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cinnamonest · 9 months

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Yandere Profile - Baizhu

When I tell you I adore this man so much, he's so underappreciated and I intend to do my best to do him justice

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

WARNINGS: fem reader, dubcon/noncon, abduction, heavy drugging content, mentions of force feeding against a hunger strike, emotional manipulation of a child, homicide

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

If one had to describe his nature in a singular word, it would be careful.

Incredibly, meticulously careful. There is not one single step taken that has not been perfectly planned out ahead of time, multiple possibilities and issues thought through and accounted for. He would not rush into something of this nature unprepared, and more importantly, his cautiousness comes from another trait he has in abundance: determination. Dedication to seeing a goal through, the firm resolution that he will obtain what he desires, one way or another, with no regard to what measures need to be taken to do so, nor how long it will take.

Not to mention, from a moral perspective, one might be surprised at how indifferent he is to the notion of doing something... unethical. People tend to associate medical professionals with some sort of assumed overall moral good, that someone who dedicates their life to the pursuit of the health of others must be a morally sound person in all areas of life by default.

Well, that is true to an extent. He does want to stay within ethical bounds. He's a generally good and compassionate person, yes, and would never go out of his way to harm anyone for the sake of it. He doesn't bear any malice towards anyone. He will inconvenience or burden himself if it means doing the right thing, when the right thing does not pose any risk to him and his goals. And when it's things he doesn't care too much about, he will relinquish a goal if he realizes it would do harm. So overall, it would be correct to say that he is a morally sound person.

But if violating certain commonly agreed-upon ethical boundaries is necessary to obtain his most fervent desires... well.

He's perfectly well-aware. He's self-aware, for starters, acutely so. He knows exactly what he feels and why, knows it is of abnormal degree, and knows what it will inevitably lead to. He knows that both from a social and ethical standpoint, such things are wrong, that it violates society's conventions and standards (not to mention laws) of what is acceptable behavior by limiting another's freedoms and violating their autonomy. It's not even something he really needs to reflect on. He just notices and becomes aware of an intense emotion, recognizes that emotion and its degree of severity, and draws an immediate logical conclusion as to what will happen depending on how he chooses to handle that emotion and how each course of action is perceived by society. Very simple, really.

It's lamentable — he himself has reflected on this to himself multiple times, often speaking aloud to Changsheng about it behind closed doors.

How troublesome that even I am not immune to these sorts of desires...In the end, the nature and instinct of any given creature is immutable, I suppose.

She rarely has anything to offer other than vague warnings of not letting it spiral out of control, which he assures will not happen.

But oh well. Sure, it's inconvenient, but there is no point in fighting something as innate as one's own feelings in this area of things. Suppressing the emotions would be a waste, so it is much wiser and more efficient to simply accept them, then work through how he intends to handle them.

Cautious, intelligent, perceptive, patient, self-aware, willing to violate ethics, and of an indomitable resolve. This combination of traits is, as you might imagine, more or less one of the worst hands of fate that could be dealt to whoever is targeted by the individual possessing them.

He's an easy person to warm up to, though. Very likable and pleasant. He's not nervous around you or anything, and gives no hint of any ill intent, so you have no reason to suspect anything. Well, he might be just a bit overbearing towards you, just barely noticeably touchy or insistent, but it's nothing that strikes you as indicative of anything you should genuinely be concerned over.

Except for this... aura. While nothing he does really concerns you, there is almost some tangible feeling of something being "off" in a way you can't really articulate nor explain. Regardless, he's been helpful and kind to you, so you brush it off as nothing.

There's also distinct lack of the intense outward expression of emotion usually associated with obsessive lovers and abductors and the like. He's fairly... calm about it all. Perhaps it's an ability stemming from his meticulous and careful planning to eliminate risk, or perhaps it's that he has full and acute self-awareness and accurate perception and understanding of himself and why he feels what he does. Or perhaps it's just his nature. Maybe some combination of all of the above. But even at his worst moments, he has a fairly calm aura about him, nothing seems to bother or upset him too much. He always seems to have calculated for every potential misstep or complication.

He does make an attempt to grow closer to you, though. He's masterful with an ability to orchestrate encounters that genuinely seem to be coincidence, as well as creating inconveniences for you that will lead you to seek him out. If anything, you're usually apologizing for doing so, since he seems so busy... but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand, assures you that it's fine, that he's very happy to be of assistance to you.

This, too, isn't just because he enjoys your presence, but it's also a preparatory measure in and of itself. The more familiar you are with him, the closer you consider yourself to be with him, the easier of a time he'll have handling you when the time inevitably comes that he'll have to take certain courses of action that you may disapprove of, to say the least. He needs all the endearment to you he can get before that happens.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

He's a bit conflicted, can't really decide if he wants to or not. His reluctance isn't really based in morality nor fear; he's not particularly concerned with the former on this matter, and he's fully confident he can successfully pull it off, so no need for nervousness.

Rather, he has the sort of possessive, primal desire to take you all for himself, one that he recognizes as a rash instinct that he needs to carefully ponder, and yet, he realizes that the direct consequence of acting on those desires would cause him to fall out of favor with you. He does love your smiles you give him, how nice you've been to him, your kind words, and he knows that would disappear, only to be replaced with resentment and fear, the moment he takes you away from your life.

He often sighs and mumbles to himself about it. What to do, what to do.... such a frustrating predicament.

Human nature is fascinating, isn't it? He's so consciously aware that this is abnormal and unwell, that he should attempt to resolve it, yet he has no desire to resolve it, only craving to further indulge in it. Yet he wants to be certain that he doesn't take any rash action, that he knows what he's doing through and through.

So, he refrains, at least for some time. However, it's not an attempt to refrain permanently — he knows full well that eventually, he will act on his desires, that it's only a matter of time. But for now, he wants to savor every word, every interaction, every smile, until he knows he will eventually cave in, and those things will be gone. He also reasons that, as aforementioned, by knowing you and being acquainted with you longer under your normal life and circumstances, he can attempt to endear himself to you and grow closer to you in that time, which will, he hopes, ease the transition when you no longer have your freedoms, that you will be more inclined to forgive him and act with empathy for him rather than hostility.

