning a glare from the blonde couple.

"What did you say, newbie, don't you know what Paradox is? Oh god, no way. I'll have to bring you up to date with a course on what today's music is right now, follow me." Penelope motioned to the boy, who turned to see Matt who was lifting his shoulders laughing.

"No Penelope, you're not going anywhere. We have a case, and it's urgent. There's no time, meeting room now."

The rest of the people turned to look at each other, abiding by their boss's orders as they saw her so anxious and serious about a case.

That didn't look good at all.

The adrenaline and euphoria of last night's show, plus the last two dates, had been enough of a stimulant for Y/N to fall asleep in bed once they arrived at the hotel. Her whole body was exhausted, and at that moment all she wanted was some chamomile tea and a thousand hours of sleep.

She loved her job, of course she did! But she was mentally and physically exhausted from giving almost 15 concerts without a break, from one state to another, with more cups of coffee and energizers in her body than times where her eyes closed to sleep.

And the only time she found peace and quiet was when her body was being moved from one location to another, so, at that moment, her body was resting in the comfortable seat of the SUV after being driven to an interview and returned to the hotel to rest.

She felt her limbs meld with the seat, feeling like she was in heaven itself where her muscles all over her body were relaxing after days.

Her peace didn't last long when she heard a soft call.

"Psss, Y/N."

The, now, blonde heard the call from Felix, also known as the band's drummer and her best friend.

"What? You ruin my beauty nap."

"What did one wall say to the other?"

Y/N could hang him right then and there.

More the tiredness in her body made her think, trying to devise the best answer to get him to leave her alone.

"What?"

"I'll meet you at the corner."

"I'm having the biggest self-control to not kill you because you just interrupted the only moment of peace I've had these past three months, asshole."

"You haven't been able to sleep?"

Y/N denied with her eyes closed, desperate to get back to her attempt at sleep.

"Not a single moment, I woke up three times last night and that was the best attempt at sleep I've ever had."

"Your pills aren't working?"

"They're placebos, they won't make my body calm down just like that and go back to my eight hour sleep cycle that I'd had for the last two years without touring." The young woman opened one eye, looking at her friend. "I just have to get used to it, I have to get back to the cycle of excitement I used to have when it was tour after tour."

"Maybe if we talk about that thing that bothers you-"

"No way."

Y/N knew what he meant, knew it was talking about a certain doctor who gave her goosebumps every time she thought about him and took her back to her college days.

Why was she still thinking about him? It had been almost 15 years since they last spoke.

Y/N looked at the date on her phone.

No, she was wrong.

It had been 15 years since they last spoke.

Today was 15 years since she had received the last letter from Spencer with her name written on it.

The last time she felt the smell of his perfume on the sheets and his ugly doctor's handwriting on a sheet of paper.

The last time she saw written "wherever you are, whatever you do or whoever you are with, you are always on my mind and in my heart, Y/N."

Last time she saw written "Love from Quantico, dr. Spencer Reid. I'm also known as your #1 fan, but only you know that."

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well that night? Yes.

Was that the reason she hadn't slept well for that last week? Yes.

Was that the reason why, every time she closed her eyes, she saw him smile? Yes.

Was she going to admit it? No.

Never.

"Y/N..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Felix. Don't insist."

"But, Y/N-"

"Let it go, Felix. Really, don't insist." Tyler's voice made Felix turn to look at him angrily.

Tyler and Shawn, the guitarist and bassist respectively, shook their heads and made an "X" symbol with their fingers, muttering at the same time "don't do it, don't be stupid."

"Enough kids, let it go. In two days we have a very important concert to give in Seattle, so I don't want any fights."

"You heard him, Felix." Y/N smiled opening her eyes, looking in the direction of Gerald, her manager.

Thank you, Y/N murmured in the man's direction.

Gerald just raised his shoulders, noticing how the van parked.

"Okay, down."

Tyler and Shawn were the first to get out, followed by Y/N and then Felix.

Felix hated to come off as meddling in Y/N's life, so whenever he meddled too much in the girl's life, he simply knew that seeking forgiveness from her was his best option.

"Sorry Y/N, I didn't mean to insist."

"It's okay, Felix. I know you meant no harm, but I don't want to talk about it."

"And when will you?"

"I don't know, I guess when I'm ready."

"It's been 15 years, Y/N."

"I know, but I'm still not read-"

"Miss Autumn?"

Y/N turned to see the receptionist, who was holding a package.

"A package has arrived for you."

"Thank you, do you know who brought it?"

"No miss, I'm sorry."

"No worries, thanks again."

Y/N received it, walking to the elevator along with Felix after seeing how the package had a sticker on it that said "express delivery."

"What did you order, compulsive shopper?" Gerald turned to look at her, causing Y/N to deny in confusion.

"Nothing that I know of, I promise."

"Maybe it's a collaboration, Tiffany's already started putting the ads with your face all over it." Shawn smiled, elbowing the arm of the store's new ambassador.

"A gift for you to occupy at the next gig." Gerald replied, nodding softly as he looked down at his phone.

The box was small and covered in the typical plastic they place around it. Compact enough to drop a set of jewelry on behalf of the brand, but it seemed odd that it came directly and without warning.

The group made their way to the small meeting room where they had set up everything they needed, ready to hear the itinerary Gerald had prepared for them about their upcoming events.

