#and when I saw that criminal minds was in your form I lost my mind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeybrowne · 10 months

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𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 — 𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐑

— summary: you're a temptation all on your own, but how does your professor react when you show up to a meeting in a pretty summer dress?

— pairing: professor!hotch x female reader

— content: basically straight porn; aaron is extremely horny for reader; age gap (reader's age is not specified, but the dynamic implies it); established sexual relationship; forbidden sex/relationship; fem receiving oral; unprotected p in v (don't be like them); cream pie; no use of y/n [4.0k words]

— author's note: i've been rereading this and editing it like crazy over the last week bc i'm so rusty with writing & i wanted to be happy with the final result and i think i am?? who knows. anyway, thank you to @spacecowboyhotch for beta'ing this for me and making me feel better about it. and thank you to those who showed their interest in this fic, your enthusiasm has helped with my confidence tremendously <3

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College is both fulfilling and really confusing.

Confusing in the sense that you often wondered if you were pursuing the right degree.

How can anyone ever know for sure what they want to do for the rest of their life? Is there even a way to know? People change and so do their interests, but asking yourself that question had made your head hurt and stressed you out more than was healthy, so you stopped.

Now, you're only two semesters away from getting your Bachelor's and you've never been more sure of a decision in your life.

Admittedly, this revelation had nothing to do with the fact that you enjoy learning about forensics and how the human mind works, and everything to do with who is teaching you those things.

Professor Hotchner was your criminal psychology professor and was insanely handsome, middle aged, tall, broad, soft spoken—pretty much everything you found attractive in a man.

Your choice to sit in the front row and directly in front of the podium was a spur of the moment decision, but had given him a perfect and unobstructed view of you. He had caught you staring at him on several occasions because of it, and he's sure you've caught him a few times, too.

He just couldn't help himself. The way you looked at him with your pen between your teeth, however innocently, caused inappropriate images to run through his mind daily. Frequently getting lost in his own daydreams of you, imagining what you'd smell like, how your skin would feel beneath his hands. You were the first person he'd seek out, a thrill of excitement rippling up his spine when he saw you already looking at him.

You had become the primary source of his fantasies, nobody else even coming close to you. Your face and body was the one he thought of when he needed release, and it worked every single time.

It made him feel dirty and shameful, but it wasn't enough to get him to stop.

Still, Professor Hotchner would feel a heavy lump form in his throat when you'd stay after the lecture was over, waiting patiently for the rest of your peers to leave before asking him a question. Nervous you somehow knew of his filthy secret because you were always so shy face to face, rarely ever making eye contact with him.

But the profiler in him knew different. You were attracted to him, even if he struggled to understand why, your body language said everything you didn't. Still, it was purely speculation, and the insecure side of him was convinced it was his delusions playing a trick on him.

It wasn't till you scheduled a one-on-one meeting that he received absolute confirmation of his suspicions.

You hadn't gone out of your way to dress more provocatively, which some students have done in the past for a better grade, but you had a new air of confidence he hadn't seen from you before. You were the one to make eye contact first, maintaining it when his brown eyes stared back into yours, challenging you to look away.

Then, you took him completely by surprise.

"Profile me," you had said.

He thought you were joking, hadn't had a student ask him that unless they were skeptical of profiling, but he could tell that wasn't what this was.

So, he gave you exactly what you wanted.

Everything he ever noticed about you, he said, and he couldn't get enough of the way your eyes watched him intently while he did.

It intimidated you, being perceived that greatly by a man like him, but you still relished it. Knowing he chose to pay attention to you in a room full of people, taking the time to learn all those things about you without an incentive, it made you feel powerful.

After that day, you had scheduled more meetings—an excuse to spend more time with him. He didn't mind it, and would take any chance he could to see you on a more personal level. Although, he always kept these meetings strictly what they were meant to be: you getting extra academic help, something that was available to all of his students.

While you were clearly his favorite, he refused to show you favoritism. He expected the same out of you as he did everyone else, and you appreciated that. You didn't want special treatment just because you flirted with each other. That's not why you flirted with him to begin with.

You were genuinely interested, and you didn't want him to question that.

Eventually, however, your relationship had turned sexual. You had kissed him first, when you took a break together after working side by side in his office for a couple hours, grabbing coffee from the nearest coffee shop. His hand pulling you closer by your waist when another man walked in was purely instinct, not to claim possession over you, he's seen what this world is capable of first-hand.

Regardless of his intentions, his touch had awakened something in you, something that made you stand on your toes and kiss him.

It was sudden, unexpected, but absolutely welcomed. Your lips tasted sugary sweet, mixing deliciously with the lingering bitterness on his, and he couldn't stop himself there. He had taken you home after that, worshiping your body like he always dreamed, and fucked you senseless till both of your needs were satiated.

It happened several times after that, always off campus, and Professor Hotchner—now Aaron, which he had insisted you call him when you were alone—had intended to keep it that way. Establishing a no-sex-in-his-office rule for himself to strictly follow.

However, your respective schedules had made seeing each other outside of lecture impossible recently, and he was aching for you.

And the outfit you currently had on only made it worse.

It was different from what you were wearing during the lecture earlier that morning, catching him entirely off guard. The t-shirt and jeans you originally wore had been traded for a sundress that was short enough to tease him, awakening the intense hunger he felt for you.

In your defense, it was midsummer in Virginia, which meant that it felt suffocatingly hot outside.

Even he had exchanged his typical suit and tie for something more manageable in the heat, removing the tie and jacket from his wardrobe for the time being. It seems you had made the proper adjustments to your attire as well.

The only problem is, it was at his expense.

Your dress accentuated every part of your body he loves, the ones he thinks about regularly. He couldn't help but look, his eyes drifting over your figure as you walk into his office.

"This isn't what you were wearing this morning," he notes as you greet him with a brief kiss, like always.

You look down at your outfit, pulling at the hem slightly, shrugging.

"It wasn't as hot this morning."

Aaron hums, feeling your heart thump a little faster against his fingertips as he slowly traces them along the neckline of your dress, admiring the way it fits you. It's gentle and teasing and you do your best to not let it get to you.

"Well, I like it. It looks beautiful on you," he compliments.

"Thank you."

Your voice is soft, and a little bashful; you've never been good at accepting his compliments but you do your best and that's what matters most to him. He wants to be able to tell you what he thinks and you believe him, not brush it off like he's saying it just to say it.

He brings you in for another kiss, not fully satisfied with the one you'd given him before. One of his large hands caresses the back of your neck, your breath shallow as he tugs you closer by your waist. His tongue swipes over your lips, groaning into your mouth when you let him in. It's tender and loving, and way too passionate for the office.

Remembering his rule, Aaron pulls back, and places one last kiss on your cheek before distancing himself.

"In your email you said you aren't confident about the final," he says, changing the subject. "Remind me what's giving you trouble."

The kiss leaves you wanting, mind foggy as you try to make sense of his words and what just happened. He rounds his desk as you gather your thoughts, an amused expression on his face when your brows furrow, an indication that you're struggling to think clearly.

"Yeah I uh, I still don't fully understand structuralism," you finally manage.

"Okay, tell me what you do understand."

Aaron gestures for you to join him on the loveseat in the corner of the room, bringing his laptop with him. You trail behind, setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your textbook. Your dress rides up further when you sit down, exposing more of you to him, and he has to force himself to look away before he takes this meeting to an entirely different direction.

There's a tab sticking out of the pages that you use to make finding the right one you're looking for easier.

Scribbled down words adorn the margins of the textbook, different colored gel pens indicating certain details of your notes that he can't even begin to decipher.

As you begin explaining the topic to the best of your ability, Aaron listens, wanting to give you his full attention. The more you go on, the more he determines that you are overthinking it and second guessing yourself. You understand the material fine, better than he anticipated, even.

He merely scratched the surface during lectures, the topic not something that needs to be discussed in detail in this particular class, but you're thorough—he's come to learn that's a characteristic you possess in all aspects, especially the ones he tends to benefit from.

Still, he lets you continue because he loves hearing you talk, and gradually moves closer, the appropriate and respectable distance between you becoming smaller and smaller.

You waver a few times, but he signals you to keep going.

He simply wanted to be closer; didn't have any ulterior motive. It's easier to touch you from this distance, to lean in and press a chaste kiss to your cheek because he can. It's easier to admire you up close, where he can brush his finger along your jaw while he tells you how beautiful you are.

It's nothing new. Aaron's love language has always been words of affirmation and physical touch, not that you've gotten to the point that you're ready for love confessions, but it's how he expresses his attraction towards you.

However, when a draft in the room gives him a hint of your perfume, everything changes.

His touch is more determined now, intentions set on getting you out of that goddamn dress. One of his hands makes its way to your shoulder, brushing away the hair that covers your neck. He leans in, placing firm kisses along your jaw before drifting down to your pulse point.

You fumble over your words again, his lips soft and perfect and very distracting.

"Sweetheart," Aaron murmurs when you don't continue, the words muffled against your skin, "I don't remember saying you could stop."

His tone is businesslike, a stark contrast to the very unprofessional things he's currently doing to you. You suck in a breath when his hand skates over your thighs, your head instinctively titling to the side to give him better access.

"I can't concentrate," you pout.

"Then just relax and focus on me."

"But—"

Aaron nudges your jaw and captures your lips in a messy kiss, his large fingers digging into the flesh of your hip as he speaks. "You're stressing yourself out, my love. You understand the material fine. Will you let me dote on you for a moment? I've missed you."

You nod, letting out a soft moan when he retreats back to your neck, teeth and tongue working together to suck a mark into your skin. It feels so good that you forget to speak, a sharp squeeze of his hand on your thigh reminding you that he always expects a verbal response.

"I missed you too, but... what if someone hears us?"

He smiles, pleased that you know him so well. The way he's touching and kissing you is a clear indication of his end goal, and he loves that you know it.

"I suppose we'll just have to be quiet, then."

You take a shaky breath when he takes the textbook from your grasp and sets it aside before moving his hand to the seam of your thighs, a request for access. A satisfied hum leaves his lips when you open them without hesitating, and trails his fingers along the inner skin.

His touch is affectionate, not at all rough or taking, and it turns you on like crazy.

"My perfect girl," he murmurs to himself.

The praise and his voice makes you ache for him even more, and his eyes zero in on the tiny wet patch that begins forming on your panties. His mouth waters at the thought of how delectable you're going to taste when he finally gets his tongue on you.

Carefully, Aaron moves off the loveseat, kissing his way down your body as he gets settled on his knees. He pulls you closer to his face and your dress scrunches up around your waist at the action. The deep breath he takes is slow and mere inches from your barely clothed cunt, his broad and rough hands smoothing over the backs of your thighs.

"You smell incredible," he sighs, content with being in this position. "Can I, baby?"

While getting your consent every time is extremely important to Aaron, you know he's not actually asking for your permission. He already knows that you want him, but it's more to hear you beg for it. With the desperate state he's got you in, you easily give him what he wants.

"Please," you whisper. "I wanna feel you, Aaron. Please."

One of his fingers grazes your pussy as he pulls your panties to the side and out of his way, revealing you to him, the cold air in his office sending a chill up your spine.

"You sound so pretty when you beg, but you gotta be quiet for me now, okay?"

The second your meek "yes, sir" hits his ears, his mouth is on you and your back arches at the contact, a heavy groan resounding through him at his first taste of you in weeks. The warm sensation of his tongue sliding through your folds is more than enough to make your body go alight in an instant, your fingers grasping at the loveseat.

You try to watch him as he works, propping yourself up on your elbows as your jaw goes slack and your eyes threaten to shut with how fucking incredible it feels. He's good at this. So good that it's difficult to suppress a loud moan that creeps out your throat, the sound echoing throughout the room.

All he does is look at you, mouth still attached to your pussy, and you murmur a quiet "sorry" in such a pathetic tone it makes his cock twitch.