However, should he happen upon a coincidence, the stars align and the pieces all fall into place so perfectly without him having to arrange it, well, he'll certainly take the opportunity that presents itself. You show up complaining of fever or headache or something of that nature, and in your discomfort, it doesn't quite occur to you how unusual and seemingly irrelevant the questions he's asking you are—

I assume you let someone know where you were headed when you left home? ...No? Oh, I see....

You don't by chance have anywhere you'll be expected to be in the next short while, would you?

—and it won't, until it's too late.

Otherwise, should the opportunity not arise on its own, he has to wait. The days pass. A few months in total. But the longing and the ache and the scalding feeling of intense jealousy when he sees you with others, it all becomes too much, and he's forced to put into motion a plan he has now had quite some time to prepare for. Invite you over for "something important" with perfect timing, memorizing your schedule to hopefully ensure that it will happen before you see anyone whom you might inform of where you're going. From there, once he has you inside, it's no effort at all from that point forward.

He has a remarkable ability to give off this calm, nonthreatening aura, combined with a gentle and charming voice that lulls you into a sense of safety, that keeps you from noticing anything strange about what he's doing, even if you do still have that faint sense of unease in the back of your mind. It feels sweet and endearing, really, that you trust him so.

So he goes through with it. Sets up the necessary steps, and executes the plan as predetermined.

And then he tells you about it.

Once it's already too late, of course. You already drank what you were given without any hint of suspicion or distrust, and the way your eyes suddenly widen and your body twitches and slumps forward indicates it's setting in.

That's a regular part of the effect, terribly sorry about that. Oh, don't worry, you're not in any danger. You see, it's just... ah, how should I put it...

Thus he starts to go on elaborating on exactly what he drugged you with, and more importantly, begins explaining exactly why. As in, he openly confesses to being deeply enamored, as he puts it, and that he, likewise in his own words, has—

—some sort of abnormal psychological development that has taken place, although I'm not entirely sure how to best articulate it... regardless, I'm sure you now see that these impulses are inducing problematic behavior, but I'm afraid I have already succumbed to them, unfortunately...

He speaks with this lighthearted tone and whimsical sighs if he's explaining some sort of mild, harmless inconvenience, something of little consequence, all while he's gently going about sitting you back upright, closing your mouth so you stop involuntarily drooling, fixing the cup you spilled over and cleaning up what spilled onto the table. As if it's just a regular, everyday occurrence that he's paying little attention to, and not something of great weight and severity.

What this ultimately means is that you won't actually be leaving anytime soon. While unreasonable on its own, I assume that makes sense in the context of what I've just explained to you.

He turns back towards you, loops his arms under your armpits and hoists you up. There's a slight strained grunt with the physical exertion, but he manages to pick you up without too much trouble. He's still talking while carrying you through the door to the hall, but you don't really hear much it as you begin to succumb to unconsciousness — you only really process one more sentence.

You're awfully trusting, you know. You really ought to be more careful, should someone could have malicious intent...

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

The physical restraints aren't so bad. He keeps a reverse lock on the outside of the front door, and for a little while, a singular chain to your ankle.

After a short while, and a verbal agreement that you will not try anything, he gives you a surprising degree of leniency, gives you the ability to roam to some extent. You can be present at the front where strangers show up to the desk, even. But he'll be watching. He has ways, as he puts it, of knowing what you're doing.

You're not sure what to do. It seems like such an opportunity, and yet, you know that someone as calculated as he is wouldn't give you that opportunity without having a plan he could easily enact if something goes wrong. You know he doesn't really place that much trust in your word through your verbal agreement alone. You want to do something to try and catch someone's attention or something, but there's this gut feeling you have that knows that doing that would be a mistake.

He almost certainly wouldn't harm anyone, you're pretty sure of that being true, but... can you say that with one-hundred percent certainty? If pushed to the point of it being a matter of securing you and your arrangement, preventing someone who saw more than they should from telling, can you really be certain he wouldn't take drastic measures...?

You just don't know. Sure, you're fairly certain of his overall goodness of character... but then again, that's also what you thought when you brushed off the occasional comment or expression from him that used to make you feel some faint sense of alarm or unease — that he was certainly a good person, just a bit eccentric at times. You told yourself back then that he was not the sort of person who would ever do anything bad to anyone. You overestimated his goodness once, and look where that got you. Can you really be sure that someone who would go so far as to do what he's already done, wouldn't hurt or kill someone too, if it came down to it...? And when you think even more about it, doesn't the fact that he's letting you roam so much imply that he is ready to take some other measures if you tried anything?

You just don't know. It's all so uncertain.

And he knows that. You can tell from the soft, content, knowing smile on his face. He knows exactly what thoughts are going through your mind. As long as that doubt is there, hopefully you won't force his hand to make him have to take unsavory measures to ensure your security.

Now if you were to actually successfully, temporarily get away and be caught and brought back again, this is where Baizhu actually has a rather unique reaction, both intriguing and odd compared to how other captors and obsessive lovers would react.

That is, he harbors no resentment or anger over your desires to be free. In fact, provided he caught you early, his reaction is fairly calm. If you managed to get out for a while, he's more visibly panicked when he finds you, but he still manages to calm himself down by the time he brings you back, and doesn't lash out or have any sort of angry outburst.

You still endure some form of punishment — can't just let you get away with it, of course, you'd just be more likely to do it again — but you very quickly notice he doesn't really seem all that angry or anything. At some point, you question him on it, and he's very transparent with his answer.

To tell you the truth, I can't really blame you. You're only following your instincts. It's endearing, in a way.

Being angry, he explains, would be nonsensical, silly, unreasonable. It is only natural for a human to desire autonomy and as few restrictions on themselves as possible. Yet, it is also human nature to want to control others, and to have the object of their desires all to themselves, kept away like a treasure. Both his actions and yours are perfectly natural and reasonable, and since he himself has followed his natural inclinations and instincts, he can't blame you for doing the same and following yours.

And then, he smiles.