Y/N's fingers went to open the package once it was placed on the table, watching as the "Tiffany & Co." logo on its little sky blue box.

"Okay guys, tomorrow you have rehearsal from noon until three in the afternoon, then you'll have an interview on a radio station near the sta-"

A beautiful gold ring with a navy blue gem in the middle was the first thing that caught the young woman's eye, perfect for the occasion. But it was heavier than usual.

"Then you can go eat and rest, we'll still have dress rehearsal, so you can get ready-"

A shout coming from Y/N deafened the group of people, causing them all to look in her direction.

Her skin was as white as paper, her eyes fixed on the box she had just opened and her face with an expression of pure terror from an experimental horror movie.

All eyes went in the direction of the box, which Y/N felt like everything she had eaten that morning was going to spew out of her mouth right then and there.

"Shit."

The beautiful ring encircled something.

A human finger.

A human finger that stained the bottom of the box.

A human finger that was accompanied by a note.

"I hope you enjoy my gift, my sweet star. I made it just for you, good luck at the concert."

"This morning at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Washington, the lead singer of the band Paradox received a package. Inside was a human finger with a ring on it." Emily was passing around the photographs that had been sent by the Washington police, it showed just what she had just described above. "According to the receptionist it was dropped off by someone from a package store. The police questioned him and he said it had arrived with yesterday's load of packages."

"From where?" Luke asked.

"They don't know, they collect packages from all over the country so they don't know where it came from. They're looking for the tracking code of the branch they sent it from."

"How grotesque, who would send such a thing to an artist like her?" Tara looked at Emily, who sighed.

"But what do we have to do with this case?" Rossi looked at his tablet, zooming in on the picture of the ring.

"The DNA results came back to find out whose finger it is." A photograph of a stranger appeared on the TV screen. "He is Bruno Colombo, an Italian artist and the owner of that finger. We just got word that his lifeless body was found in his art studio."

"He's Autumn's ex-fiancé." Penelope commented, surprised at all that was going on. "In 2016, he and Autumn got engaged after dating for two years, but after a few months it was discovered that the engagement ended after Autumn discovered him and an art gallery owner having sex in his studio. According to him he did it because he wanted to make an exhibition that would portray Autumn's true feelings, and this way he could see her feeling of anger and sadness. There are still people who idolize him for that."

"What a jerk." Matt muttered.

"And how come no one noticed his absence?"

" According to this, he was isolating himself when he was setting up exhibits so it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to suddenly disappear."

Spencer felt his heart pounding, why would he get like this over a clear case of a stalker obsessing over a music star?

It's not like he even knew her.

"Apparently, this relates to a series of related cases over ten years that the only common element is this band, Paradox. No one has ever linked them before as none of the modes of operation are the same, the only factor that unites them is the viciousness with which they are carried out and the band, of course." Emily sighed, showing the various faces and deaths that surrounded them.

"Race or religion has nothing to do with it, it seems neither does gender." Spencer commented, quickly reading each of the bodies found. "But it looks like they all had an encounter with the band or one of the members. From 2008 when the first body was found until now."

"The director asked us to take on this case, the level of this band is insane and it seems to be going against the vocalist, Autumn. They are currently on a world tour after two years of no activity, plus not much is known about her in general." Emily turned to look at Penelope. "Garcia, you're joining us on this trip. You serve us better back in Washington than you do here at Quantico. Reid and Lewis will go meet the M.E., the rest of us will go to the station and then we'll all go to the Queen Elizabeth Hotel, we'll meet the band and their manager." The whole group was surprised, especially Penelope who held a surprised expression. "Wheels up in 30."

Y/N always thought that the whole thing about having human parts shipped to you in a box was part of fiction. At best, news fiction.

But what she had just experienced was surreal.

Her body was shaking with a cup of tea in her hands, feeling her hands stinging around the cup.

"Who the fuck would send something like that to Y/N? No one we know is capable of doing anything to her, they would fuck up their careers if they were exposed like that." Tyler turned, annoyed, in the direction of Y/N. "Who did this to you, are you hiding something from us?"

"No, Tyler. I'm not hiding anything, why would I hide the fact that someone sent me a fucking human part on my name to a hotel in the middle of our comeback tour? You're blaming me for something, huh? Tell me to my fucking face, Tyler."

Y/N stood up in exasperation, letting the hot water spill onto the floor.

"I don't know, you tell me, Y/N. If you got sent a finger."

"Go straight to hell, Tyler. Right straight up." Commented the girl raising her middle finger.

"Enough! Both of you." Gerald's loud voice interrupted them, separating the band's strong personalities. "Right now we can't fight. They just sent a fucking human finger to Y/N, we can't get mad about that, we should be worried."

"Finally someone with sense." Y/N sat back down, setting the cup aside.

"What are they seeing so much of us, why aren't they doing anything? They should be looking for the person responsible." Felix got up walking towards the officers, being stopped by Shawn.

"Hey, they're doing the best they can. If we go in there and raise our voices, we're going to hinder the investigation, don't be a dickhead."

"Damn it, this can't be happening." Y/N stood up, starting to walk over to her purse to pull out a cigarette and place it between her teeth.

"You can't smoke in here, Y/N." Gerald's warning went in one ear to the girl and out the other, flicking her lighter. "Y/N."