Aaron readjusts himself to get a better angle, arms circling your legs to keep you in place. He spreads your folds with his fingers to give him the space to focus his tongue on your clit, teeth occasionally coming out from behind his lips to nip at the sensitive bud. You writhe from the pleasure it brings you, your legs threatening to close around his ears and keep him there forever, and he wishes you would.

He'd live happily if he could drink in your taste every waking moment and feel the way your body shivers in response to each of his actions.

"Aaron," you whimper, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

He hums in response, and your eyes practically roll to the back of your head, the vibration stimulating you further.

He slips a finger into you easily; the mixture of your slick and his spit giving him no resistance, so he adds another, curling the digits once he's knuckle deep and grazing a spot in you that has you grinding against his face.

"Oh, fuck," you mewl, one of your hands finding its way to his head, determined to keep him right there.

You can feel the mess you're making—of yourself, of him and the loveseat. Aaron knows he'll never be able to be in this room again without thinking of this moment, of you spread out and at his mercy, hips rolling eagerly to find your climax.

He uses his free hand to palm himself, the ache in his pants nearing unbearably painful.

"Gonna fuck your pretty pussy, baby, but I need you to come first," he encourages.

And the encouragement works like a damn charm.

The coil in your belly is tight, each delicious swirl of his tongue and thrust of his fingers tightens it further. Your body is trembling, legs shaking as you feel like you're about to erupt. He groans into you again, and your toes curl, the hand in his hair tugging and pulling as the power of your orgasm makes you squirm in his hold. Heavy pants leave your lungs, your bottom lip swollen from how hard your teeth have been digging into the flesh to keep yourself quiet.

Aaron keeps pumping his fingers into you till he feels your walls relax.

Once he does, he backs away only enough to get his belt unbuckled and his fly unzipped. He strokes himself to give you time to catch your breath, the friction providing him with enough relief that he can manage to wait for a little longer.

However, you have different plans.

"I need you inside me, please," you beg, and fuck if that sentence isn't the prettiest thing he's ever heard.

The desire in your eyes makes his heart pound wildly against his sternum—how you make him feel is dangerous. The carnal need and desire he has for you overpowers everything, and both hates it and loves it.

Hates it because it consumes him, loves it because it's you.

"How do you want me?" you ask impatiently.

Aaron gets off the ground, attempts to, anyway. His knees are not as young as they used to be, and you can't help but laugh at the face he makes when he struggles.

"Don't be a brat."

He sits down beside you and pats his lap, and you're quick to seat yourself exactly there despite your wobbly legs.

Before doing anything else, you lean into him, pressing the sweetest kisses you can muster to his lips. You can taste yourself on him and you moan into his mouth because of it. His hands smooth over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze as he pushes his hips into yours.

"I love it when you're on top of me like this," he groans.

Your head tilts back, and your mind had been so foggy from pleasure up to this point that you'd forgotten where you were, awareness suddenly coming back to you. Aaron turns your face back to him by your chin when you start looking around, eyes widening when they land on the door.

"Hey, focus on me."

"But—"

He doesn't give you the time to panic and guides himself into you, the breach sudden and breathtaking, filling you completely. You have no choice but to sit flush against his lap, his broad and strong thighs giving you all the support you need.

"It's locked," Aaron assures you, referring to the door. "I locked it when you got here just in case."

You huff a laugh, breathy and tired. "So, this was premeditated?"

"It always is," he grins.

Slowly, you begin to work your hips, after gaining the needed strength to ride him the way he likes. You falter a couple times, a little weak and uncoordinated, but he's there to help you regain your pace, the two of you working effortlessly together.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him carelessly. He teases you by pulling away, smiling at the pout you give him.

It feels oddly intimate and sweet considering that you're both almost completely clothed and fucking on a slightly uncomfortable couch with the possibility of someone knocking on the door at any moment. You know he'd just ignore them, but the sound of your skin hitting his every time you slam down on him and the mingling of your heavy breaths isn't exactly quiet.

Neither of you cares, though, Aaron least of all. Touching himself to the thought of you for the last couple weeks had been good and effective, but not nearly as good as the real thing.

You're so warm and tight, your walls hugging his cock like you were made for him, and part of him is convinced you were. It feels like heaven, and he cherishes it, slipping the straps of your dress down your arms to reveal your bare chest. He groans at the sight and cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs rubbing over your nipples as you continue moving over him.

Everything feels so good that you can't even kiss him back anymore, breathing heavily against his mouth instead. Your legs feel fatigued and they begin to tremble again, whether it's from pleasure or exhaustion, you aren't sure.

"I’m getting close," Aaron warns, his voice taut and rough.

You nod, the coil in your belly forming for the second time. He begins matching your movements, thrusting up as gravity brings you down.

"Oh my— fuck," you gasp, feeling him so deep it takes your breath away.

You come in tandem, your orgasm causing you to squeeze him so tight he can't stop himself from letting go. The groans that come out of his mouth are debauched and loud, and he buries his face into your neck to subdue them. It makes you pulse around his cock, pulling out more of his warm spend.

It's soothing, and you swear you've never experienced anything this sexy in your life.

Your body slumps into his, limbs heavy and tired, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. Aaron rolls his hips a few times, trying to prolong his blissful high. It overstimulates you, and he whispers his apology against the crown of your head, his lips finding their resting place there.

"I can't believe we just had sex in your office," you say after a while.

He laughs, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. "We weren't ever supposed to, but you looked so beautiful today, I couldn't help myself."

"Hmm," you hum skeptically, "what does that say about how I look every other day?"

Aaron huffs. "Absolutely nothing. It's just been too long since I've had you like this, anything would've gotten me this hard for you."

Your face heats up at his honesty, even the mildest of dirty talk still too much for you, especially where he is concerned. Anything that comes out of his mouth sounds sexy, because his voice fuels your libido like nothing else ever could.

It takes a while before either of you musters the strength to get up, exchanging tired kisses and gentle touches till you do. Your dress is wrinkled and so is his dress shirt, the crotch of his slacks damp and covered in the mixture of your juices and his release.

Luckily, he always keeps a spare change of clothes in his office. A habit born from his days as a profiler.

Unfortunately for you, however, you're stuck looking like an absolute mess.

Aaron does his best to help you straighten up, cleaning your thighs and smoothing out your dress before running his fingers through your hair carefully to somewhat brush it out. It's not the greatest but it does the job. The chime that comes from his phone interrupts him, a reminder of his next lecture and a signal that it's time for you to go.

He makes a mental note to turn on the diffuser and wipe down the couch when he returns.

You leave him with one last kiss, promising to do this again once the semester is over, when he isn't your professor anymore and neither of you has to worry about sneaking around.

It's a promise he hopes you keep.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #professor!hotch #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #.writing

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shiny-jr · 10 months

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🕷 impersonator [ miguel o’hara ]

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Note: It’s literally just a very small Miguel post to get it out of my mind. I’ve been wanting to write something with him for a while now, and I had a totally different draft with a whole story idea that would’ve lasted a few chapters, but ultimately I scrapped the whole idea and just decided to do something small. It ain’t much, but it’s honest work.

There was something wrong about being used to placate an unhinged man who called himself a hero. Maybe it was the passionate look on his anguished face whenever his red gaze was fixated on you, or the despair that seeped into his tone when he whispered sweet-nothings, or it was just your common sense that saw all the blaring red flags, but you knew this was wrong. Miguel may have declared to everyone that he was a good guy, a hero, quite possibly even to the point of deluding himself, but some of his choices were morally questionable, and criminal at best.

The glowing red sticky strings he used to form webs were probably stronger than the thin strand of what was left of his sanity. It must’ve been some sort of last-ditch effort by his fellow spiders to present you to Miguel O’Hara, perhaps to appease his growing anger and extremity. It’s like they had offered you up on a silver platter. You, who was shockingly similar to a loved one he lost in his own dimension. You were the poor pitiful bug caught in a spider’s web, with no hope to escape.

And at first, you hadn’t even realized your fate was sealed, you were already trapped. In your own dimension, he showed up. You knew Miguel, he was a scientist at Alchemax who was a bit of a nerd despite not looking like one, and he played soccer on the weekends. And yet, after months, you finally realized this wasn’t your Miguel.

Your Miguel would gladly partake in back-and-forths where you poked fun at each other, but that stopped and he began to give compliments to you of details he never once noticed before.

Your Miguel would peer at you through the lens of his glasses and smile while resting his head on the table, but he stopped wearing his glasses and instead he stared at you intensely while only smiling whenever your attention turned to him.

Your Miguel had brown eyes that looked like honey in the sun paired nicely with his pleasant smile, but recently his eyes looked almost red at night and when he smiled he displayed fangs.

On top of all this, he seemed to forget certain dates you had planned and sometimes the names of friends and loved ones escaped his memory. The first time this happened, for a split second, you swore you saw his expression drop and his eyes widen as an ominous frown appeared on his face. But when you blinked, his expression was back to normal, a relaxed smile on his lips. He brushed off his mistake and calmly explained that he remembers now, it just slipped his mind for a moment. Was it your imagination seeing that dark expression on his face, or was it real?

What was once fleeting affection with Miguel, like awkward glances where you accidentally made eye contact, or brief and shy kisses on the cheek, also began to change drastically. It all quickly morphed into something more intense. Gazes full of desire that glinted in those dark red eyes, deep kisses that you always stopped on the very point of no return, murmurs of promises to protect you that were said in a strangely solemn tone.

It became clear that something was wrong. The man you once loved wasn’t the same, as if he were a completely different person. This Miguel was not someone to be crossed. You would soon learn that once you confront him and claim to know he wasn’t your Miguel. Well, this Miguel had tried to smoothly integrate himself into your life. However, since that didn’t work, he could resort to other methods. Afterall, as Spider-Man, he had a reputation of being effective and forceful if need be.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #yandere miguel x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader

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aphroditelovesu · 10 months

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would you be interested in writing a jake peralta angsts kinda like jake saves reader form something maybe??? if not possibly a yandere? please and thank youuuu

❝👮‍♂️— lady l: it took a while but it came out! I don't have much practice with angst, but I tried it and I hope you like it. Forgive me for mistakes!

❝tw: anxiety, panic attacks, mention of murder, my poor attempt at angst.

❝👮‍♂️pairing: yandere!jake peralta x female!reader

❝—👮‍♂️word count: +1,6k ❝👮‍♂️tag: @flowercrowns-goodvibes

You were in danger. You were in danger. You were in danger.

Jake's mind was just that, you were in danger and it scared the shit out of him. What had gone wrong? It was supposed to be just a simple undercover mission to catch a powerful drug dealer, but it all ended up going wrong.

What had happened to you?

Jake nearly passed out in panic when Captain Holt told him he'd lost communication with you, a big sign of trouble. You were supposed to be in contact with them all the time, but you stopped communicating and… Now none of them knew what happened to you. Were you alive? Hurt? By God, Jake will kill whoever hurt you, he was sure of it.

''Jakey'' Boyle's voice called to him, Jake looked at his friend and saw the concern on Charles's face. ''We will find her.'' He tried to reassure him, but even Boyle wasn't sure. The chances that you were murdered were high, although you were a well trained detective, there was always the chance, but he would never say that to his best friend. No one would say, everyone knew how obsessed Peralta was with you and knew how he reacted when it came to you.

''We will.'' Jake's voice was serious and full of hate. He was going to find you and he was going to punish the damned criminal who dared to try to hurt you.

Charles nodded and hugged Jake gently who returned the hug, but soon pulled away. ''Holt is trying to locate her and so is Terry. Soon (Y/N) will be with us again.''

Jake nodded calmly and something about that calmness startled Boyle. Why was Jake so calm? He knew his friend and he was scared to ask. Charles was never afraid of his friend, he revered and adored him, but something in Jake's eyes made him afraid. Almost like he was planning something and it wasn't something good.