But it seems you weren't quite capable of achieving your goal. I suppose you'll just have to hope you have better luck on your next attempt... And I, that there won't be one.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Needless to say, Baizhu is both intelligent and perceptive. Most of the time, he can easily catch you in a lie. More importantly, he knows that given the circumstances, it's obvious you'll be trying to lie to him fairly regularly, so he's on guard about it, making him that much more likely to notice.

But on the rare occasion you do manage to trick him in some way, unless it was something that put you, him, or your situation in genuine danger, he doesn't get too upset. It's just the philosophy he takes, he explains as he shrugs it off— Really, it was foolish of me to not anticipate something like that. Considering the circumstances, I should never have allowed myself to become so unguarded.

Much like with attempts at escape, it's only natural to lie to him to achieve what you want. Likewise, it's only natural for you to receive some form of punishment to deter you from repeating the attempt of deception. Simple. So while he doesn't have a particularly angry or emotional response to it, don't expect to just get away with it either.

He's also very well aware when you manipulate him, acknowledges it even, but similarly to lying, he doesn't seem to mind too much. If anything, as long as it's something mild in nature, he finds it amusing, will chuckle and smile.

Oh, my. I see what you're doing... well, how could I say no when you're being so sweet about it?

That applies only to that which is mild, though. If your request or attempted goal is something that would actually be a risk, he gets far more serious and firm in his approach.

Surely you don't expect me to fall for that, dear. As much as I'd like to fulfill any wish you have, I know better than to take that sort of risk.

It was worth a try. You win some, you lose some.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows that mental stimulation will be important to your ensuring that you remain of sound mind and health for the foreseeable future. There's limits, of course, he's not dumb enough to fall for requests for things that you could use to harm him or break out, but he'll get you what you want, within reason. Especially books, which, as he says, are important for keeping your mind sharp. Those he'll get you even without asking, often bringing you something at random because he thinks you might enjoy its contents.

And hey, he also might as well capitalize on the opportunity. To prevent boredom, you can also help him out. Lots of jars that need organizing and labeling, papers that need to be filled and documented, and so on. Of course, he'll double check to ensure there's no maliciously doing it wrong or anything, but he appreciates it if you're willing and compliant.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

He doesn't like to feel like he's being strict or harsh, but he does set specific guidelines. They're fairly short and simple.

One, you will not attempt to leave, or to rope anyone else into "helping" you.

Two, you will not attempt to cause any harm or damage to himself, his property, or any other residents or visitors you may come into contact with.

Third, you will not attempt to commit any action that intentionally causes, or has a potential to accidentally cause, any danger or harm to yourself.

Violate any of these conditions, and naturally, there will be consequences. All actions have cause and effect, this is just the law of the universe, so it is only fair to enforce a consequence.

He's still pretty forgiving, but if you push his limits, he'll begin enacting those consequences, getting progressively more intense according to the nature of your offense. Confining you to one room, putting you back into an ankle shackle, so on and so on. All done with this self-righteous attitude, telling you how it's for your own benefit that this is done.

But along the same previous lines of reasoning as to why he gives you things to keep you occupied, he knows how important stimulation is to one's psychological well-being, and can just as easily use this against you. If you've been very, very bad, repeated attempts at running away and total defiance, some more intense measures are needed. As with any other ailment, your poor behavior is something he has just the thing to treat with.

The dependency itself, you see, creates bonding. Being forced to rely on another for such basic needs is a process equally humiliating and endearing. The isolation, on the other hand, ensures that your brain associates only him with the positive chemicals and emotions induced by having stimuli to free you from boredom, as well as your needs being met and...

He continues to explain it out to you as he goes. You're still only restrained by one ankle binding, but he doesn't need much in that regard, because he doesn't really have to worry about you moving around in the first place. You can barely move a muscle anyway.

It is quite torturous, isn't it? He almost feels bad for you. You still have some control over your face, and he can see the obvious displeasure in your expression. Unable to move your arms, your legs, anything but the truly important muscular functions like being able to swallow and breathe and the like. Forced to sit there numbly while he brings cups of water and spoonfuls of broth to your mouth, when he wipes your body down in substitution for bathing. Yes, it's clear how much you dislike this, but that's the point, isn't it? This would not have to happen if you could just be a bit more compliant. That wouldn't truly be so hard, would it? He asks in such a patronizing voice. Should you keep your mouth shut and refuse to eat or drink, he'll sigh, give up for the moment and try again later. If this persists after a few days, though, he'll just have to force it, and is not above doing so.

After a few days of this, he'll allow it to wear off, provided you've proven your repentance and promise you're going to be good in the future. An unlikely promise, he realizes, but at least the sentiment counts.

Oh, and he does establish one other rule out of frustration after a certain incident: no taking his glasses and hiding them. Really, it was quite a childish act of spite on your part, and caused him a terrible deal of inconvenience. Best to address it and forbid that from reoccurring...

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rivals are actually something you don't have to worry too much about, in terms of them getting hurt. Baizhu is calculated and reasonable, highly rational, and doesn't take any sort of rash action. And in his mind, as long as you're confined, other people are no longer an issue.

If he feels someone is becoming enough of a threat in the pre-captivity stage of his obsession, being aware of any affection another person has for you or vice versa will simply serve as a catalyst in your abduction, and almost certainly expedite that process, out of urgency to get you away from a perceived threat. Provided you are secured, though, he sees no reason to risk the potential consequences of taking any action against a rival, even if he does harbor resentment for them.

Do not, however, mistake that for instinctive reluctance. It doesn't mean he's the sort of person who would be to afraid to kill someone, or, as you might initially imagine he would be, a person who would feel an innate sense of guilt and wrongness, who is averse to doing anything truly wrong. No, he's more than confident in his ability to successfully pull off a homicide if he were to try, and honestly, he's really not that naturally guilty, that is, in the sense of the sort of person who would be haunted by their actions and feel guilty by instinct. Rather, he has to intentionally hold himself back, tell himself he can't do such a thing no matter how much he wants to, as a matter of dignity.