"What, look at the shit we're in, I just got sent a fucking human finger from who-knows-who and you're asking me to keep my cool!? I can't! There's a crazy person out there sending me that shit with 'nice words'." The girl threw the lighter at who-knows-where, finding herself on the verge of an anxiety attack. "Don't fuck around and leave me alone to have a smoke, Gerald."

The group fell back into the same silence that surrounded them four hours ago, letting the cigarette smoke flood their nostrils.

They were desperate, they needed to get to the root of this.

Y/N knew it. Right now she was the eye of the hurricane, who that box and message were addressed to; the same person who had sent her that, had taken it upon himself to send her flowers and letters with the same nickname, "my sweet star."

At first she thought it was nice, of course it's nice when you get your favorite flowers along with letters of good cheer and best wishes, but it's not nice when you get a gift like today's.

But her attitude would get her nowhere, she was annoyed and exasperated, but they didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

"I'm sorry, but this is too much for me, I can't handle this alone and my attitude isn't helping anything. " Y/N commented, taking her eyes off her cigarette and looking at the people closest to her. "We should be in this together."

"I'm sorry, kid. I got upset that I couldn't help you, that you didn't know who sent you that." Tyler sighed, giving the girl a rueful smile.

"Don't worry about it, Ty. I'm really sorry, everyone."

The girl took another puff on her cigarette, letting the minty flavor cool her lungs.

"The FBI is here."

The announcement made everyone look at each other, taking their last breaths and letting Y/N finish what she was doing, the only thing keeping her sane at that moment.

"I'll see you downstairs, okay?" Felix left a kiss on the young woman's forehead, taking his leave to get on the elevator.

Y/N found herself alone in the room, again feeling disgust rise in her throat. She couldn't get the image of that package out of her mind, how was someone capable of writing those sweet words and sending something as grotesque as that.

The girl's hands gently stroked her cheeks, waking up and she shook her head. She would make one last stop to the bathroom before heading downstairs, so she could go more consciously for who-knows-what things would make her talk.

The BAU met up with a group of people who, thanks to the way Penelope was getting excited, could be sure it was Paradox.

All along the way, Spencer had listened to Garcia's theories and who it could have been. He loved listening to her talk, but his head was somewhere else, somewhere else but there.

Something inside him sensed something, something he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe it was his thoughts of the past that had been running through him since morning.

"Agent Prentiss, I'm Gerald Murphy, the manager of Paradox." The man shook hands with the woman, who was looking over his shoulder at three people. "These are the members of the band: Tyler, Shawn and Felix."

The three let out a wave into the air, giving them a smile of sorts.

Spencer knew they weren't entirely happy they were there, he read it in their body language.

"I understand there are four of you in the band, here I see three." Emily looked directly into Gerald's eyes.

"Yeah, Autumn, the vocalist, is upstairs finishing something. But she's coming down now, right?" Felix nodded, watching the FBI agents.

Felix crossed glances with Spencer, feeling that familiar air from somewhere.

Spencer felt that familiar air too, but maybe he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Please, let's go somewhere more private. That way we can talk more quietly."

Gerald motioned to the three men, who plunged inside the room, followed by everyone else.

The BAU settled down in front of the four people seated on the couches.

"If you like, we can wait for Miss Autumn." Emily glanced at the group, all of whom nodded.

"It's for the best, she's the most affected." Felix looked in the direction of Tyler and Shawn, who simply nodded in unison.

"You've never received anything like this before?" Luke directed his question at the group of people, causing Tyler to let out a sarcastic laugh.

"You think that's a normal thing to receive, a human finger? Please, be realistic."

"Tyler, shut up." Shawn motioned, slapping the young man's knee.

"That's a stupid question of his, since when is getting shit like that going to be normal?"

"Tyler!" Shawn gave him a stern look, turning his gaze back to Luke. "I'm sorry, we're touchy about this that just happened."

"My question was out of line, it's my fault." Luke admitted, turning to look at the rest.

"When is Autumn getting here?" Felix's question seemed to work magic, smelling her best friend's signature scent.

A strong smell of cherries and menthol tobacco made Spencer shake his head.

It wasn't time to remember Y/N, it wasn't time to focus on something like that.

It felt like his head was playing a joke on him, as if she was suddenly here. But the smell didn't go away, in fact, it intensified to the point that Spencer could feel his head hurting.

"Sorry I'm late."

Spencer felt his entire body freeze, as if he were turning into an ice cube.

The voice he thought he would never hear again.

The voice that escaped so much in his dreams.

He could hear it there, like an echo in his head.

His head turned, catching the figure that had just entered with some haste.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Autu-"

"Y/N."

The girl looked up, meeting Spencer's hazel eyes.

No way, Y/N thought.

Her heart stopped, as did the time around her.

Standing in front of her was a much older and mature Spencer Reid, but with that same lotion that made her dizzy.

The woman's mouth opened slightly, feeling the air in her lungs catch and no words came out of her mouth.

Her lip quivered, her pulse altered.

"Spencer."

Oh fate, how cruel did you have to be?

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x famous!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #it's my first series #almeseries

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suzukiblu · 8 months

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updated/expanded "Kara gets to Earth on-time with baby Kal" AU excerpt:

Kara doesn’t understand the aliens’ language, which is fine. She didn’t expect to. She watches them interact and listens as they speak, familiarizing herself with the cadence and pitch and rhythm of their voices and doing her best to pick out individual sounds and patterns. She likes languages well enough. She did pretty well with Daxamite dialects in school last year, anyway.