''I will continue to work on the case. I'm going to visit the crime scene where she disappeared. I need to focus on finding her, because if I don't I am going to freak out.'' Jake finally said more than three words and sat down at his desk, the desk he shared with you. He mumbled something and smiled as he looked at the picture of the two of you together that he had placed next to his computer. You looked so happy.

He tried, he really tried, but he couldn't concentrate. Worry and fear seemed to eat him alive, his heart racing in panic and his mind conjuring up images of what could have happened to you or what you could be having to put up with right now.

Jake cringed as he remembered the gunshots that had echoed through the microphone you had in your ear to keep in touch with the 99.

[..]

You had to come back soon.

Everyone had agreed to that. Jake was freaking out and everyone around him. Nothing seemed to calm him down and the entire police station seemed to be affected by it, hampering the searches.

They all loved you. They were a family and you were a part of it and everyone was worried too.

Captain Holt and Rosa were the calmest ones, or at least they tried to remain calm, but he was also out of their mind with worry. Amy, Terry and Boyle just didn't freak out because they knew it wouldn't help anything, but Jake… Jake looked so distraught that he couldn't eat, drink and couldn't take his face away from the evidence they had found.

After searching the crime scene, they were able to find a few things that could lead to you. Or at least that's what they hoped, but Jake wasn't going to sit around waiting for the lab results.

Time was crucial and he wasn't going to waste it. Not when your life was in danger.

So he made a decision. A decision he knew he could regret for the rest of his life, but it wouldn't matter, not when he had you safe and sound in his arms again.

Jake sighed at the thought of the phone call he had received an hour ago and he felt trapped. The deal he had accepted was dangerous, but that was all for you.

''Jake was sitting at his desk, hunched over it, repeatedly reading the files on the drug dealer who had you. His name was Maximus Rodriguez, a notorious drug lord who had his petty dealers act for him and he had you. Jake clenched his fist in anger at the thought. Fuck.

Maximus was dead and so was his entire operation.

He grabbed his cell phone when it started to ring, an unknown number popping up on the screen. He frowned but accepted the call and a high pitched voice began to speak.

''Detective Peralta. What a pleasure.'' The voice said bored. ''Looking for your sweetheart?''

''Who is it?'' Jake asked irritably.

''You don't need to know my name. Yet. But you can call me Maury. I have information that I believe may be of interest to you.''

''Information?'' Jake was attentive. It was obvious this was about you and he was so desperate he would do anything to get you back.

''I know where your precious (Y/N) is being held and I know who her captors are.'' Maury said and Jake was sure the man was smiling.

''… What do you want in return?''

''Straight to the point? I liked. No big deal, I want you to agree to do a simple job for me in exchange for getting your (Y/N) back. Sounds fair to me.''

''What kind of work?'' Jake questioned suspiciously.

''You'll find out when the time comes. Do you accept?'' Jake mumbled a drawling ''yes''. ''Very good. Now pay attention…''

Jake knew where you were and had informed Holt that he had started to prepare to break in. He was asked how he got to know where you were, but Jake lied saying that the drug dealer's criminal record had hidden and useful information.

Nobody questioned him. They didn't believe it, of course, but Jake's look of despair and hatred was so great that they didn't dare question it further.

The focus was on bringing (Y/N) back. All that mattered now was her and he was willing to do anything to get her back.

[…]

The cops were in place and the SWAT team was preparing to break into the warehouse where (Y/N) was apparently being held. They were preparing for an ambush. It's always good to be prepared for anything and Holt had his detectives ready in case something goes wrong. It was a dangerous rescue mission, but everyone would do their best to retrieve (Y/N).

''We're going to count to 10 and go inside. Get ready.'' Holt said, getting into position.

''Right. Let's get on with it.'' Rosa grumbled and grabbed her gun, bracing herself for the chaos that could ensue.

''1, 2, 3…'' Holt started counting and everyone got into their agreed positions. Jake was by the door with one of the SWAT guys and he was shaking with anxiety and rage. ''…9, 10!''

The door was broken down and the police entered the warehouse. They were prepared for a firefight or something, but none of it came. They looked around and Jake sobbed when he saw you. You were tied to a chair, gagged and looking at them in fear and relief.

''Take a look around.'' Holt commanded and the others obeyed. Jake and he came running to you, pulling the ropes and gag out of your mouth.

As soon as you were released, you found yourself hugged tightly by Jake, who began to shed tears of relief onto your shoulder. ''You're alive…'' He sobbed and looked at your bruised face. Yours lip was a little swollen and there were small cuts on your cheek. Jake kissed your cheek gently, not wanting to aggravate any injuries.

Jake didn't let go of you for the next few minutes, clinging to you and whimpering. You didn't let go either. Finally relieved to see him again. Not when you feared you might never see him again and just the thought of it made you grip tighter.

A team of paramedics arrived to assess you and you were taken to the ambulance, where they treated you. Jake, of course, didn't leave your side, eyeing the paramedics suspiciously. You squeezed his hand gently and he kissed your head.

''I was so scared…'' Jake muttered, squeezing her hand tightly.

''Me too…'' You said, lightly stroking Jake's hand with your loose fingers.

''I'm never going to let you out of my sight again, understand?'' He was scared, very afraid that something like that would happen again and he wouldn't let it. He would hunt down your captors and kill them one by one. You would never be taken from him again.

''I love you.'' He uttered and you smiled, he bent down and placed a light kiss on your lips, very carefully to not hurt you.

''I love you too, you idiot.'' You laughed and laid your head against his shoulder as Jake sat down next to you.

Jake finally felt calm, you were where you belonged, beside him. He would find the bastards who hurt you and they would regret ever being born. He kissed your forehead gently. You were everything to him.

He knew he had to keep his end of the bargain, but he'd think about that later. You were more important and he would deal with the consequences later.

''I won't let anyone hurt you again.'' Jake swore, looking into your eyes deeply and you knew he wasn't lying.

It was a promise. An oath.

#yandere brooklyn nine nine #yandere b99 #yandere brooklyn nine-nine #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #jake peralta #jake peralta x reader #yandere jake peralta #yandere jake peralta x reader #imagine #imagine angst #i mean i have tried

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stxar-pvnk · 2 months

Note

Hey, if it's okay to suggest a prompt I maybe had one? Saw Angst and fluff are okay so I would go with fluff for this one. Just a cute scenario that came to me. It's the trope of Tony wanting the kid to call him Tony and not Mr.Stark. He tries different approaches, how to get a simple "Tony" out of Peter but the teen manages to always sneak past his efforts. At one point Tony is feeling lost, asking the kid if "they aren't there yet", when Peter grows all flustered. Tony is unsure what has the kid stumbling over his words, red in the face when Peter tries explaining that "Mr. Stark" is a special name to him, like he looks up to Tony, he's his idol, Mentor and personal Hero and Mr. Stark might be standard for anyone's else but to Peter it just means a lot (sorry this got so long, that wasn't my intention 😅)

This is such a cool idea!! Sorry I made it so late but my brain was stumped on how to make this haha!)

——————————————————————

Peter called criminals lots of names, throwing in witty comebacks as they hurtle bullets or occasionally cars at him.

But the one thing that ticked Tony off was the Mr Stark.

His dad's name was Mr stark. Not him.

Still he couldn't be upset at the kid as, Peter was just a really good kid, his manners were perfect and he always wanted to help people, no wonder he would be respectful to adults names.

A late Wednesday in the lab Peter walks in slinging his bag on the floor and taking a excitable seat next to tony, who was working on his repulsors.

"hey Mr stark! You won't believe what happened at school today! So I was at decathlon practice with MJ and Ned, and flash tried to trip me over but I was like nu-uh and I stepped off and he..maybe accidentally fell back and bumped into a table..but that wasn't my fault! Anyways me and Ned were laughing for-"

Peter paused his rambling at the sight of his mentor staring at him

"Mr stark..?" He asked nervously

"that! Why do you call me that!" Tony jumped up and Peter froze and let out a nervous chuckle, seeming confused.

"that's your name mr stark, getting so old your forgetting?" Peter teased

"oh sassy are we now? You'll lose suit priveliges for a week for that, Mr Parker" tony teased back

"Mr starkkk-"

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!.. mostly."

A loud groan was heard out of the younger scientist.

They went on with lab stuff for an hour and half, Peter seeming to forget all about it and Tony?...

Yeah he had another idea.

Throughout next week Tony tried all sorts of things to get Peter to call him tony, just once!

He tried bribing him...

(It didn't work well, Peter felt so guilty he regifted it to tony.)

He tried asking him, himself to call him tony.

"please, kid-" Tony said staring at the kid who was shovelling Cheerios into his mouth so fast he looked like he was going to choke

"no can do!" Peter said with a big grin as milk dribbled off his chin, Tony rolled his eyes wiping it with a tea towel.

He lastly resorted to a cornering.

"Peter Parker please come to the office with your bag, Peter parker to the office with your bag." The microphone sounded to the schools classroom.

Peter froze.

He had just had a meeting for his attendance which he got away with, barely, with a promise of cleaning the library bookshelves.

Being stuck with Mrs larchen in the library was punishment enough.

What could it be this time?

Peter fretted inside his mind as he walked down the halls and turned left into the office. Strangely enough the only administration lady that was there was Mrs Anderson she was gaping at a guy-MR STARK?!

Peters eyes bulged out of his head

"Mr stark what are you doing here? I don't have a doctor's appointment..or..any appointment..do I?"

He questioned tony just chuckled mischievously signing the exit form for peter and leading him out to the car

He hopped in the back with Peter as happy drove a slow and steady space.

"Mr stark? Why did you pull me out of school? Is this for an internship thing? Because I narrowly escaped suspension and instead have to spend 3 weeks cleaning with Mrs larchen who lemme just say isn't the funniest to be around she once was rumoured to be a troll, I mean that wart on her face kinda looks like one but-"

Tony cut Peter off with a bewildered look

"yeah..uh..no it's..what?" Tony stumbled over his words trying to wrap his head around Peters words. He quickly shook it off though and came back to himself

"no, mr parker we're here to discuss something very different." Tony said firmly

Peter swallowed thickly oh no. It's Mr Parker right now..

Tony must've been thinking the same thing because he gave Peter a knowing look.

oh yeah it's Mr Parker right now. Tony's eyes prevailed.

"so..what is it?" Peter rubbed the back of his head anxious to hear Tonys response.

would he be taking the suit off again? Did I do something wrong? Does he not want me around anymore? Have I disappointed him?

Peters mind filled with overthinking the situation that was until Tony broke the tension

"why do you call me Mr stark, Pete. You know my name's tony."

Peter visibly relaxed sagging against the car seat

"oh good it's just a stupid question" Peter breathed in relief.

Tony's eyes went wide as golf balls "stupid?! I want an answer petey pie, right now" Tony said sternly.

Peter rose a brow and saw his mentor/ father figure was being serious.

"thats who you are to me Mr stark.." Peter swallowed as Tony looked at him to continue.

Peter sighed and began elaborating

"you were my inspiration since I was like 6..and then you were ironman..and then you were my mentor. But your also my idol, Mr stark. Because your an amazing person, a hero, one that struggles but never backs down and has always been there for me Mr stark. Like a dad. Your Mr stark. Because you've made it your own. Your my hero Mr stark"

Peter smiled crookedly and the car went quiet.

Peter waited for a reaction out of Tony, anything, a word, a sound, an expression?

Tony just stared

"oh." He breathed out

It all fell into place in his mind.

The word mr stark had so much more meaning now.

"oh Peter-" tony was cut off by Peter hugging him, it was an awkward position while being strapped in but.. it was special in a whole different way.

"yeah..were There." Tony said stroking Peter's hair softly.