Homicide would, after all, be more or less entirely antithetical to his universal occupational creed. And while again, he doesn't have an instinct against it, he values his own self-image. He wouldn't feel guilty, but he'd feel disappointed in himself, ashamed to have failed to uphold the idea of sanctity of life and all that. And perhaps even more importantly, such an act is one of petulant spite, if you ask him, and he would be somewhat embarrassed to see himself committing such an act, as if it's an admittance of having let someone else's presence bother him so much. It's a matter, thus, of self-respect and dignity more than anything. Therefore, with you secured away, he'll simply leave them be... although he's not above perhaps a bit of pettiness if the opportunity presents itself, such as being able to mildly inconvenience them somehow without it being connected to him.

That being said, there is a limit to his inhibition for the sake of self-image.

There's one circumstance under which he would see it fit to kill: said rival is looking for you after your disappearance, and he gets the very strong sense that the individual in question knows something they shouldn't, or otherwise seems to have some correct suspicion of what has occurred. He feels their eyes linger on him, this narrow-eyed sort of glare. They ask some rather odd questions. Or perhaps they're foolishly upfront about it, asking if he wouldn't happen to have seen you on the day you were last heard from, an accusatory edge to their tone.

Baizhu is actually quite masterful at keeping calm and maintaining an innocent act in such situations. He doesn't get defensive or hostile, rather, he pretends he just doesn't perceive the subtle tone of accusation. No, I haven't. Terrible thing, that. I hope there's some good news to come out of that situation soon...

But to himself, this confirms that he can't afford to leave this individual undealt with. It's not his fault, really. They forced his hand. Not that he's overjoyed to finally have a reasonable self-justification to kill off the person that has secretly always bothered him more than he lets on, though, no, nothing like that.

His method is perfectly simple, although he may have to wait a while to be able to enact it. But no matter, he can bide his time. Everyone gets sick eventually. They'll come to him. And if it's too urgent, they clearly know far too much and he can't afford to wait, he simply makes an invitation, says he has something he heard or saw that may have some connection to you, and that he wishes to discuss it at once.

If it's the former, and he actually has the chance to drug them, he'll easily take that method, as it's the cleanest and the one he's most adept with. And if he invites them to speak with him, well, he'll still poison their tea and all, but he's not going to get his hopes up that it will actually be consumed, given they have every reason to suspect him. Unfortunately, this may mean he's forced to take more unpleasant means.

As much as he enjoys having them out of the way, it turns out the act of killing someone via means other than poison is actually quite unpleasant. He knows he's not healthy and strong enough at the moment to risk being overpowered if he attempted strangulation or drowning, so he just has to go full-on old fashioned and come up behind them and stab them to death. It's a very brutish act, really. Probably looks very awkward and ugly from an outside perspective. Ugh. Blood on his hands and face and the floor and the table... and now he has to wash this shirt, too... at least it will make a decent addition to the compost for herbs. Sigh.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Baizhu is largely defined by a sort of passive attitude, although it does have its limits. But for the most part, he's very tolerant and patient. Part of it is just a natural disposition, while it's also in part due to years of having dealt with a wide variety of people of varying, and often unpleasant, temperaments, in varying levels of discomfort, and thus not always pleasant to deal with.

This can be to your benefit, in terms of the fact that he's forgiving and somewhat lenient towards you. If you put on a sweet act or a pitiful apologetic act, in particular, after getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to be, it turns out to be a weak spot for him. He knows full well you're doing it intentionally, but in his own words, he just can't bring himself to be too upset when you have that look in your eyes.

While beneficial under most circumstances, his patience and slowness to anger can also be incredibly frustrating if you're the bitter type who tries to make him mad. He knows you're doing exactly that, and he knows that not giving you the reaction you want will infuriate you further, and to be honest, it's rather cute watching you get more and more upset. He can hold out for quite a while like that, as long as your behavior is not something harmful to anyone.

Be careful overusing or abusing his lenience, though, or pushing the boundaries. If you take it a step too far, do something one too many times, that patience meets its end. You can tell exactly when you've crossed that line by the look on his face, narrowed eyes and a stern, unamused expression. He speaks in a firmer tone than usual, and is far more blunt with his words.

That's enough, now. I've been very patient with you. Do not test me further.

The sudden shift and stark difference to his usual demeanor is enough to make you freeze up, and deters you on its own, far more than it would coming from someone who usually speaks in that sort of voice. Should you nonetheless, perhaps out of spite, continue your defiance, it goes a step further.

He's still not the sort of person to show anger very outwardly. Quite the opposite. You know you have truly, royally fucked up because he goes dead silent. Takes a deep breath in, heavy sigh out. Puts down the pen or closes a book or whatever else he's handling with a harsh sound, stands up without a word. You can feel a twisting in your stomach from the aura coming off of him, feel a sort of dreadful tension in the air. When he does finally speak, it's in that same cold, firm voice, as he latches a hand onto your arm and begins to pull you off into another room.

Alright, then. I see you don't intend to make this easy.

You can start to sputter out apologies at that point, but you're not going to get any further words out of him. After all, you've made it clear that words aren't enough to get through to you anyway.

How do they express affection, or attempt to endear themselves to you?

Baizhu is very fond of pet names. Dear. Darling. Love. Even if it embarrasses you, he doesn't really care. It takes a while to get used to, he throws those terms around so casually, it makes you flustered and feel all warm and you're not really sure how to react. But it just comes naturally to him, really, he wasn't initially intending for it to have any effect, although seeing that it does have an effect is quite amusing.

Otherwise, he likes to just spend time with you. The activity doesn't really matter, in fact, you don't even need to be doing the same thing together or anything. You can be doing your own thing while he does his, that's also fine. He just likes being in your vicinity.

Doing things together, though, is very nice. He's fond of doing mundane, routine things with you. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Helping him restock by handing him jars while he puts them in their proper place, or vice versa. The little things, the things that don't require a great deal of thought or exchange of words, yet allow him to bask in your warmth and the bliss of simplicity in life with someone you love.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Baizhu is a fairly humble man. He's also objective, when it comes to such matters. Love you as he does, he still acknowledges your weaknesses and strengths.