The aliens are kind, at least so far. They found her and Kal curled up in the remains of their smashed-up ships in their ruined field and brought them into their home despite the mess. Kara thinks they’re farmers, probably? So probably Laborer Guild, or whatever this planet has instead of Laborers. The House of El is mostly Thinkers, but Kara isn’t worried about that. She’ll figure something out, as soon as she figures out how to communicate with the aliens. Pantomime has not been all that helpful, at least not so far.

They gave her a warm, unusually sweet drink that might have some kind of milk in it, with soft white pellets in it that are even sweeter. It’s not quite like anything she’s ever tasted before, but she likes it. Kal really liked it, though the aliens seemed to think he shouldn't have too much and gave her a little cup of just milk alone for him instead. Or she thinks it's milk, anyway.

It's white. And very thick, and almost creamy? Though it tasted good too, when Kara stole a sip to make sure it wouldn’t upset Kal’s stomach if she gave it to him.

"Pye," the alien that Kara is assuming is female announces in their weirdly simple-sounding language, putting a round plate with a slice of something on it on the table in front of her. Kal reaches for it from her lap with a burble. Kara peers at it too. The slice is triangular, with a crisp crust and an oozy red filling. She wonders why the plate is round, if the "pye" is meant to be sliced and served triangularly. It seems a little disrespectful to the cook–or baker? Or at least the artisan who made the plate, which was clearly painted with very dedicated care. Painted by hand, even, not a pre-programmed design reproduced by a machine. That’s very luxurious for Laborers to be offering unexpected guests who just destroyed their field, even being the wrong shape for the "pye".

Maybe they’re overcompensating, Kara thinks. Or maybe the aliens are really just that kind.

Maybe.

She thinks they’re little flowers, the designs around the edges of the plate. Or at least they look like they could be flowers. They’re flower-<i>like</i>, if nothing else, and all the weird colors of them might just be a stylistic choice.

They’re pretty.

She wishes she could show her mother.

Kara crushes down the grief for the thousandth time and smiles at the aliens. They smile back.

It helps, almost.

Almost.

The “pye” tastes very good.

It takes some effort, but Kara learns the aliens’ names after she and Kal finish their “pye” and she cleans up his sticky little face. The possibly female one is “Ma Mar-Tha”, and the possibly male one is “Pa Jona-Than”. So . . . maybe they're both female, actually? Going by their names, anyway. They both identify themselves as “Kent”, too, though she’s not sure if that’s another name and they’re either married or related, or if it’s the local word for “farmer” or “Laborer”. It’s unclear.

They don’t look related, but she doesn’t really know how “related” this species would look to her eyes anyway. The colors of their skins are close, although their hair, though similarly textured, doesn’t really match–Ma Mar-Tha’s is an oddly neutral brown, and Pa Jona-Than’s is an even more oddly dull blond. Kara’s never seen hair in such faded colors. Her own is as bright as this planet’s strange sun, and Kal’s is as black as the space between stars. And both of their eyes are the El blue, of course.

Pa Jona-Than’s eyes are blue too, but a washed-out shade of it. And Ma Mar-Tha’s are brown, which is so exotic and unusual that Kara has a little bit of trouble not staring too much. They’re very warm and very soft, though, and she likes how they look.

They’re both middle-aged, she thinks, or at least strongly resemble the Kryptonian version of it. Their clothes are soft and shapeless, with very little structure or sign of formality to the garments, though Kara supposes they might be some sort of sleepwear? She and Kal did crash very early in this planet’s morning, from what she can tell.

She tells them her name and Kal’s, though they pronounce them a bit oddly. She’s sure she’s pronouncing theirs oddly too, so it’s not as if it’s an insult. They say their names all at once, though, as if they’re singular words–"Karazorel” and “Kalel”, almost. She manages to get them both down to “Kara” and “Kal”, and they get her down to “Ma” and “Pa”, so she supposes “Mar-Tha” and “Jona-Than” are their surnames, and “Kent” does mean “Laborer”. Kal isn’t verbal enough to get to any of it, of course, but laughs sweetly and claps as he listens to them all exchanging names and sounds back and forth.

Kara crushes down the grief again and wonders how long it’ll be until he cries for Aunt Lara and Uncle Jor. He’ll miss them soon, she’s sure. He’s a sweet, good-natured little thing, but he’s not even old enough to walk properly yet. And they’re his parents.

She only hasn’t cried for her own because she doesn’t have the room to. Not until she’s sure they’re somewhere safe, and that Kal is going to be alright. That she can take care of him here, however she has to.

Who knows, maybe this farm needs some more “Kents” on it.

Ma gives Kara clothes: a strangely soft knee-length dress patterned with more pretty alien flowers and clunky, heavy boots with actual laces in them and a sturdy blue jacket with a surprising amount of pockets and a thick, warm, fleece-like lining, accented with flat metal studs and an odd metal trim with a tag hanging from one side of it. It takes Kara a moment, but then she realizes the trim actually seems to be some sort of fastener.

Huh.

The clothes don't fit quite right–Kara thinks the dress is probably meant to be a little longer, from the cut of it, and the jacket is a bit too big and the boots are a little loose too–but she does appreciate them. She's been in her own clothes since . . .