#spiderman #tony stark #peter parker #irondad and spider son #iron man #irondad things #irondad fic #irondad is underated #irondad and spiderson #mcu marvel avengers #marvel mcu #mcu

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meadowscarlet · 2 years

Text

cinnamon girl ━━━ kaz brekker.

pairings: kaz brekker x fem!reader.

summary: everyone had their own dark history that formed them into a foreboding person, and kaz was no exception; he had his fair share of demons, but he was itching to discover about yours and why you loathe the feeling of touch as much as he did but seek solace from him.

warnings: mentions of abuse and brief spoilers of kaz's backstory.

author’s note: i know i said i won't repost my old fics but i'm currently in a writing block and can't post anything so have this plus i missed kaz. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

Ketterdam is not a pleasant and welcoming city. In the filthy, morally repugnant, and dangerous place, battered and wounded individuals on the verge of death, criminals, thieves, and sinners were discovered. The city had corrupted the people with its savagery, where compassion and benevolence are seen as vulnerabilities, and it was irredeemable, tainting the citizens with the city's unrighteousness.

The Crows were no exception. They were also impacted by the darkness that Ketterdam had plagued them with; regardless of how young they were, whether a girl or a boy, they would be painted with the city's malice. Everyone had their own demons, something dreadful had occurred to them—it didn't matter what it was, for the demons and the city had shaped them into a person with a dark heart and a desire for cruelty.

Kaz had personal knowledge with this. He had been altered, like so many others, by the vile city's relentless brutality. With his sinister demeanor, or his lethal cane, where he might break a leg, or change a man's fortune, he was known as Dirtyhands. People feared him, and some had always wondered what had happened to Kaz Brekker to make him so merciless.

Of course, everything remained a mystery since no one dared to cross Kaz, including the Crows who were usually with him. They didn't want to meet death by Brekker's gloved hands just yet, even though they were plainly intrigued about the cunning yet deadly thief. The tragedy that transformed Kaz into the person he is today remained hidden, and others speculated that the city had done nothing to him and that he was born wicked.

They were not corrected by Kaz.

Matthias refers to him as demjin, which means demon in Fjerdan. It didn't bother Kaz; they could call him whatever they wanted; at the very least, they'd know he wasn't someone to tamper with. After all, he had a reputation to uphold, and if people feared him, then so be it. Kaz enjoyed the feeling of authority and domination among fools, and he relished seeing people's terror whenever he was near.

He was certain that he was born with a terribly malevolent nature. That perhaps the shadows had been there all along, seething inside only to become stronger when the feeling of vengeance overwhelmed him after a life full of treachery and violence, after Jordie's death and everything else that had made Kaz miserable before. He had his own darkness, but it was at odds with yours.

How did you wind up with him and the Crows in Ketterdam?

Kaz remembered the day he first met you as if it had been scorched into his mind. Your hair was escaping out of its hair tie, framing your face in a frenetic and wild yet compelling way. You appeared to be running, your movements swift and efficient; you seemed to be young, similar to Kaz's age, yet there was still a youthful simplicity in you, one that he had lost a long time ago, buried in the waters and deepest depths of it.

He might have gone about his business; after all, the last thing on his mind was a girl, agitated and wounded amidst the city of Ketterdam's well-known lack of morality. To Kaz, it's a common sight, one that would even amuse him, but when he first saw you, there was something unusual about you. He didn't feel sorry for you but you seemed to be a fresh face, and Kaz Brekker must know everyone in the city. He needed to keep a watchful eye on everyone, especially any potential enemies.

On a dreary night in Ketterdam, where Kaz could hear the same rattling noises and smell the foul stench of blood and sins outside, he focused instead on the kruge on his table. He was counting everything carefully and silently, and when he heard the familiar faint footsteps, he didn't stop. Kaz didn't look up at the person, instead continuing to stare at the kruge as if it were about to vanish from his grasp.

After a brief pause, he finally looked up.

He wasn't surprised to see her. “Hello, Inej.”

Inej approached Kaz, who was standing behind the table, and gave him a distinctive nod as he looked down and arranged the kruge on the table. Her movements were light and stealthy, like the Wraith she was and Kaz suspected she had something to tell him. Inej only came to his office when she had something important to tell Kaz.

“I’m hoping you're not here to waste my time,” Kaz remarked, his voice flat and uninterested as usual. “Any valuable information?”

“It's about the girl,” Inej started.

Kaz made a gesture of paying attention to her, but he was still gazing down at his money. “Girl?”

He could hear Inej's footsteps getting closer until she was directly across from him. “The one you said I should look into to find out who she is.”

For the first time since Inej went to his office, Kaz looked up with a gleam of pure interest in his dark eyes. “I'm listening.”

“She's a fresh face in the city—I once followed her on her way and discovered she lived near an elderly couple's bakery. She is new here in Ketterdam, and I hadn't heard about her until you told me to keep an eye on her,” Inej stated passively. “But, she is skillful. She was in a frenzy as she realized I was following her, so she became alarmed and attacked me.”

Kaz became increasingly intrigued. “Tell me you didn't kill her.”

Inej's dark eyes were frowning, but behind her mask and the darkness, Kaz couldn't see her entire face. “I didn't and I wouldn't,” she said bluntly, as if the answer was self-evident. “She's brilliant, and despite being new to Ketterdam, she's already proven her potential.”

“What is her name?”

“Y/N L/N.” Inej replied. “Why the sudden interest in her?”

“Always be cautious of new people; they are unaccustomed with the ambience of Ketterdam, and it is wiser to get to know them before they identify themselves,” Kaz counseled. “She may be destructive, but based on what you said, she's entirely harmless.”

Inej shook her head, disbelieving. “Did the word ‘skillful’ escape your notice?”

Kaz wore a vacant smile. “I heard you just fine.”

“Kaz,” she said, her voice warning. “What are your intentions with her?”

“I won't kill her, if that's what you're wondering.”

Inej's eyes glowed with understanding, and Kaz battled the impulse to roll his eyes; why did it take her so long to realize?

Inej remarked, “You're recruiting her in the Dregs.”

Kaz only wore a pleased expression.

You had adjusted well once you were recruited in the Dregs. Kaz remembered how, to his astonishment, a gun greeted his temple when he walked inside a small, cluttered space that he knows you call home. He followed Inej's directions, and your small abode was definitely close to the bakery run by an elderly couple. He could still remember the smell of the lingering pastries even in the middle of a wretched place you called home.

Kaz could see the survival instinct you implemented in your small home where there was collected foods, knives placed on the couch, and a blanket applied as a cover for the windows, and he observed his fascination with your cautiousness. You only let go of the gun after he assured you that he meant no harm and that he had a proposition for you.

That's how it all began. When Inej indicated you were competent, she was right. With the jobs Kaz had given you, you were swift and clever, as well as flawless. Perhaps your accomplishments were a way of repaying Kaz for providing you with a secure place to sleep and have a modest shelter. Not only that, but you'd formed close friendships with the Barrel's employees, particularly the Crows.

You were particularly fond of Inej. The one-time attack and brief fight against one another became a laughing memory as you both reminisced about it whenever you had the opportunity. There was no scorching animosity between you two, and you became inseparable as the days passed. Kaz remembered you blabbering your apologies to Inej after stabbing her in the leg when you realized she was following you. Inej could only chuckle heartily.

Matthias seemed to like you, much to Kaz's great shock, and he could see how you both chatted and spoke about things after each heist. Nina had mentioned that it was mundane at job when it was just her and Inej as the girls, and you were a wonderful addition. She had been pushing Kaz to make you a Crow for a while, but Kaz thought you weren't ready. You were only needed on occasion, not every time they pulled off a job.

You bonded well with Wylan as well, but Kaz sensed your apprehension towards Jesper. Kaz was initially perplexed; Jesper was a naturally cheerful person, and everyone seemed to enjoy his company. Not that you dreaded it, rather Kaz could always recall your laughter whenever Jesper cracked a joke—a laugh he grew terribly fond of.

Jesper, on the other hand, is far too friendly, and Kaz would be lying if he said he didn't notice the dread expression on your face whenever someone came close to you or when Jesper put his elbow on your shoulder.

Kaz began to observe you more intently after seeing that, as if he hadn't already. He believed he had made the right decision in recruiting you. You were special, enthusiastic, and the light of the Barrel. Kaz didn't think you'd fit in well with the city's grim environment at first, and he didn't want you to get further corrupted by the violence.

But Kaz had entirely overlooked and dismissed what had transpired to you and how you had landed up in Ketterdam.

Every day, Kaz's inexplicable fondness for you grew stronger. You and Kaz have a contentious relationship; unlike the rest of the Crows, you didn't necessarily converse and blabber to him, nor did you laugh and tease with him like you did with Inej and Jesper, but there was a wordless distinctive connection between you and Kaz.

Your patience and presence were the attributes he admired the most in you. Kaz wasn't easy to talk to or even tolerate—he's closed off and harsh—but whatever nonsense Saints Inej believed in seemed to bring you to Ketterdam to soften his roughness. In his world of darkness, Kaz didn't believe in miracles or light, but you were there, proving that there is still some good in the world.

Kaz had intended to fire you at that time.

He had questioned Inej about your misfortune and how you ended up in Ketterdam. Inej only shook her head and mumbled something about your past being none of her business. You were shut off as well, but unlike Kaz, you shine with gentleness and radiance, masking whatever darkness you may have. Matthias would grumble under his breath whenever you greeted Kaz in the morning with a big smile.

Matthias had once growled, “The demjin doesn't deserve such pleasant smiles.”

You only shook your head, as delicate and gentle as you were. “Even if it's seldom or undeserved, everyone deserves a little bit of decency.”

That's when Kaz realized you were mistaken. He didn't deserve such remedy from you—you and him had a routine where you'd read a book in his office or simply admire the moon and stars at night, the moonlight shining in your face and making you look stunning. There was no talking, just stillness. Kaz was always busy making plans and would occasionally glance at you.

Your very presence made him feel calmer, and whenever you came to visit his office, which had previously been dark, was replaced with a strange sense of peace. Kaz was hesitant to make you a Crow for a reason, selfish if it was. He didn't want to expose you completely to his enemies, risking you being wounded or worse, killed. He knows you're talented and all, but he let his vanity get the best of him, and to his horror, his worry.

He valued your tranquility, but he also sought your voice—he wanted you to talk excitedly about anything, and if your silence had soothed him, what more could your voice possibly have done? But maybe it was all one-sided, and you're only there with Kaz because you owe him courtesy, and maybe you've never liked him, and you're just doing this benevolence to him to act with integrity.

Kaz wouldn't blame you.

Kaz despised weakness, and he knew he couldn't just have you rot in the streets, no matter how he felt—and he questioned why he was feeling anything at all. He was ruthless, but he didn't want to hurt someone who had been nothing but pleasant and selfless. He didn't want to take away your friendship or the comfort you found in the Barrel.

He did not want you to go.

Kaz was disturbed by the thought.

Everyone was fast asleep, exhausted from the job they had just completed, so they chatted and ate waffles—Nina's suggestion—to calm their anxieties before retiring to their various rooms. Only the Crows were required for the job, and Kaz had assumed you were probably sleeping in your room as he lingered at the table with Jesper, who was elated from the successful completion of the job.

To Kaz's relief, Jesper yawned and stood up, but before walking away, he stopped and beamed even brighter and exclaimed, “Y/N!”

Kaz took a look around and spotted you. You approached them with a relieved expression on your face, a book in your hand, and no indication of drowsiness on your face. You gave a small smile as you met Kaz's gaze, which had not left yours, and then turned to face Jesper.

Jesper shifted his gaze between you and Kaz, then back to you, and Kaz swore he glimpsed a smirk on the Zemeni's face. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he says, “I’m exhausted, goodnight.”

Kaz watched Jesper approaching you and saw him about to hug you before deciding against it and giving you a wink before passing you by. It made Kaz frown.

“Aren't you tired?” you began as you sat across from him, helping yourself to the last waffles.

Kaz noticed this was the start of a conversation—he expected you to be silent as you eat and enjoy each other's company, but you spoke to him, and to his chagrin, a tightrope in his stomach loosened and made him feel relaxed.