Considering a person to be "greater" or "lesser" as a whole, he would argue, is in and of itself a concept that could only be born from a rather simple brain to begin with. Such a generalization fails to consider the complexity of the individual human existence. It is frankly impossible, or at least distasteful and lacking any respectable extent of intelligent thought, to take a single person — who has a unique skillset, physical and mental attributes, experiences, and a whole array of knowledge unique to that one individual — and condense all that complexity into one simple lump sum of "value", them do the same for another, and compare the two. The very notion itself is lacking intelligence, and only a person equally lacking intelligence and rationality, or perhaps simply a person of a neurotically grandiose nature, would try to claim one person is inherently of greater value.

But he can recognize those individual traits. If he's more intelligent than you are, he's very open to acknowledging it. If you're in better physical shape and health than he is, he'll readily admit it.

A person is what they are, they each have their strengths. If you ever get into the subject, he'll likely start philosophizing a bit about human nature — how tragic it is that so many humans obsess over those strengths that they are lacking, and in doing so allow the strengths they possess to go to waste. It is human nature to be discontent with oneself, perhaps—

Ah... am I boring you? Haha. No, no, it's quite alright.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He fully acknowledges before ever taking you to be with him, that doing so will be detrimental any hopes of mutual affection. That's part of the pros and cons he heavily weighs before going through with that. But alas, it's a necessary hurdle to face, part of the price of having you to himself.

For the short term, at least.

He's not unfamiliar with psychology to some extent, seeing as it and his own field are somewhat related. He's very well aware of the known effects that prolonged isolation and exclusion from the rest of society, as well as forced dependence, will have on a person.

So he's not too worried about it. Sure, you may be resentful now, but he can wait. As he always does. Patient, calculated. He knows eventually there will be a shift, and then a decline. First comes anger, then that will die down, then a period of quiet despond, and eventually, as the soundness of mind deteriorates, you will come back to him, feel the same fondness you did before. It's predictable, linear, like clockwork. The human mind and the human body are alike in that way, often following patterns that can be accurately predicted far before actually reaching that stage of progression. Just as he can heal various diseases and ailments by referencing existing knowledge of the body, so he can "fix" your mind and your sentiments by utilizing the knowledge of the mind.

If you start to become exceptionally discontent and disagreeable at any given time, he'll just go with the foolproof method that works every time — total isolation besides him, dark room, no stimulus, bound hand and foot or kept immobile by drugs. A few days of that and you usually crack. The cycle repeats, but he always knows just how to get you back to the way he prefers you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Firstly, as aforementioned, he's almost amusingly transparent. He explains a good deal of what he does to you and exactly why he's doing it, what affects it will have, etc. Most captors would probably keep quiet on exactly how they intend for their actions to induce a bond with you or force you into this or that, but not him.

You're smart, see. He knows you'll probably figure it out anyway. What's the point of withholding it then? Besides, he has a habit of thinking out loud sometimes, so it just comes natural to him to sort of mutter about what he's doing as he goes about his tasks. No point in refraining from that when there's no real reason to.

It's not as if you knowing what he's doing or what the intended effect is will make it any less effective. Maybe you'll develop a bit of spite and fight the effects, thus prolonging the procedure, but it will work all the same in the end anyway. If anything, seeing you resist is rather cute. But you'll succumb nonetheless, so, no need to be secretive.

Another obstacle he faces that others in a similar obsessive predicament do not is, well, himself. Baizhu is forced to take his own health and physical capacity into account to a degree most others never would have to give a passing thought to.

You'd think that his frailness might serve as an advantage to you — and you'd be right, sort of. It would serve as an advantage to you, were he to not account for it.

Unfortunately for you, he does account for it, and goes to great lengths — paranoid measures, even — to ensure you cannot take advantage of it. These chronic problems sometimes follow patterns and cycles, and usually have warning signs before becoming worse, so if he knows he's going to be in a weakened state, he gets much heavier on the restraints, and goes ahead with drugging you into immobility, even though you haven't done anything to deserve what is usually used as a punishment. It's also one of the few times he'll give you a very sincere apology. I know it's unpleasant, but I don't have much of a choice right now. You know it's serious from the lack of his usual warm whimsical voice of his, instead speaking in a very blunt voice laden with discomfort. You suppose you can summon a bit of pity, even if you're frustrated.

You also notice, though, that he's always insistent that he's fine and doesn't need help, even if that's blatantly untrue. The man will sound like he's coughing his lungs up for a minute straight and when you rush over with a concerned look on your face, he forces a chuckle and smiles and waves his hand dismissively. No, no, it's fine, really, that's a regular occurrence, it will die down in a minute or s— and breaks out coughing again.

He doesn't want you to see him in a state he feels looks pathetic. You figure that out eventually, given that he always stands up and goes into another room if the coughing fits get too bad, and how you can tell he's forcing himself to act as if he's not in discomfort or pain when he cares for you during his episodes of poorer condition.

It's something he's very stubborn about too. Usually he's so transparent, but even if you push him, tell him you're well aware he's not well or that you're fine and he should lay down, he continues to downplay it and insist it's not that bad. Just a bit of an ache, he says, or just a bit drowsy. He's relentless on this, no matter how much you push.

There's another unique factor to your captivity, but it doesn't have much to do with Baizhu himself.

See, there's plenty of captors or obsessed lovers you might end up with who have companions or accomplices you would meet, but no other quite so... slithery.

And few quite so cold, either. Changsheng, and the dynamic she takes in relation to the both of you, is a very odd experience.

Firstly, she is of no help to you. You weren't really sure what to expect from a literal talking snake, but you at least figured that if she possessed human thought capacity, she would perhaps possess a sense of empathy as well.

But she never brings up or even really acknowledges the circumstances of your situation. You tried once or twice, but she immediately shuts you down if the conversation is headed in that direction.

These sorts of interpersonal relationships are no business of mine. Know that I have no intention of interference.

While a bit disappointing, you did more or less know that even if she empathized, she wouldn't likely be of much help.