Krypton died while she was in these clothes.

Everyone she's ever loved, everyone she's ever known, everyone she's ever seen . . .

Kara appreciates the new ones.

. . . although, do clothes on this planet just not have house crests? Or are Ma and Pa just not from families that have house crests?

She supposes they might not be. They are Laborers, so . . . maybe. But they also served her on a hand-painted plate, if with strange manners, so she's not sure what to think.

Maybe she just doesn't understand the specific signifiers in their clothing, or maybe their house signifiers are just in their jewelry. Ma is wearing tiny gold hoops in her(?) ears and a thin gold necklace and Pa is wearing a thick leather bracelet with a glass and metal circle in the center of it, and they're both wearing gold rings on the third fingers of their left hands. Pa's is just a single plain band, but Ma has two–one just plain like his(?), but thinner, and one with a trio of little clear gemstones set in it. Diamonds, maybe? That would make sense, for a Laborer's jewelry. Diamonds are pretty, but they're both reasonably common in nature and simple enough to recreate under laboratory conditions, so they're certainly affordable enough for a farmer to wear even day-to-day. And they're sturdy, too. Gold less so, obviously, but maybe the rings are just gold-plated or an alloy.

It's something to think about besides the end of the world.

. . . their world, anyway.

As far as clothes go there's nothing that'll fit Kal at all, so Kara just keeps him wrapped up safe and secure in the bright red El crest blanket Jor and Lara sent him here in. Though she knows he'll need more diapers soon, obviously, and something he can actually crawl around in too. He can't stay in her lap forever.

She wishes he could, right now. Even letting Ma hold him while she changed was . . . stressful.

A little too stressful, maybe, but Kara tries not to think about it. Not right now, at least.

She needs to protect him. Needs to take care of him. Needs to–

Kara exhales. Wraps Kal up in his El crest blanket and her borrowed jacket, and smiles at Ma and Pa. They smile back at her.

Well, that's a start.

#kara zor el #supergirl #ma and pa kent #clark kent #superfamily #superman #rinfic #long post #wip: kara gets to earth on time

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justallihere · 23 days

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some fluff for your saturday 🫶🏻

***

Xaden’s favorite time was the middle of the night, when his wife slept peacefully and he got to hold his daughter and watch the snow falling.

Fia, like her mother, liked the library. Xaden was sure it was the floating mage lights that kept her attention—at seven months old, she certainly couldn’t read—but it was the place that calmed her the quickest when she wouldn’t sleep. He liked to think it was something she’d gotten from Violet.

Fia looked like him: his warm brown skin, his dark hair and dark eyes, his mouth. But she had Violet in the shape of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks. She was calm and quiet like Violet, attentive and curious, even just beginning to sit up and grab for anything within reach. She liked Xaden’s wedding ring, liked the texture of Violet’s dragon scale corset. She liked looking at the dragons: she would sit and stare at Andarna for hours if Xaden let her, endlessly fascinated by her shifting scales as Andarna stretched her wings in the sun.

She was an easy baby for the most part, but Violet’s pregnancy had been hard.

They’d assumed it would be, but she’d been in pain almost constantly—aching joints and swollen feet and hands. By the second half, she spent more time in bed than out of it, barely sleeping due to the pain. Thanks to Brennan and the best midwife in Tyrrendor, the birth had been smooth, though long; Violet labored for over a day before Fia joined them. Then she’d spent more weeks recovering, Fia sleeping on her chest as Violet read to her.

It was why Xaden always got up in the night when Fia woke. Violet would have done it gladly, he knew that, but she’d given so much to bring Fia into the world while he’d only been able to watch. Rocking her back to sleep once or twice a week was the least he could do. Violet protested, and he ignored her. Sometimes she’d come find them, but more often than not she slept on comfortably and didn’t wake until Xaden joined her in bed again.

“What do you think?” Xaden murmured to Fia, stopping in front of a window and turning her around so she could look outside. She pressed a chubby little hand to the glass and cooed. “How long are we gonna be awake tonight?”

Fia babbled unintelligibly. Once the window had lost her attention, he shifted her in his arms so her head could rest against his shoulder, and she lay limply against his chest. He rubbed a broad hand up and down her back, marveling, not for the first time, at how tiny she was. How easily she fit into his arms. He never wanted to let her go.

Violet protested that it was bad for Fia to be held constantly. She needed to move and look and engage with the world around her. Xaden argued that she’d have years to do those things, and he only had a few months to hold her like this. That usually made Violet soften, and she got that tender expression on her face that he never tired of because it reminded him that she loved him just as much as he loved her.

He walked half a dozen laps around the library, humming under his breath. Fia settled slowly as he rocked her, bouncing her lightly in the way she liked and stroking along her spine. He felt her little form go entirely limp, finally asleep; her head tipped to press against his neck, her breath against his skin, the beat of her heart against his own. He could go put her back to bed, but he didn’t stop walking.

Just a little longer, he decided. Just a few more minutes holding her.

“I think she’s drooling on you,” a voice whispered, breaking through the still serenity of the library.

Xaden turned and found Violet leaning against a shelf, watching him with a soft look on her face.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Xaden murmured.

She smiled sleepily. She was in a nightgown and thin robe, barefoot with her hair loose and tangled, like she’d woken and hadn’t wanted to be alone. “Come here,” she said quietly.