“Why aren't you asleep yet?”

Your eyes squinted when the topic shifted, but you shrugged it off. “I wasn't tired.”

“That makes it the both of us.”

Kaz sat back and enjoyed your chuckle. The sounds it made were like a stack of kruge tumbling from his table. He was trying to memorize the cadence of your laugh. He shook his head, hating the thoughts that overwhelm him, but he couldn't help himself—it was only you and him, in the middle of the night, and there was no silence.

“No one got hurt?” you muttered as you bit into your waffle.

“We're fine,” Kaz said, pleased as he saw your eyes brighten. “The job was successful.”

Kaz has a keen ability to read people and can tell you were worried, which could explain why you weren't asleep. You had been waiting for their arrival. Or maybe it was just the other Crows and not him and Kaz didn't realize he was staring until you said spoke.

“I know questions are etched on your face,” you said. implying that he wasn't the only one who can easily read people. “What is it, Kaz?”

He was taking a risk, but he couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging him since the first time he saw you. “How did you end up in Ketterdam?”

You remained silent for a moment, staring down at your waffle, before speaking softly enough for Kaz to mistake it for a faint hum. “I… wanted a way out.”

He almost laughed. “What could be worse than Ketterdam?”

You raised your eyes to Kaz, your expression solemn, the brightness that had warmed him faded. “Believe it or not, Ketterdam has seemed like home to me. It's the closest thing I've ever felt to refuge here, despite the fact that it's brutal. It was the first time I felt secure.”

The first time? Kaz thought.

“The people, too,” you continued, “Inej, Nina, Jesper, Matthias, Wylan. And… you Kaz.”

“What happened to you, Y/N?” Kaz struggled to hide his uneasiness in his tone. “Has anyone ever treated you with such safety and tranquility?”

“No,” you said softly and unsteadily. “You were the first who ever did.”

Kaz noticed tears threatening to spill from your eyes and decided he couldn't bear you being so vulnerable—it wasn't like you. “Talk to me, L/N.”

“When my mother left when I was six, my father became sorrowful, unhappy, and enraged, and he let all of his aggression out on me,” you explained, your voice strained. “He does things to me that no parent should ever do to their child.”

Kaz was filled with a searing and inexplicable rage. But he kept his cool by clutching his cane tightly in his hands, as if striving to maintain composure. He listened intently as you spoke, satisfied that you had put your trust in him to speak about something that had been a lingering memory. He observed you playing with your hands at the table, the waffle long forgotten.

His voice was like a promise of violence. “Why?”

You shrugged, a small, pained smile on your face. “People end up doing things they don't want to do, but sometimes they can't do anything to stop it. My father had no one else to release his frustrations on, so he did it to me, and after that, he'd apologize and hug me while crying.”

Kaz felt compelled to say something to you since you had put your trust in him, and it was only fair that he reciprocated it. “I had never been treated with kindness and tenderness by anyone. You were also the first one who did.”

“I owe you, Kaz.”

“You owe me nothing,” Kaz immediately responded.

“You saved my life,” you said.

Kaz locked his gaze on you, seeking to grasp the details of whatever it was he was enamored of. “I'd do it all over again. I can't guarantee you peace or liberty, but you will never be treated the way your father treated you. I won't let it happen.”

It was then that you both realized that when the day ended and night came, you would seek one other's solace. Two souls that had their own painful memories and had never known serenity before connected and shared it.

1K notes · View notes

milksnake-tea · 9 months

Note

hello!! 💕💕 first of all, I'd like to say CONGRATS ON THE 1K FOLLOWERS!! honestly your work is so amazing you totally deserve it - reading your work is such a pleasure and such an inspiration, keep up the amazing work, Lui!! 💕💕

okok so now for my request:

may I humbly ask for the love of my life Blade with angst dialogue 10... (please be easy on my heart 💔)

anyways, have a lovely day!! I can't wait to see what you write for this event!! :)

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: "I didn't know where else to go." ❀ ˎˊ- 1k followers event ❀ ˎˊ- character: blade ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: angst ofc !! but not too heavy lmao, mentions of blood and injuries, brief mentions of blade's real name ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: AHHHH TY EL !!! UR SO SWEET I KEEP SAYING THIS BUT GRIPS U

Blade muttered a silent curse to himself, clutching at his bleeding arm as he hauled himself through the Xianzhou. Normally, he would've welcomed the injury, but this one didn't seem to be healing anytime soon.

The streets were uncharacteristically silent - something Blade found himself thankful for. It wouldn't do him any good if a civilian, or worse, a Cloud Knight, had found an injured Stellaron Hunter out in the streets.

He hardly paid attention to where his feet were taking him; he didn't care. Anywhere was fine, as long as it was away from the enemy.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of a familiar doorstep. Blade blinked, before cursing himself for his carelessness. He needed to get out of here, quick, before you figured out he was here.

He attempted to walk away, but instantly, his arm flared with pain. Blade hissed, glaring at his arm as if it had done something wrong. His arm did not reply.

He heaved a sigh. He'd love to just leave and treat his wound himself. But where to would he leave? Here, he was on enemy territory. No one would welcome him.

Lost in his turmoil, Blade failed to register the sound of your approaching footsteps. It was when you finally opened the door, and the light of your home cascaded onto him that he stiffened like a deer in headlights.

You looked as young as he remembered you - or rather, as much as he could remember you. Such was the fate of a long-lived species, he mused. Your eyes were wide with surprise, shock, and even fear.

"Yingxing?" you managed out in disbelief.

You took a step back, taking a defensive position. Somewhere, in the depths of Blade's guarded heart, something tightened painfully.

"What are you doing here?"

You tried to sound assertive, but the tremble in your voice gave you away. You were scared, and Blade knew it. He didn't blame you. He was a Stellaron Hunter, after all. Creating fear was part of his job - Kafka was particularly good at it.

Usually, he liked fear. He loved seeing it in the eyes of his enemies, their ego dropping to absolute terror when faced with an opponent far beyond their league.

But with you, something about it made his gut twist, as though something was wrong.

As Blade merely stared at you, conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes, you noticed his arm. His black coat was ripped, revealing the gaping slash wound.

"You're hurt," you stated the obvious. Blade cringed, but nodded.

"I..." he took a deep breath. For a moment, the criminal wanted by the IPC looked nervous, vulnerable. "I didn't know where else to go."

Your gaze dropped. It'd been centuries since you'd last seen Yingxing, or Blade. When you last saw him, he was the blacksmith of the High Cloud Quintet, a hero to the Xianzhou. Now, he was one of its most hated criminals.

If you let him into your home and were caught, you'd surely be arrested for treason.

Blade noticed your conflicted gaze. Despite expecting this result, he couldn't help a pit of disappointment from forming in his stomach. He straightened, hardening his gaze.

"Never mind," he said quietly, turning his back. "I apologize for bothering you."

"Wait."

Your voice stopped him in his tracks. You crossed your arms, wondering to yourself if you were insane, delusional, or perhaps just plain stupid.

"Come in," you sighed, quite honestly disappointed in yourself. "You'll get it infected at this rate."

Very reluctantly and confusedly, Blade followed you into your home. You pointed him to the couch, which he wordlessly sat himself on while you disappeared into another room, presumably to retrieve medical supplies.

His memory is foggy, but there's a sense of familiarity here. He briefly remembered the paintings that are hung up, the ones that you won in a bidding. He recognized the table at which you'd drink tea and discuss your day with him.

Flashes of memory flicker in his mind, but Blade immediately squashed them. He knew that delving into the past would only serve to irritate the mara lying dormant within him.

It wasn't long before you returned, holding a first aid kit and sitting down next to him.

"Can you take off your coat?" you asked. "It'll make things easier."

Blade followed suit, slowly unbuttoning his coat and letting it fall to the couch around him. Bandages were wrapped around his entire torso, while scars of many lives littered his skin like burned reminders.

You reached out a hand - but what for, you didn't know. To console him? To touch his scars, to give him even the slightest of comfort?

But you didn't. No, the relationship you two once had was no more. You no longer had the right to do so.

And so, you opted for bandaging him, cleansing the wound, applying ointment, and wrapping it. You stubbornly kept your eyes on the gash, no matter how much you hated the sight of blood, refusing to look up and meet Blade's burning gaze.

"You can stay the night."

Your mouth moved before your brain did. You almost didn't believe your own words, and immediately you wanted to take them back. Even Blade was shocked by your offer, staring at you as though you've grown a second head.

"But," you quickly added, "you need to be gone by tomorrow morning. I refuse to be arrested because you're found in my home."

Your words stung, but were understandable. Blade closed his eyes, and nodded. You stood up.

"There's an extra blanket and pillows in the closet," you said, packing up the first aid kit. "Goodnight, Yingxing."

"Blade," he corrected quietly. "I lost my right to that name a long time ago."

You were silent for a moment.

"Very well," you finally said. "Goodnight, Blade."

And as you left for your bedroom, leaving the criminal in your living room, you could barely hear the faintest of whispers from your old friend.

"Goodnight, [Name]."

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #blade #hsr blade #blade honkai #honkai blade #blade x reader #x reader #reader insert #y/n #archives 🏵️#event 🏵️

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thornybubbles · 6 months

Text

You Give Love a Bad Name (Yandere Diego x Backstabber Reader)

NOTE: I didn’t write anything for the entire month of October and I feel awful about that. Imagine me, a lover of horrifying JoJo fanfics, not writing anything for the Halloween season! Unforgivable! So I’m gonna try to make up for it all this month starting with this story. Please accept this as part of my apology!

NOTE 2: I don’t know why I keep pairing poor Diego up with criminal Readers. It's an aesthetic, I guess.

Warnings: YANDERE, possessiveness, very dark themes and implications, degradation, violence towards Reader, threats, and other forms of unpleasantness. Also Reader is kind of an asshole. I head canon that yandere Diego is a lot wilder and meaner than regular Diego (not that regular Diego was nice). No smut!

Diego hated himself for letting you into his heart. He wanted to hate you, but he couldn’t muster the proper level of emotion. He loved you. He loved you dearly, and that was the problem. You had somehow wormed your way into his heart. You were so sweet to him the day the two of you met. He’d been injured and you showed up out of nowhere wanting to help him. He shooed you away, his pride and distrust of other people preventing him from accepting help from anyone. You insisted and he bellowed at you, demanding that you leave him alone and mind your own business. You started bawling then, not because of him yelling at you, but because, in your own words,

“I can’t bear to leave you like this! You’re bleeding so badly! Please, please let me help you!”

He sneered at you telling you to just shut up and aid him then. Anything to stop your infernal squalling. How your demeanor changed. You were so happy that you’d been allowed to help him, smiling sweetly as you bandaged his arm. You looked so cute that he couldn't stand to look at your face. You didn’t ask him questions about how he got injured or pry into his personal affairs. Instead you talked about how you’d been a long time fan of his and had followed as many of his achievements as you could. You told him that this was the first time you’d been able to actually watch a race that he was in and you were so excited about that.

Diego was used to having fans that adored and worshiped him, but you were something else. No other fan could point out maneuvers that he used to achieve his victories, but you did. You didn’t just adore him for his achievements alone, you actually studied his methods. You told him that you became a fan because you wanted to watch him succeed. Never in his life had Diego felt so… supported. Others had been lured to him for his looks, charm, and achievements alone, but you seemed drawn by merely adoration of him as a jockey and your joy at watching him win.

It flustered him and he hated that. Diego Brando was the one that flustered, not the one who got flustered.

How dare you make him feel like this…

Thereafter you became an absolute pest. He saw you nearly everywhere he went and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He jokingly accused you of stalking him and the shocked and ashamed look on your face had him laughing. Finally he had made you blush, and it was the loveliest sight he’d ever laid eyes on. You had him, fully and completely, and he found himself looking forward to seeing your excited face in the crowds. Seeing you like that, waving at him from among the rabble, it never failed to have him smiling. You were like a rare jewel shining through piles of trash. Your very presence made him feel uplifted. Even when he wasn’t doing well in the race, you were there to offer your support.