She still takes some getting used to. To be honest, she moves so quietly that for the first little while, she nearly gave you a heart attack on several occasions. You'll be going about some idle task, turn your gaze to look at or reach for something, only to come face-to-face with a snake in very close proximity.

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

N-no, I just... uh...

You are at unease due to my presence?

No! No, I just didn't... see you there...

She has a bit of a sharp tongue and stern nature, and you initially do feel very uneasy, both out of not wanting to upset her as well as some primal instinct telling you that the creature that sits next to you is a dangerous one, even if your conscious mind knows better.

She does feel the need to comment on whatever you're doing, especially when trying to do tasks to help (or just to have something to do) by doing some work in the storerooms.

By what system of organization are you determining the order to place these jars in, hm?

You are not plotting anything nefarious back here by yourself, yes?

You there... these counters are slippery. I instruct you to place me on the surface over there.

At first, you feel bullied and bossed around... but over time you come to realize that despite the criticisms, she's intentionally seeking you out, whenever Baizhu is busy. In fact, whenever he goes off to a house call by himself or to take care of some task, it's usually only a matter of minutes before she shows up.

And truth be told, over time, you do bond. It's an unspoken sort of thing, something you think she might have started doing without consciously realizing she's doing it, but she begins... scaling you, climbing over and on you in the same way she does her contractual companion. The first time, you were reading over some piece of mail slid under the door when you felt a slight weight on your shoulder.

What is that? Oh, I see...

Gradually, it becomes an unspoken norm, a habit that neither of you really acknowledge out loud, but you understand it's a significant milestone in your relationship to each other, whatever that relationship may be defined as. You'll be standing around, working on whatever, when you feel the cold scales brush against your ankle... and now that cold sensation is spiraling up your leg, then your waist, and she positions herself around your shoulders just as she would Baizhu himself. Often commenting on or criticizing whatever you're doing, but sometimes just... relaxing there. She likes being on a person — humans are warm, and while she wouldn't admit it, she just sort of enjoys the company sometimes. If Baizhu is unavailable, you're the next best option. And sometimes, she's merely using you as a means of transportation, telling you to go somewhere else so she can get off, with you being able to get wherever it is faster, especially if it involves stairs.

Or sometimes, you'll be sitting down and she sees no reason to go around you to get where she's going, instead just slithering right over your lap without so much as a word, either to cross over you to get elsewhere, or to rest on you for a while. Then there was that time you were laying on the couch, trying your best to take a nap when you stiffened and nearly felt your heart stop for the umpteenth time when a cold sensation spread as she slithered her way underneath your shirt, curling up into a ball on your stomach.

It is cold outside and there is a draft. You will have to suffice for the moment.

And you also notice that, although it may feel harsh, oftentimes her criticisms and advice are genuinely helpful, either making a task significantly easier or preventing you from potentially hurting yourself in a specific process. You still can't quite let go of a bit of bitterness over her essentially being cooperative in your captivity, but you can't say you don't appreciate her.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's actually quite touchy from the start. It's one of the few things that sort of unsettles you and gives some sense of something being "off" even early on. You're pretty sure you don't know each other well enough for him to have just brushed his fingers over your arm, or to rest his hand on your shoulder, or to clasp your hand between his for a moment as he tells you he'll see to this or that that you've requested. The touches continue to grow more noticeable with time, and they're just so very perfectly lingering for a time that's long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough for you to feel like saying something is a warranted reaction. No, you'd be overreacting if you said anything, right? It's not that bad, it's only for a few seconds, so perfectly timed as if he's knowingly releasing his touch at the right second. Always right on the edge.

Even after that, once you're living with him, he's very casually touchy. He'll run his fingers back and forth over your side or back when you're sitting or lying next to each other, runs his fingers through your scalp, rest an arm over your side or shoulders.

His drive, on the other hand, depends entirely on his current physical condition. Whenever certain chronic problems are flaring up and his health takes a negative turn, as you can imagine, his sex drive also plummets, and he's in too much discomfort to do much movement anyway. Other times, with other problems flaring up, it's particularly frustrating because he does still have a sex drive, but is in too much discomfort to do much... there's some creative ways to work around that, but nonetheless, it's irksome.

He's not particularly reserved about sexuality at all, actually, under the right circumstances. Of course, if asked about his reasoning for this, he acknowledges and understands the cultural sensitivity to such things, and concurs with the topic being something you don't just randomly talk about; that is, he obviously has a firm grasp on what is and isn't appropriate in various settings and doesn't violate conventions of appropriateness. It's just that when it's alone with you, he can talk about the filthiest and most intimate of things without batting an eye or any sign of embarrassment. It's just a natural part of human life, isn't it? If anything, the act is one that should be viewed as beautiful. The poetic sort of people tend to describe it as an ultimate expression of affection between individuals, and if you ask him, that's something that should be treasured.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He views forcing that sort of thing as a behavior that's more or less beneath him. Barbaric, brutish, uncivilized... brute force, that is. Other measures, though, that's another matter. Things like drugs and coercion don't have quite the same vibe of brutality and inhumanity.

Regardless, though, the key factor is your experience. He's the type that can't really enjoy a sexual experience unless you're also clearly enjoying it... the catch being that you obtaining pleasures and enjoyment is not exactly the same thing as outright consent. As long as you cum, it counts as being mutually enjoyed.

He still doesn't really like the thought of having to be physically forceful though, that would make him feel brutish. He'll be sure to sedate you early on. If you're sluggish and barely moving, you can't really offer resistance in the first place... and you're more pliable to his hands, too.

And yes, he will use your pleasure against you, telling you that you clearly don't hate it all that much — just look at what you've done, he says, holding up the fingers coated in your own fluids, pressing them against your tongue, your jaw too weak to prevent him from sliding his fingers in. The mouth says one thing, the body another... but the mouth is capable of lying, the body really isn't, so it's better to trust that which he knows is being honest.