Xaden went. He held Fia with one arm, and reached out with the other to take Violet’s hand. She fit her fingers into the spaces between his and stepped in close, resting her head against his chest next to their daughter. She stretched on her toes to brush a fleeting kiss against Fia’s soft cheek, and then titled her face up to Xaden expectantly.

He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally pressed his mouth to hers. “I love you,” he murmured.

Violet’s eyes fell shut, contentment written in every line of her expression. “I love you, too.”

#this doesn’t exist at any particular time or in any particular world #it’s not related to sitq #just a lil fluffy moment #fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #riorgail #xaden riorson #violet sorrengail #xaden x violet

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kteezy997 · 4 months

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The Candy Man-Part Ten (the end)//W.W.

Info/Warnings: Wonka family fluff, smut at the end, calling cum “cream,” another baby making session hehe, licking chocolate off of the body, use of ice for sex play

A/N: This is kinda long, grab a snack maybe.

The third Wonka baby, a little boy, was named Cotton, as in cotton candy. Willy couldn’t name his children after anything other than candy. You had to actively stop him from giving your child the name “Chocolate.” But Cotton was cute, and sweet just like his older siblings, Maple and Mocha.

Willy told you he liked the name ‘Cherry’ for when you had another girl together. You thought it was bold of him to assume that you’d continue having more of his children. You loved him, but hated him for always being right.

After your new son was born, it was finally time for you to become Mrs. Wonka. It was your wedding day. All of the original scrubbers happily helped you and Willy orchestrate the most beautiful wedding.

It was all traditional white ribbons and touches of cotton candy pink. Your bridal bouquet was two shades of pink roses with the tiny white flowers of baby's breath.

You thought it would be a little silly for you to wear a white dress, since this was your second, and albeit, last wedding, and Willy had made you a mother three times over. Thus, you decided on an adorable blush pink gown that was satin and chenille to the floor.

Willy looked handsome as ever, as you had helped fix his curls to lay in beautiful heap on his head. You were used to working with the texture of his hair; two of you children had the same curls, and though you knew baby Cotton would most likely have the same also, he was too little to tell just yet.

Daddy Wonka wore a dark brown suit, it was an homage to chocolate, but not too over the top, which you appreciated. You thought the rich color looked quite nice on your man. He wore a boutonniere that matched your flowers. He cried as you recited your wedding vows. He was so soft, but you knew how happy he was. He had come a long way. And before you knew it, he was wiping your tears away too.

.......

In time, your kids grew, and the success of the chocolate factory allowed your family to have a rather nice life. Willy was able to hire more workers and spend more time at home with you and the kids. You and Willy would spend the workday at the factory, with you mostly in your office and Willy overseeing the candy making. And then you'd spent the latter portion of the day with the kids.

Maple and Mocha remained playful and curious, like their father. Willy would play with them in the chocolate room and let them try out new flavors he was creating. But little Cotton was more on the reserved, quiet side. He liked hanging out with you in your office. He was good with numbers and figuring, and he had a knack for solving problems, even at an early age.

All three kids got along and played well together, for the most part. They would fuss and fight now and then, like all siblings. But while the twins ran around and picked fights with each other, Cott liked to climb up into his Daddy's lap and ask him about his Grandma Wonka and how Willy remembered making chocolate bars with her. The first Wonka chocolate.

"And she would be so proud of you and your brother and sister." Willy would say to his youngest baby after looking back fondly and telling him the stories of his childhood with his mother.

You hoped you'd never forget the nights when Willy would hold little Cotton in his arms, singing "Pure Imagination" so softly, so angelically. And your sweet baby would fight the sleep that called him, but alas, his green eyes would flutter behind long lashes, and little curls would fall onto his sleepy face as his father's voice would lull him into slumber.

Willy's zest for creativity was passed to on Mae, who would spend her childhood using crayons to create designs for her Dad's candy ideas, all the way down to the style of the packaging. Her eye for color was impeccable. She never lost her sweetness, but she did develop an edge for the dramatic. Neither Willy nor you could complain about her over-the-top flair, because she was responsible for a lot of Wonka's eye-catching, and best-selling product designs.

Her twin brother was also like their father, in his love for the experimental side of the candy making. Mocha loved thinking up flavor combinations and bringing those ideas to fruition alongside Willy in the factory. There were many times where the young boy and his father would come home in need of sparkling soda to ease their stomach aches from eating too much sugar and mixing some of the wrong ingredients together.

Little Cott, however, seemed to inherit your mind for business. He loved his Daddy, of course, but he stuck to you quite often. He was always a serious, yet thoughtful child. He was a sensitive boy, and though he wasn't as into the candy making process like his artistic siblings, he was just as sweet and loving as they were. You had to admit, it was nice having your Cotton as a constant companion, as your older two kids were their father's little shadows.

As for you and Willy, things never changed, if they did it was your love growing stronger and deeper with every moment you got to spend together.

Nights of returning to the factory to visit the secret chamber never ceased. Anytime you and Willy wanted to be together and unwind, or let all of your fantasies come to light, you called one of your friends or your parents to babysit and made your way back to the chocolate factory.

Now, you could still have intimate nights at home, but three kids made it difficult at times. And in your private room, no one would ever bother you or be disturbed by anything that happened in there.

........