“So what if you lost your place!” you said. “You’re Diego Brando! You’ll do what you have to to regain your spot in the race and gain five more places in the process! Nobody can keep you down!”

Then you’d hold your little fist in the air and cheer and another crack would form in the shield that Diego had put around his heart.

Some time after that, you confessed to Diego. You told him that you’d had a crush on him since you first saw his picture in the newspaper, but meeting him in real life and seeing his feats for yourself, actually getting to speak to him in person… it turned your crush into full blown love. Many women confessed their attraction to him before, but it was always limited to his looks or fame. Other than his mother, no one had ever said they loved him before. It shattered the shield around his heart completely and he went weak in the knees.

He confessed his own love for you that day, unable to hold back his feelings anymore. He’d given up on ever feeling loved again after his mother’s death. He’d given up on love in general. Love was a weakness after all. It made people do foolish things. Made them sloppy and stupid. Love could destroy a person’s life. How he wished that he’d remembered all that later… when you betrayed him.

It happened not long after he obtained Scary Monsters. He was so eager to go and show it to you. He longed to see your shocked face become an expression of amazement and adoration. He wanted to stand in place and watch as you marveled at his new power. He wanted to see the glimmer of tenderness in your eyes as you stroked his face and whispered words of encouragement.

“Look at you, Diego! My God! You’re unstoppable now!” he imagined you saying.

But you weren’t there. He couldn’t find you at the checkpoint. He searched the inns, saloons, shops of the town, but you were nowhere to be seen. He started asking the other racers if they’d seen you. No one seemed to know who he was talking about. Dread filled his heart to bursting. Where were you? Had something happened? Were you ill? Injured? Lost? Had someone done something to you? He’d bloody murder anyone that laid a hand on you!! Desperate, he started asking the townsfolk in hopes that one of them knew something. Fortunately, most of them seemed to know who you were, but the looks they exchanged with each other when Diego mentioned your name told him that something was wrong. Very wrong.

The townsfolk had a very interesting story to tell about you. Con-artist. That was the word they used to describe you. They told him about all the other men that you had warmed up to, how they all found themselves in the same predicament he was in. They told him about how you would seek out wealthy, famous, desirable men and make them fall for you. Then, when they least expected it, you would rob them and leave them with empty wallets and broken hearts. Diego could have massacred the entire town right then and there. He didn’t want to believe that they were talking about you. Not his sweet, innocent darling! Not the angel that was always there for him, uplifting him, encouraging him, loving him… He wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. He ran back to his hotel room and searched through his belongings. It wasn’t true! You wouldn’t do that to him! Not to him!

Half of his money was missing along with the necklace that he’d bought for you. You’d been kind enough, at least, not to rob him completely blind. How had he not noticed that his money bag was lighter than usual? When did you even have time to do this? You must’ve snuck into his room when he was practically tearing the town apart looking for you. You must have been lying in wait, watching for the moment that he left his room so that you could slip in and help yourself to what didn’t belong to you. Diego searched his bag again, hoping beyond hope that he’d just miscounted his cash and misplaced the necklace… and he found the cute little message you’d left for him,

“It’s been fun, Diego, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to head out. No hard feelings, handsome! Don’t be too mad at me!”

It felt like the room had fallen away, leaving him in a black void and the only thing he could see was the letter he clutched in his trembling hands. His mind was racing with all manner of dark and murderous thoughts. It had all been a lie, a cruel, hateful lie! He never meant anything to you at all. He was just another mark for you, wasn’t he? Another notch in your damned belt! He should have known. He should have been able to see through your act. He’d imagined you to be some kind of jewel amongst filth, but he forgot that ALL humans were filth! Well you certainly reminded him of that, didn’t you? Diego’s fury-fogged gaze dropped to the bottom of the letter where you had the utter nerve to leave a mocking lipstick print on the paper.

You sealed your fate with that little stunt.

Diego held the note close to his face and breathed deep of your scent. He hadn’t fully grasped all of Scary Monsters abilities just yet, but he did know how to utilize its heightened sense of smell. He could smell the oil in your lipstick and the hint of your breath still lingering on the paper. You’d had tea instead of coffee that morning. He also caught a whiff of your perfume. It was the one that he’d bought you, imported from France and very expensive. At the time he thought you were worth it…

…Your scent was fresh. Very fresh. You were still in town. You hadn’t left yet.

Diego slammed the door to his hotel room open, startling a young woman with a cart full of food trays. He sniffed at the air frantically, looking for all the world like a wild dog on the hunt. The woman started to speak to him, to ask him if he needed anything, but when he turned his yellow-eyed gaze on her, the words caught in her throat and she could only let out a tiny peep of surprise. His expression was that of a feral beast and he was panting ragged breaths as if he’d been running for miles. He sniffed the air a few more times before rushing past her. The woman pressed herself against the wall, barely avoiding being knocked down as he rushed down the corridor. She stared after him in confusion. She recognized him of course. Most of the hotel girls knew of the famed Diego Brando, but she was fairly certain that his eyes weren’t yellow.

Was it even possible for humans to have yellow eyes?

-----------------

You sighed as you climbed into the stagecoach that was to take you out of town. You felt a little guilty, you had to admit. Diego seemed so enamored with you, much more so than you expected of him. Watching his haughty, bitter demeanor melt into something soft and loving kinda had your heart pounding. It was a shame you just didn’t feel the same way. You would never forget that story he told you about his mother. You really wished that he’d never opened up that much to you. Poor Diego. He would be devastated at your betrayal, no doubt. Knowing that would eat you up inside, but you were sure that the fat stack hidden in your bag would ease your heartache.

“Hello, dearie.”

You were not expecting to ever hear that voice again. You looked up to see Diego staring at you with a blank expression from the seat across from you. When did he get into the stagecoach with you? Was he already in there waiting for you?

“Diego!” you said with a start.

“I got your note,” he said, holding up the note you’d left him and giving you a joyless smile. “I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye in person.”

Your eyes darted around the inside of the coach, looking for anything you could use to bend the situation into your favor. Diego kept talking.

“I was so worried about you, sweetheart.” he said with a mock pout. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. I was afraid something awful happened to you.”

Your eyes fell on the bandages on the sides of his face. Was he injured? It didn’t matter. It was something you could use. Show him sympathy. Make him forget his anger and remember how good your hands felt against the skin of his face. That’s usually all it took for most.

“Diego, what are those bandages for? Did you hurt yourself?” you said, giving him a pitiful look of concern.

You reached up to him, hands coming up to touch the bandages. Your fingers had barely grazed the gauze of each bandage before Diego uttered an inhuman growl,

“Keep your filthy, thieving little rat claws to yourself!”

You pulled your hands back as if he’d tried to bite you, and held your arms to your chest to protect them.

“Diego, please, you don’t understand…” you began but he sharply cut you off.

“Oh, yes. Let’s hear it! Tell me all about what I don’t understand! What sob story will it be this time? Will it be the one about your dying aunt who was like a mother to you? Will it be about how you want to pay off your father’s gambling debts? Or will it be the one about you needing money to send your younger siblings to school? Or maybe it will be the one about buying shoes for orphans? Does that cover everything or will I be getting a new story this time?”

You gave him a pleading look and tried to think of something, anything to tell him. You didn’t know what to do or say. Most of your victims were too busy wallowing in heartbreak to bother confronting you. Diego was the only one that went so far as to track you down. It was unexpected, but it wasn’t a scenario that you were completely unprepared for.

“Floyd, Fleetwood, The Allman Brothers, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young…” he listed off the names of some of your previous victims. “Do those names ring any bells? Including me, was that the full list of your targets or am I missing some?”

He was, actually. He left out Morrison and Dylan, but you weren’t about to correct him. While he fumed you reached into the hidden pocket on the inside of your shawl and grasped the grip of your pistol.

“How did it feel to know that you got one over on the great Diego Brando?” he asked. “Did it give you a little thrill? Did it give you your adrenaline fix? Did you have a laugh or two at my expense?”

“Diego, please. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t needed the money!” You pleaded in a last ditch effort to sway him. “I’ve fallen on hard times!”

“Hard times?” Diego scoffed. “I doubt that you’ve experienced any hardship more serious than deciding what to have for breakfast in the morning!”

His eyes darted to your throat for some reason. He thought he saw movement there but he wasn’t sure. He tried to focus his blurred vision on the glimmer of something around your throat. Ah. You were wearing the necklace he bought for you. He smiled bitterly at the sight of it.

“The necklace looks lovely on you, dear. I was trying to keep it a secret from you until I was ready to give it to you, but it seems you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise. It goes well with that new outfit though. Blue was always your color. Tell me, did you buy that with my money?”

You drew your pistol and aimed it at his chest.

Diego’s instincts kicked in at the sudden movement. He saw something shiny in your hand, but couldn’t quite make out what it was. Though that newly awakened, primitive side of his brain was screaming at him that what you held in your hand was a weapon and he was in danger.

You didn’t want to do it, but he’d cornered you, and cornered rats have a tendency to bite. You barely had time to cock the gun before Diego slapped it out of your hand with a speed you hadn’t expected from a human being. The gun flew out of the window of the coach and you heard it clatter against the ground a moment later. It’s a wonder it hadn’t gone off. The state of your gun was the least of your worries as Diego swung backwards with the same hand that had knocked the gun out of your hand and backhanded you across the face. You let out a yelp of pain and shock and shrank in on yourself, curling up in the seat and shielding your head with your arms. You could feel your hair dangling down in your face. Diego had slapped you so hard that your hair came undone. You could feel blood trickling out of one of your nostrils and you really hoped he hadn’t broken your nose. Your face stung like hell.

You felt yourself being grabbed by the shoulders. You shrieked as Diego yanked you up to face him, pulling you out of your protective ball.

“D-Diego! Please! Don’t h-hurt me!” you begged.

“Hurt you?” Diego said, voice suddenly sounding deep and distorted. “Hurt you? After what you did to me, I should KILL YOU!!”

His voice came out in a roar that shook the coach and vibrated throughout your entire body.

You were crying now, sobbing and pleading for him not to kill you. Diego just stared at you with wild eyes. The color of his eyes seemed off and his pupils looked odd. You don’t know if what you were seeing was the result of the abject terror that Diego had instilled in you or if there was something strange going on with his face. The corners of his mouth seemed to shift under the bandages and stretch up the side of his face far further than they should go. His lips, and patches of skin around his face and neck seemed oddly scaly. And his teeth… Why did they look so long and sharp?

“W-what’s happening to y-you?” you asked.

He didn’t answer your question. He was too busy panting like an animal and being hypnotized by the trickle of blood coming from your nose.

“Does it make you feel accomplished, knowing you humiliated me like that? I can practically hear everyone laughing at me behind my back. How they’ll look at me when I pass by and whisper to each other about how I fell prey to a con-artist and then they’ll snicker like schoolchildren. I won’t allow it. Do you hear? I won’t allow you to add me to your lists of conquests! You won’t place me on your trophy shelf! What’s worse is that you have the nerve to pull a gun on me! Were you thinking of adding murder to your list of crimes? I’ll kill you first! Love, you have no idea how hard it is for me to keep myself from biting your pretty head off…”

You sobbed as you listened to his mad rant and watched at his face and body continued to contort into something monstrous.

“Please don’t kill me…” you sobbed.

Your plea seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in and his eyes lifted from the trail of blood from your nose to your tear-filled eyes.

“I can’t…” he whispered. “I should. Believe me I’m angry enough… but I don’t think I could ever live with myself if I ripped you apart like I want to. And prison’s too good for you. You wouldn’t stay there long anyway. You’d just flutter your lashes at the nearest gullible guard and you’d be back on the streets in no time without ever going to trial. Isn’t that right?”

“Diego… you’re hurting me…” you said in a pained gasp. He was gripping your shoulders so hard.