What is intimacy with them like? What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He can't go too hard and fast... well, he sometimes does anyway, his efforts aided by adrenaline, which quickly catches up to him as soon as it's over. He's not particularly rough though, nor does he cause you pain. That's not to say he's entirely without a sadistic side — he does find himself enjoying seeing you in a state of humiliation and anticipation, he just prefers to use pleasures and intense, but not painful, sensations to do so.

Drugging

That is, of course, the one you likely anticipated the most. He's not at all shy about it. Even if you by chance had something consensual going on before being kept captive, he's very open about the desire to experiment on your body by triggering reactions to various substances.

There's a variety of different options to try, lots of combinations and records of the effects different traditional medicines have on the body. This one heightens blood flow and skin sensitivity, this one induced lactation... ah, but his personal preference is this one that gives you a buzzing, euphoric high, accompanied by a voracious appetite for pleasure and orgasms for the next hour or so. He gives you the full history of how ancients in this area used to use it for fertility ceremonial purposes back in the day, explaining it calmly while he ties your hands to the headboard, as you pant and whimper and gasp for breath underneath him. Quite nice, isn't it?

And if you're being less than compliant and agreeable, he can also go the route of sedation. Not entirely, no, he doesn't want you to be fully unconscious, nor forget any of it later. No, what he forces into your mouth makes you more... relaxed. You, after the fact and in an accusatory tone, use the word 'paralyzed,' but he insists that that's an overdramatization. Firstly, it's not the same medication he uses when he actually leaves you fully unable to move, and secondly, you can still sort of move your fingers and toes and head, your muscles are just relaxed and at ease, preventing movement of actual limbs. Your words slur, you feel dizzy and tired, yet you feel every little touch. And see, your abdominal muscles twitched when he runs his fingers over your stomach, so you still have some muscular control... Not to mention, he can still feel your insides spasming and clenching when he curls his fingers inside of you, too.

Oh, and even in general, he makes sure you take a daily dose of tea made from some cocktail of bitter herbs he put together. You're told it's a blend that boosts your metabolism and brain activity and blood circulation, so on and so on, basically like a multi-purpose medicine for overall health. Which is true, it does do all of those things. It just so happens that all of those things also are known to increase sex drive, not to mention a few of them boost hormone production. But that's just a side effect, of course.

Orgasm control

Baizhu has a very specific long-term goal in mind to train you for: getting you to cum on command. It's a fantasy he's entertained in his head quite a few times. No reason to not try to make it a reality, now that he has you here with him. The concept itself is fascinating, the idea that a largely involuntary bodily reaction can be gradually, perfectly conditioned to align with someone else's words. It's such an ultimate power trip and absolute control, the thought is intoxicating.

And of course, being as patient and dedicated as this man has already proven himself to be, you know there's no getting out of it. Hours upon hours of edging, being told not to cum because you can't without his explicitly telling you to. If you do, he pulls his hand away, ruining the orgasm itself, leaving you to whimper and whine, that much more so if, after a few failed attempts, he ends up applying an additional corporeal punishment to try and further the negative association with cumming too soon. If you're good and endure, cum when he tells you to, you'll be likewise rewarded in some way.

Over and over. It goes on for weeks, months, that you have these training sessions, until it's perfected. You yourself are almost shocked by the progress, to realize just how much your body and your subconscious has submitted — it's on one of his better health days, he has the energy and lack of any aches to be able to take you on your hands and knees from behind, and it does feel good, but you're not that close — and yet, when he pulls your upper half up, forces your back into an arch, puts his hand on your throat and tilts his head down to speak directly in your ear and tells you to in the lowest, huskiest voice you've ever heard him speak in to cum for me — and you spasm, it hits you like a punch to the gut with the way the high rushes over your body. It leaves you sputtering and shivering as you collapse onto the bed, wide-eyed in shock. Even he seems a bit surprised too, chuckling as he sees the stunned expression on your face.

Oh, that worked better than even I anticipated...

He can also use orgasms as a form of withdrawal and coercion punishments. Primarily at the times that you're immobilized. You'll begin to grow needy after a time, and that makes you far more compliant. He keeps track of how long it's been since you last got to cum, and makes sure to remind you, just so you know how long you've been missing it, and so you'll be that much more quick to crack under the desperation of need.

Instruction/Obedience

Sometimes, once you've reached a state where he's assured you'll be fairly compliant with him, he gets surprisingly passive when he comes to you for intimacy.

Physically passive, at least. Motions you over with a finger gesture, starts giving you instructions. His voice is always so charming and gentle that it's hard to call it a command, per se, but it's telling you what to do nonetheless. To take this or that off, to straddle his waist, kiss him, put it in your mouth, ride him, touch yourself, on and on as he walks you through each little motion he craves to watch with his own eyes. It gets more specific and lewd with each instruction, starting off with just take your clothes off and eventually progressing to telling you exactly how to touch yourself, rub in circles, curl your fingers, lower yourself down and take him in, roll your hips, bounce on his cock, look him in the eye when you cum, every little thing.

...Eventually, you figure out that he does this on the days where he's not feeling well enough to do the moving himself, yet is still in good enough condition that he still has a sex drive. What a clever adaptation.

Exposure

It's not something he uses often, seeing as there are other people than just the two of you in his residence, but it can make a suitable punishment whenever you're confined to one room, or when everyone else is out. There's something just endearing about seeing you all embarrassed and flustered after being forced into nudity, the way you try desperately to cover yourself with your arms, the way you get all pouty in your humiliation and refuse to look him in the eye as you demand your clothes back.

But this is your choice, he reminds you. If only you would be a bit more cooperative, that wouldn't have to be the case, but that's entirely up to you. Until then, if you want to get out of bed for any reason, you'll just have to walk around as you are. And no, he's not going anywhere. Why would he leave when he has such a nice view? He smiles when you puff your cheeks out and curl your hands into fists out of embarrassed fury. Eventually, you do have to give in, get up and go do whatever it is you need to — and you feel his eyes on you the whole time as you do. When you glare in his direction, he just tilts his head. Oh? Is something the matter?