"Can we have another baby? I think the time is right." Willy asked you one evening after dinner. The kids were occupied with whatever game they were playing amongst the three of them.

You were surprised at his question; it was the first time you'd discussed the idea with seriousness in a long time. "You aren't happy with three kids?"

"Of course, I am, honey. That's not why. I know that you wanted to wait awhile, and the twins are almost seven and Cotton is five. I want to have just one more experience raising a baby." he took your hands, "Please, my love? Just one more, that's it. One more sweet little one, it makes me happy, creating a human that's half of you." he caressed your face, looking at you with puppy eyes. The eyes you could not say 'no' to.

"You're right. And you've been very patient, Willy. I love that you've let me take my time on deciding. My answer now is yes." you smiled, squeezing your husband's hands.

Willy grinned widley, "Really? We can?!"

"Yes, let's have another baby!"

Willy cheered and picked you up in his arms, spinning you around. "Oh honey, I'm so happy right now! I love you, y/n."

You hugged him tightly, "I love you too, Willy."

"What are you two so excited about?" quipped Maple, showing a little sass at the ripe age of nearly six and a half.

"Nothing for you to be concerned about, young lady." you responded. You didn't want to spill any beans and get the kids excited for something that hadn't happened yet. "Now, go on upstairs, it's almost time for baths."

"Ugh, I don't want to take a bath tonight." your daughter grumbled.

"Maple Wonka, don't you sass your mother, now do as she says." Willy demanded, using his stern Dad voice.

Mae rolled her eyes, "Fine." she huffed. She, along with her brothers, made their way upstairs.

As you watched them go, Willy put his arms around you from behind, and kissed your cheek.

You put your arms on his and rested your head back against him, "Mae is going to be the one to give us a run for our money." you sighed.

"Oh, it's going to be okay. She's strong, like you, but it's not a problem."

"Hmm." you put your hand in his curls, "I hope you're right."

"I'll go make sure bath time goes smoothly." he kissed your temple, parting from your embrace, "And you can think up a time for us to start making a baby."

As he started walking away, you said, "What about tomorrow night? At the factory?"

He pivoted on his heel and his eyes were wide when he caught your gaze, "Oh, that soon? Honey, I'm so excited." he said, running over to kiss your lips as you giggled.

............

The next night, Willy tied you to the bed, and had poured warm chocolate all over your nude body. He teased you with his tongue, swirling over your hard nipples, trailing down your tummy, dipping into your navel, and slipping down between your legs as he lapped up every trace of the chocolate.

He got you all worked up, sweaty, and dripping wet. Your body ached and writhed in anticipation.

He came back over to the bed with a medium sized metal bucket in his hands. "Some ice." he announced, "In case the chocolate was too warm for you."

You nodded, and he went ahead, placing a cube of ice on your lips first. You couldn't help but lick the ice as it was near your mouth, and you gave his fingers a tiny nibble as well.

He ran the ice from collarbone to collarbone, then downwards, over your nipples, making you gasp.

Willy smirked at the effect the ice was having on your body.

You held your breath as he dragged the ice down your stomach, your ribcage inflating as you held your breath. As you let out your breath, your back arched as you felt the ice on your clit, melting and dripping between your folds. Your skin was on fire, and the ice was a shock. It was almost too much. Your man had a wicked imagination.

The ice was taken away, "Feel alright, y/n?" he asked, still being your sweet Willy at this point.

"Yes." you said, weakly.

"Excellent." he said, setting the bucket of ice down. Then, he leaned down close to your ear, "Now, I'm ready to breed you." Dominant Willy had arrived. You could barely contain your excitement as he untied your wrists and ankles.

You lay on the bed as patiently as you could, and he climbed on top of you. He took your legs, propping them all the way up on his shoulders. You whimpered, as he made eye contact with you. You feet hung up on either side of his head. With a little thrust of his hips, he was inside of you.

You'd been making love to Willy for years now, sex in every sense of the word, a deep, trusting sexual relationship that you never imagined you'd have, and still, each time was like the first. You looked back to the time you took his virginity on the bear skin rug that you so despised. You fell in love right then. You knew he was special from the beginning.

"Are you gonna make me a Daddy again, my sweet?" he asked, thrusting softly, pushing his curls back as he looked down at you.

"Yes, baby. Give me that Wonka baby cream, please." you whined.

Willy dipped down, kissing you hard and he quickened his pace, "I'll give it to you.”

Your husband kissed you repeatedly, and kneaded your hips as he rammed you. You knew as his thrusts became sloppy and his breath ragged, he was close to coming. He put his forehead on yours, letting his sweat and your mix together.

You ran your hands over his strong back, his arms, then held his handsome face, “I love you, Willy Wonka, I want your baby.” you cooed.

“Oh, I love you.” he huffed, “You should be pregnant before the night is over, Mrs. Wonka." You felt his cum invade you shortly after.

Who would have thought that the innocent chocolate salesman would be saying that to the housewife he met by chance almost seven years prior?

Willy Wonka, as you knew, was never wrong, and your fourth and final child came into the world nine months, to the day, later. Cherry Wonka. She completed your beautiful family. She was the class clown of the bunch, spirited and wild as could be, with bouncing curls and a deviously cute grin. She kept you and Willy on your toes constantly, and you adored her.