“Oh poor thing.” He mocked. “Well you hurt me first, you lying, conniving little harlot and, believe me, you’ll pay for it! I’m not letting you go… I still want you. Damn my own foolish heart, I still want you. So you’re going to stick by me just like you used to. But you’re not getting out of your punishment. As much as I love you, I won’t let you get away with what you did to me. I want you at every checkpoint singing my praises louder than ever before. I want you throwing yourself at my feet even if it means kneeling in filth. I want you to do it where everyone can see you, so you can see what it feels like to have everyone laughing at you. You’ll be at my beck and call, my personal servant. If I can’t have you as my lover, then you’ll be my dog! You’ll grovel before me, beg for my attention, and my kindness, and I’ll give you none of it until I think you’ve earned it! That’s right, there will be no more perfumes, jewelry, or fancy clothes for you. From now on you’ll have to earn that, too. I’ll show you exactly what it means to fall on hard times!”

This couldn’t be happening! Not to you! You were supposed to be on your way to the next town and the next poor sap to con. You weren’t supposed to be here now in the clutches of a madman who seemed to be turning into a monster.

“Don’t think for a minute that you can run either.” Diego continued. “Try to escape and I’ll find you. I’ll hunt you down just like I did today, only when I find you again I will kill you! I’ll kill you and anyone you try to get help from.”

“Please, Diego,” you sobbed. “I can pay the money back! I can--!”

“This isn’t about the damned money!” he thundered.

You cringed at his tone, afraid that he’d hit you again.

“I can make it up to you! Please, Diego! I’ll do anything!” you said, hoping beyond hope that he would listen to reason.

Diego grinned revealing rows of jagged, animalistic teeth. You just stared at them, unable to believe what you were seeing.

“Good. Glad to hear it.” he sneered. “You can start by giving me a little kiss.”

You stared warily at his mouth and wondered if he could actually bite off your head, like he’d suggested before.

“Well?” Diego growled, impatient with your hesitation.

You leaned forward and planted your trembling lips against his. The skin there felt rough and leathery. You didn’t have time to think about it as Diego abruptly dragged his tongue across your face, lapping up the blood from your nose. You groaned in disgust and Diego chuckled.

“Again. Kiss me again and this time do it like you bloody mean it!”

You obliged, pressing your lips against his and his mouth all but engulfed you as he turned the simple kiss into a full on make out session. You whimpered pathetically the entire time.

Diego pulled away, his face back to normal.

“Well, that’s a start.” he quipped.

------

Diego walked out of the stable after putting Silver Bullet away. Like clockwork, you shoved your way out of the crowd and landed on your knees at Diego’s feet. He turned, giving you a blank look. You didn’t look up. You didn’t want to see that triumphant look in his eyes. You also didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity on the faces of the crowd. It was bad enough that you could hear the things they were saying about you.

Pathetic.

Desperate.

Filthy.

Annoying.

At every checkpoint, Diego had you playing the part of his pitiful little fan that followed him everywhere he went, desperately seeking his attention. It was beyond humiliating, but you didn’t have a choice in the matter. Diego warned you that if you wanted to eat today, you’d better put on a good show like the obedient little dog you were.

“You were wonderful out there today, Diego!” you said, using the tone you’d always used on him back when you were trying to win him over.

Laughter erupted from the crowd and your face heated up. You lowered your gaze even further so that you were staring at the mud that stained your knees. Diego ignored the crowd and tenderly grasped one of your hands. He pulled you up from the dirt, earning a murmur of adoration.

How kind he was to give that filthy street walker even a modicum of his time.

“You don’t look like you’ve eaten in a while,” He said in a soft tone that had tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

He was horrible. The living definition of a monster. How could anyone buy into this act of fake kindness he was putting on? He used a thumb to wipe the tears from your eyes, smearing some of the caked up dirt on your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, now. Let’s get you fed.”

He pulled you along and you followed behind him, head lowered. Diego had ruined you. The days of holding your head high were long over. You would never get your dignity back after this. The only thing that concerned you now is whether or not Diego would let you sleep in a hotel room or stick you in the stables tonight.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #reader insert #yandere jojo #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere diego brando #diego brando x reader #diego brando #yandere steel ball run #steel ball run #jjba part 7 #jjba sbr #i'm sorry if this is bad

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seasidefallenangel · 6 months

Note

can i req 27 w shion from the kiss prompts? tysm!

the speed and haste at which i shot this one to the top of my list

27: kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

having a wanted criminal in your house maybe isn’t the smartest idea, but you’d be insane to pull away from him now. the room is hazy, your lust addled brain doing nothing to help - probably shion’s intentions, knowing him. one of his lithe hands grips your waist as the other gently rests against your neck, his thumb pressing ever so slightly to steal your breath in between the moments his lips aren’t. it’s hard not to desperately grip at his shirt when he rolls his clothed hips against yours, insinuating he wants more but for once not taking it ; instead relishing in his ability to turn you into a pathetic mess.

he pulls away for a fleeting moment, a soft giggle filling the room. your eyes slowly open and try to focus on the beauty in front of you, enraptured by the ethereal sight of your fling. it’s infuriating because he knows what he does to you, but you could never bring yourself to stop it, the inherent intimacy of you on his lap not being lost to either of you but neither wanting to take the leap of admitting it.

“you’re cute when you’re overwhelmed,” his voice rings in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. you have half a mind to push him off the couch but the thought is lost as his lips meet yours once more. it’s so easy to fall victim to his touch, to let yourself go and be molded to his whims. a puppet-master if you ever saw one, leading you to the edge of bliss and back with every touch he gives you and leaves you wanting more.

long fingers grip your cheeks with no actual malice, bringing you back to the present time where a mildly displeased look rests on shion’s features. his legs shift underneath you for a moment before he begins to speak, his finger moving to trace the outline of your mouth, “what’s got you so distracted when i’m right in front of you, hm?”

you’d be loathe to admit how all your thoughts revolve around him to which he takes your silence as a challenge. his hands make quick work to wrap your legs around his waist, a sly smile forming itself on his face.

“let’s make the most of this night, shall we?”

#paradox live x reader #paralive x reader #shion kaida x reader #paralive imagines #paralive scenarios #i want to fuck this man SOOOOOOO BADDDDDD #scenarios #idk if this is en es ef double u or not?/??? mild?????

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arealphrooblem · 10 months

Text

A Favor for a Favor Part 6

Part one here

CW for the fic overall: kissing/fade to black off screen sex, mentions of non-consensual drugging, non-graphic wound care, off screen murder mention

Synopsis:

When Roxanne -- Agent name Rocket -- is back-stabbed by a friend and given a serum that drains her of her powers and leaves her helpless, she has no choice but to turn to the one person she can't trust: Her nemesis -- a politician and king of the underworld. With her powerless and in the palm of his hand, what he decides to do with her is greatly influenced by their chance meeting as teenagers that neither of them have been able to forget.

The Present

His soft footsteps crunched over the gravel path. She didn’t look up from her huddled form on the deck chair. A blanket dropped over her shoulders, smelling powerfully of his soap.

“Did you ever find out why he did it,” she asked softly.

“Will you believe me if I tell you?”

“I don’t know what else to do. You’re all I have right now.”

“It’s terrifying , isn’t it? Having to trust the unknown.”

He sat down on the chair next to her, legs stretched out.

“You are eating this role reversal up, aren’t you?”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t like seeing you this way. I much prefer you obnoxious and sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She snorted at that.

“For someone so active in the Agency, your arrest record is relatively small. The criminals you catch serve community service hours or house arrest or time in mental hospitals and rehab centers more than jail. Why is that?”

She looked up at him finally, brow furrowed. What did that have to do with anything?

“Just answer the question,” he said softly.

“My mom,” she answered. “You know she was a defense attorney. She always told me that the systems we have help a select few and hurt the rest. She saw more people trapped and desperate, people who never stood a chance, than people who were just malicious. I never forgot that. And I never forgot you. You were living proof of that. At least, until you became this.”

She waved a hand over his designer clothes and at the penthouse terrace.

“That’s what he hated,” John told her. “He considered you unfit because you were too soft. Crime would only increase under you because you never made an example of anyone. They didn’t fear you. He acted on his own to solve the problem because the Agency refused to hear his concerns. I won’t get into the particulars of how he discovered my serum. But rest assured it won’t happen again, by him or anyone else.”

“That fucking bastard,” she whispered.

He had been the loudest voice about civilian safety, cleaning up neighborhoods, fighting gang activity. Sometimes it bordered on the insensitive, the oblivious and childish idea of black and white morality. She never thought he would stoop to this.

“He still should have had a trial,” she said, but the bitter part of her heart didn’t believe it anymore.

“I can’t have anyone else knowing what I created. I don’t feel guilty about it.”

“If it's such a risk, why the hell did you even make it? As far as I know, I’m the first Agent to get hit with it. You could have dismantled the whole Agency. Or sold it to the highest bidder who would do the same.”

“You love your power. I can tell how lost you are without it even without reading your mind. I depend on mine and it protects me. But there are people who have powers that do nothing but cause them misery. People whose powers make them a target everywhere they go. People who can’t hide. I made it for them.”

“Oh.”

It sounded too magnanimous to be true.

“They pay for it,” he assured her. “A favor for a favor.”

That sounded more like him.

“Can it . . .be reversed?” She forced herself to ask it. The answer terrified her.

“Theoretically. I have an antidote. It’s just never been tested before. It will be here tomorrow.”

Hope exploded, bright and overwhelming, in her chest.

“Are you serious?” she squealed. “Tomorrow?”

She launched herself at him, crawling in his lap and wrapping her arms around him, with a force strong enough to push them both back against the chair. He made a small oomph beneath her, arms flailing awkwardly at his side. Her ribs protested painfully but she didn’t care. She pressed her face in the juncture of his shoulder and neck and squeezed him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said grimly. “There’s no guarantee it will work. We may have to experiment with it. You may need to stay at the lab for a while.”

“I don’t care! Oh my God!”

She pulled back enough to look down at him. He could still be lying. It could still be a trick. But she decided to choose hope instead.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his arms came up to cradle her back. His hands bled warm through the thin t-shirt. She realized, suddenly, that she was almost straddling him. Face growing hot, she started to get up when his hands tightened their grip.

His gaze bore into her, dark and inscrutable. John Park was an untrustworthy, manipulative selfish bastard and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss him.

“You should do it,” he whispered.

She didn’t need any further encouragement. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt and she kissed him fiercely. To her surprise, he kissed her back with equal enthusiasm, rising up to meet her. His hands slid up her spine to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair. She nipped at his bottom lip, grinning against his mouth when she felt his fingers tighten in her hair.

For years, Roxanne never saw John without his mask fixed perfectly in place. He was always collected, always in control, always unaffected. He walked into every interaction holding all the cards and he knew it.

Which was why every hitched breath, every beat of his thundering pulse under her roaming fingers, every bold, desperate slide of his tongue, felt like a victory. In the court of desire, it was undeniable proof that he felt something back. Every scrap of her yearning, attraction, fascination with him burned through her blood as pure, unfiltered need and he matched her with equal ferocity.

His hand crept under her shirt (his shirt), the feather light trace of his fingertips up her spine at odds with the sharp, sting of his lips sucking a bruise in her neck. His teeth dragged up the column of her throat to latch around her earlobe. A whine tore from her throat.

“This, Roxanne,” he breathed against her ear, “this is where I want you: fierce and needy and begging for me to touch you.”

He brushed over her ribs like a gentle breeze and she shuddered against him.

“Just like that.”

His other hand caressed up her thigh, stopping just short of its apex, and squeezed. She bit back a protesting groan.

“Can I have you, Roxanne?”

It sounded almost innocent, like she was a lollipop he plucked at the check out register. Except for the ragged edge of his voice, as if his self control was moments from slipping through his grasp. Or for the way his fingers swirled infuriatingly against her inner thigh, just the barest inch away from where she needed them most.