A/N: Special thank you to my beta, @gatoenlaciudad ! You’ve been such an inspiration and great support throughout this series!💕

@thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @tchalamss @softhecreator @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @kpopgirlbtssvt

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee x reader #timothée imagine #timothee chalamet smut #willy wonka #willy wonka x reader #wonka fanfic #wonka movie #wonka #wonka 2023

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wakkass · 1 month

Text

💜Teenage Sofia💜

On the right is some hairstyle searches

AU itself

Sofia sleeps through her first lessons and cannot concentrate on her homework, which is why she makes mistakes.

For some reason, Sofia’s energy is becoming less and less; she cannot easily join the busy rhythm of life as in childhood.

She considered it an uneven start to the school year, and therefore didn't tell anyone about anything.

Despite this, Sofia tries very hard to work, but the problem is that she never begins to accomplish anything.

The amulet began to behave strangely: it loses color and turns gray. And most importantly, it doesn't work as it should, sometimes completely switching off and depriving Sofia of her powers.

This causes problems with her missions: she cannot respond to calls for help in time and cannot talk to her friends. It also reminds her of the helplessness she felt when she was stuck inside the amulet.

Sofia is caught between her old responsibilities and her new academic demands, causing her to fail at both.

This begins to put pressure on her, and as a result, Sofia's emotions become uncontrollable, for example, she may suddenly cry or get angry.

It got to the point where Sofia yelled at Miranda and ran away in a fit of rage, not understanding why she was even angry.

At first, Sofia believes that the amulet is to blame for her strange condition. Something happened to it and it needs to be fixed. This is a reason to turn to Cedric for help.

However, when examining the amulet, it turns out that it doesn't affect Sofia, but vice versa. That is, the amulet reacts to her burnout due to permanent stress.

Sofia doesn't know the nature of her condition and how to fix it. If this is a curse, then it must be removed, and if it's a disease, then it must be cured, and who else but the royal sorcerer will help with this.

The more Sofia describes the symptoms, the more Cedric realizes that this is not an infection or a curse, but something that he himself once went through - depression.

To avoid this, Cedric does what Sofia once did for him: shows care and attention.

He tries to repeat the same actions that Sofia did for him many years ago, because this is the only way to deal with depression that he knows.

This doesn't always help, since she could suddenly cry, and he didn't know what to do about it. But Sofia felt better from the very fact of understanding and caring for her. What's important is that she was able to let her feelings out.

Sofia asked Cedric for medicine and he took her to the throne room where her parents were sitting. A friend nearby can help in difficult times, but there is nothing more healing than family support.

Sofia was scared to talk to her mother, because they parted on an unpleasant note. Sofia was afraid of making this worse, because she reacted extremely unpredictably to things.

I see their dialogue as somewhat awkward at first, which is why Sofia has a lump in her throat. But Miranda is not angry with her, although it's difficult for her to ask about what is happening. I think this will put pressure on Sofia and she will utter her words of apology quickly and incoherently.

It was amazing how much easier it became for Sofia when she didn't face her mother's anger, but her mother's support. What's happening to Sofia is complicated, but she's still loved and understood. No one will ever leave her alone, no matter how much she changes.

The amulet remains gray until Sofia deals with the amount of work she has to do, causing her to burn out.

In the future, Amber helps Sofia with her schedule and organization of things during the day.

Appearance info

Hairstyle:

I knew that Sofia's hair texture needed to be soft and light, so I was looking for a simple and full hairstyle. I chose between a ponytail and a half-ponytail, and in the end I settled on the hairstyle that I could feel best.

I like how in animation the movement of the tail reflects the personality and mood of the character, this is ideal for a pubescent AU, where emotions and feelings burst out.

Meg and Thumbelina are not only a great visual reference for hair movement, but also reflect facets of personality that Sofia might have at her age. And the hair in a high ponytail emphasizes this perfectly.

Cloth:

Amber and Sofia's costumes are similar because they wear school uniforms. They study together in a specialized educational institution, so I think there is a certain dress code there. It's different from the public school setting that was in the original series, and I wanted to highlight that visually.

At the same time, the palette is different for everyone and reflects the individuality of each student.

I took inspiration from Pinterest where I was looking for simple yet elegant clothes. Asian uniforms have the most variety in silhouettes, so I mainly focused on them.

A small example of the cut I relied on

< Previous post

#sofia the first #sofia the fandom #sofia the first fanart #stf #sofia the first au #princess sofia #cedric the great #cedric the sorcerer #queen miranda

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mikibagels · 10 days

Note

if we're talking niche NICHE, scolippi's girlfriend is as niche as it gets for such an important character. if it wasn't for her choosing death on her own terms over succumbing to her disease, bucciarati and mista would never investigate scolippi which essentially kick-started the entirety of part 5.

homegirl is to part 5 what the carriage crash was to part 1 basically

No but this ask is so genius. She IS the carriage crash of Golden Wind and we must honour that.

I decided to kind of ignore her swoopy hair in the anime/manga because I've associated that with Jotaro's Wife and Diego's mother, so I gave this lady a crimped hair texture that's more similar to Scolippi.

#scolippi #golden wind #jojo part 5 #jjba #fanart #my art #scolippi girlfriend #Most tragic couple in Golden Wind?

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lisbeth-kk · 2 months

Text

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tells him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically at mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John.

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?”

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #rosie watson #johnlock #parentlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #FFF244 #critical ice cream

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