Her fingers clenched in his shirt. She had never been more turned on in her life. “Yes. Yes. Oh my God, please.”

A long time later, as she drifted in and out of sleep against his chest, he whispered something to her.

“What?” she murmured.

“It’s Ji-won,” he repeated.

“What is?”

“My name. My birth name.”

“Ji-Won,” she repeated, smiling sleepily against his chest.

The Past

Halfway through dinner, Roxanne dropped her fork and shouted,

“Oh shit!”

Cornelius jerked to his feet, gaze darting around.

“What?” he demanded, hand wrapped around his steak knife.

“My project,” she shrieked. “I forgot all about it! It’s due tomorrow and it’s almost my bedtime!”

“ . . .okay? What’s the big deal? Can’t you type that out in like thirty seconds?”

He slowly sat back down, glowering at her. She probably gave him a heart attack. And she’d be a little sympathetic to that if she wasn’t harboring her own heart attack right now.

“Yeah but I don’t think fast. I still have to finish the research, organize everything, get all the labels . . .”

The weight of all that work felt crushing. She thought she’d have two days -- not a few hours!

“Then skip school.”

She gasped, horrified. “I’ve never skipped school in my life.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered. “Guess you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

She groaned, fingers threading nervously through her hair.“I’m not a night owl. I’ll crash by midnight, no matter what. I’ve never even seen the ball drop for New Years.”

“How old are you -- five?”

“Shut up, Cornelius. Having a consistent sleep schedule is good for you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Yeah that much is obvious from the raccoon eyes you always have.” She fought the urge to cry. “Dude, I am so screwed. This is worth so much of my grade!”

Silence stretched out taut as a bow string between them. Then Cornelius sighed and stood up with his plate in his hand.

“No you’re not. I’ll help you. Finish your dinner and let's get this over with.”

Roxanne tried her best to hold out, but even with coffee she found herself nodding off just before one AM. Eventually she woke up to a hand gently shaking her shoulder.

“Go to bed,” came Cornelius’s voice softly by her ear.

“I can’t,” she mumbled. “I have to finish . . .the . . .thing.”

“It is finished.”

That jerked her awake. “What?”

She lifted her head off the kitchen table and peered around. While she slept, Cornelius had painstakingly drawn and labeled the majority of her project. It stretched out beautifully on the poster board, looking like it came from a professional.

“You did all that?” she gasped.

“Who else?”

“It’s gorgeous! You should be an artist!”

“You don’t have to pander to me to say thank you,” he said, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“I’m not!” She leaned in to get a closer look at the poster. “This is detailed and so neat. Seriously, you should go to art school!”

He let out a bark of bitter laughter. “Yeah, okay.”

Her smile faded as she straightened back up. “Well, what is your grand plan, Cornelius? If art school is out of the question, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“If I tell you that, you’ll probably become an accessory to a crime.”

“I’m serious,” she said.

“So am I.” He gave her a half-hearted smirk. “Don’t worry about what I’m going to do. Worry about yourself. You clearly need to,” he added, gesturing to the poster board.

“How can I not worry about you?” she demanded. “You know, I could talk to my parents. We have that spare bedroom, we could --”

“Don’t even go there,” he said. “Your family is not going to adopt me or take me or what the fuck ever.”

“Yes, they would! My mom is a defense attorney -- she meets kids like you all the time. And you’re like, what, a senior by now? We could get you enrolled in my school; they have credit recovery programs and --”

He stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrists. The sudden proximity, the pressure of the pads of his thumbs resting right against her pulse, the dark wells of his eyes, caught her voice in her throat.

“It’s very . . .kind of you to think about that,” he said stiltedly. “No one’s ever . . .but it’s not possible. It’s just not possible.

She swallowed, trying to find what would break through his thick, edge-lord, I Have To Suffer skull.

“It’s possible, you know. Lots of things are possible for you. You just have to let yourself believe you can have it.”

“Maybe for you. Not so much for me.”

She yanked her hands from his grip. “And why not? Lots of people who were born poor go to art school! Or law school. Or whatever else they want.”

“It’s not just about being poor, Roxanne.” He looked at her as if she was so painfully naive. “ I’ve already made certain choices, started down certain paths. There is no going back. There is no do-over.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. The world is the way it is regardless.”

“It’s not fair,” she cried, petulant, like a little child.

“Life is never about being fair. Whoever told you that lied.”

“Well, I hate it.” Her throat grew tight, eyes stinging. “You deserve to have everything I have. Better, even. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have it.”

A stray tear fell, and then another. Roxanne bit her lip against them, feeling every bit the naive kindergartner in a PBS cartoon. Her parents never told her the world was fair. They knew it wasn’t. But it felt different, now, when she could see it in front of her, instead of just hearing about a statistic on the news.

Cornelius slowly cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs swiping away a stray tear.

“Go to bed, Roxanne,” he murmured. “And stop worrying so much about me. I will have the future I want. And I will be okay.”

Part 7 here

#heroine x villain #hero x villian #writeblr #enemies to lovers #a favor for a favor #dark villain

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kachuuyaa · 2 years

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Hi! For the event, Karma Akabane!reader x Verlaine from BSD please? And preferably female reader but gender neutral is fine too

a/n: THIS WAS HARD im trying to recollect my memories from stormbringer but i couldnt so heres some offspin verlaine x reader also im so sorry this was so short im afraid i might mischaracterize him

1 yr link!

KARMA!READER X PAUL VERLAINE

After the fiasco with the Flags and Rimbaud, Verlaine has lost almost all sense of himself. He was simply a man coded artificially and artificial he was in character, a man with everything faux that only his feelings remained. The realization, the guilt, and the obsession are what filled him with humanity, yet a brain coded into believing his own thoughts won’t get across Verlaine’s mind so easily. It won’t make him realize it, it would make him deny it. A man filled with desperation creates artificial hope, yet with a man like Verlaine, hope cannot come by to him, nor can he conjure false hope to soothe his insincere heart due to the impurity of a man created artificially. He was a man without humanity, a being without any remorse upon first glance. An obsessed man, filled with determination unhealthy for true people, for people who can differentiate morality and criminality, yet Verlaine allowed his feelings to be a memoir of codes skillfully weaved to make it seem genuine.

It was when Rimbaud passed was when he truly felt emotion. Something incredibly vehement, a heavy burden passed onto him that suffocated him, his throat clamped, a vein snapped, color drowning Verlaine in a sea of humanity incredibly foreign and unwelcome. He couldn’t grasp such feelings in a fleeting world he never thought he would stay in. A man so broken and irreparable until Rimbaud’s death, his partner that he swore he showed no remorse, no regret, yet upon remembering it, his eyes flash with evident guilt that grief could not even compare. His tears cannot fall, it never falls, as Verlaine is unable to. He doesn’t deserve to. If a person such as him felt no remorse and saw himself as the villain in his own story, then he cannot weep, it would be a sin if he does so. He committed heinous crimes that he was unsure even God would forgive, yet inside, his soul weeps.

No longer was his body artificial as he first made it out to be, his mind performing such mundane acts he was coded to do, a personality matching the computers he was written on, inside was a soul of a weeping man, a soul of a human that experienced sorrow and guilt without experiencing genuine glee. Was it fair? Every human he has witnessed had all had smiles on their faces, the contort and the stretch of each facial muscle pull to form a crescent, something Verlaine never tried to do sincerely. His soul weeps, and his skin does too. His artificial skin, soft to the touch, almost inhumane, it cries a soft weep as his soul too.

He was now an executive in the Port Mafia, a title to revel about, but he paid no mind to it, it wasn’t worth celebrating, anyway. That is, until his birthday. He dreaded the day, mostly due to past regrets and tantamount mistakes, however, as the boss explained another addition to the trading department, and the title that they would be possessing, the head of the department. You were only a new recruit, yet you rose to the ranks directly below the Executives, claiming your title as Head of The Trading Route of the Port Mafia. It was no easy achievement, he knew that firsthand, especially when the trading route was the biggest department the Port Mafia has created. Intrigued, he watched from afar, wondering at the experience and expense you may have had to endure to reach such a position. While many other members marveled before your feet, you finally stepped into his life. It was mundane, a simple negotiation for assistance from him, and he accepted, before stating some conditions of his own. You agreed, devising a plan that caters to both of your regulations.

The mission was simple yet your plans were as complex as he understood them. Perhaps this was the factor leading to your quick rise in the mafia. It interested him, as an artificial man, his feelings were genuine to you. It sparked a cord of attentiveness in him just by looking at you. He enjoyed the expression of your lust for blood upon arriving at the destination and the sadistic expression you wore throughout the exchange with the enemy. Giving them no time to react, once you found the visage and its weaknesses, you came in for the kill with no remorse. Upon seeing your partner, a twinge of sadism appeared in your eyes, smiling at him cynically as you led him out. He chuckled softly, telling you that there was another way to make the mission less brutal. You laughed after, shaking your head at his response. He found out you take things too violently, your nature and your personality fueling his assumption.

Of course, you weren’t the head of the Trading Department without unusual quirks. Usually humiliating those you interrogate, manipulating the situation to what benefits you, and smirking when it goes all in your favor. Although, this persona you put on is only shown when you encounter enemies, and rarely your subordinates. You truly were worried for their wellbeing, although not showing it outright, it gives him a belief that someone as fake as him can truly be human. He could not forget how often you skip meetings, however. Upon consulting you for it, using his authority as an executive to bring you to meetings. You could only be persuaded by Verlaine, for some unknown reason, and not even Chuuya himself.

Perhaps that’s why he allowed himself to love again. An emotion so fitting for those who seek meaning for their humanity, yet he thought it was a sin to break himself free from artificiality and cling to the humanity that you helped him feel. Despite how rowdy you are, it was proven that your empathy rivals your own sadism. It was fair, for someone like him, to feel fond for someone like you. Once he saw your eyes swirling with worry while rushing to his side in a fight, he knew he could trust you. An emotion he has never felt, though it was something he was willing to feel despite his dehumanization and despite his obsession in the past. Humanity started to bloom in him, and he was certain its roots would never be corrupted as long as he was with you. You were a prodigy, of sorts, it was apparent once you showcased your abilities to the mafia, the members realized that giving you a position so high never was a mistake.

Even then, you knew, with a man with a past tarnished and a body that weeps for as long as it can remember, would weaken you morally. But you didn’t mind, as your hands had touched the souls of others more times than once. Verlaine was an enigma, something that could only be solved by vision-- by his eyes alone. A glance into his sapphire eyes have you reeling into a spiral of emotions man could not perceive, but can only experience. You could only imagine what he has undergone. A gentle cradle sends you smiling, a smile so genuine Verlaine swore if he blinked, it would be gone. A smile only dreamt of, something he wasn’t expecting you to ever muster. An equally broken pair running the streets of Yokohama, with loved ones gone yet a bond so strong with each other. It was tragic, melancholy, a love so vulnerable befitting for the mafia’s higher-ups to experience. You tease him occasionally, for such a solemn look on his face, almost caught off guard by the love swelling in his eyes when it lands on your form. Verlaine sometimes has to hold you back from performing unprofessional acts.

#黄昏のBAY CITY — EVENT #karma reader #verlaine x reader #paul verlaine x reader #verlaine drabbles #verlaine angst #paul verlaine drabbles #paul verlaine angst #paul verlaine fluff #verlaine fluff #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd angst #bsd headcanons #bsd drabbles #help idk how to feel ab this

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sylvieeee5 · 1 year

Text

it's finally time...

for episode 3!!!

please pardon my lateness- I had family over last week, and then I got the second booster shot and it knocked me out for a couple days!

But we're BACKKKK

And here's a Sonic for your troubles :)

Oh! And if you'd like to support my poor time management skills, I would greatly appreciate if you'd consider donating to my Kofi! haha. i'm. broke

!Warning!! Book/show spoilers ahead!