Such a shameless pervert, you think to yourself. What's worse, you know if you say something, he'll pull some cheesy line about 'examining' you or another. Ugh.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He'd be a bit worried about having any biological children. One one hand, there's a lot to be gained by having something tying you to him on such a deeply emotional level, that would likely cement you in place by making running away that much harder, and suppress your will to leave to begin with, or even accelerate your attachment to him.

At the same time, he has to be realistic. Is he really in any position to be caring for children, a task requiring great stamina? There's also the possibility you could turn children against him, or something like that. And if you were to encounter some sort of gestational health problem and require medical attention, there's no telling whether or not you'd be so stubborn as to to refuse to comply out of fear he'd drug you or something, which could pose very real risks to your well-being if he couldn't get you to work with him. So as nice as the notion seems when pictured in the ideal, there's just too many risks and complications that could take place.

But, there's a solution. One that will easily provide the same psychological attachment, and thereby allow a subtle degree of manipulation.

Once he can be sure you wouldn't try to harm her or anything, he deliberately ensures you and Qiqi spend time with each other. Initially, he tells you to watch over her while she goes about her tasks, help her out a bit. She can be forgetful, you know. Regardless of your sentiment, you can't bring yourself to be cold or rude to what is ultimately, despite the circumstances, still a relatively normal little girl.

Although he does, before leaving you two alone, make sure to give you a very firm warning. Well, the words themselves aren't a a threat, but there's an edge to his tone, when he responds to you raising your eyebrows and asking if he's really allowing this.

It's quite alright. I trust you surely wouldn't try to get a child involved in anything you shouldn't.

The words admittedly do have a bite to them. Would it really be a moral wrong, for you to try and enlist her for help...? It's not like he would ever harm her, but still, you question the sort of psychological damage you'd be risking. There's an inherent feeling of wrongness when you think about putting the kid under a situation that, if you succeeded in getting her to help you, would result in a great deal of distress and confusion and even long-term psychological damage from what would ensue. And when you think about it even further, you realize with a twisting feeling in your gut that if you escaped your captor and got him locked up... what would happen to her...? It's an unpleasant thought, even if you tell yourself you'd make sure she was cared for.

Nonetheless, eventually, on one of your worst and most bitter and resentful days, in a moment of desperation, you do finally crack. It will be fine, you tell yourself. You're doing something good overall. Someone like that shouldn't be responsible for a kid in the first place, right? So if you just get her to run by the law enforcement when she's out herb-gathering...

Listen, I, uh, I need you to do something for me, okay?

Mm...? Okay...

You wait patiently as the hours pass, hoping you look like less of a nervous wreck than you are, hoping you're not actually as jittery as you feel, a whole swarm of emotions of dread and hope and anticipation swirling in your gut. You practically pounce on the poor girl when she comes back through the doors.

Did... did they say anything? Are they coming?

You're met with a blank stare, a long pause.

Uh... who...? Was I supposed to... do something...?

You're pretty sure you gave up either the third or fourth time that happened. Can't really remember which. You start to realize that the reason he seemed so unbothered by the thought of leaving you alone with her wasn't so much his trust in you as much as it was complete assurance there was never any real risk anyway. Sigh.

But you don't hold it against her. You continue watching over her and taking care of her when you can. And the most frustrating part is that you know exactly what the intent is, and yet, you also know it's working.

You find yourself caring more and more about the girl. There was that time she stumbled and fell flat on her face and before you even really processed what you were doing, you'd already rushed over across the room to get her back up. Hey, hey, are you okay...? Or the time everyone else had stepped away for a moment due to some issue or another, leaving the front of the pharmacy unmanned for just a few moments — just enough time to find some big, disgruntled-looking guy looming over the child (who admittedly didn't seem intimidated or anything, just the usual blank stare), going on about some complaint he must have found no one else present to give to, and once more, without really thinking, you found yourself rushing over, picking her up and pulling her away, holding her to your side as if to shield her, finding yourself growing immediately defensive, glaring back. The hell is wrong with you? The owner will be back in just a minute, you'll have to wait. You find yourself a bit surprised at your own sharpness of tongue.

You feel this caring, protective swell in your chest regrading her. You're not so headstrong as to deny to yourself the truth, that you know you've developed emotional attachment towards and even some maternal instinct for the child. That admittedly, you wouldn't want to leave her, and that you'd worry how she'd fare by herself without you, even if you know she was doing fine before you. And most upsettingly, you know that that was exactly what the plan was.

Maybe if it had been one-sided, then, at least you could have shaken the feeling off, but that's not the case either. You make a habit of taking some time to yourself in a specific room every day, a time in the late afternoon when there's always a rush of people coming in, leaving Baizhu himself quite busy, so you get some time to sit and read or whatever task you set yourself to. A routine quickly develops — there's a set of pattering footsteps in the hall, she pokes her head around the door to check if you're there, and quietly shuffles in and sits next to you. Silent, but present. She doesn't say or do anything, she just sits.

Not that that's the only habit that develops. It's one of those situations that progresses subtly yet quickly, so you don't really remember when each starts. You just become aware one day that each little routine or habit has been going on for some time now. That when you walk around the back of the pharmacy going about your day, there's often a little hand clinging to your skirts or pant legs, quietly walking alongside you while latching on. That when you make yourself something to snack on, you get out two plates or bowls and make two helpings of whatever it is without really thinking about it.

She doesn't usually have a lot to say, but it's always pleasant, she's not quite like the stereotypical hyperactive kid, no, she lets you do whatever you're doing and doesn't interrupt much, just seems to want to be around you.

You allow it, of course. You don't have the heart not to, even though you know you shouldn't, that you shouldn't allow the closeness and should push her away because you know it will inevitably lead to exactly what he wants.

You can still pinpoint the exact moment, though, that you knew it was already too late. Sitting there doing some idle task or another in silence when you feel weight leaning over against your side, head resting on your arm, and that soft, monotone voice.

I like having you here.

Dammit. You could physically feel that tug on your heart. If that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, nothing else could top the emotion that gave you. You resign yourself to finally acknowledging that you've already fallen for the scheme.

...Not that she's just an advantageous tool. The flip side disadvantage is that she's also a bit of a liability. He's given her the 'if you tell anyone about her, she'll have to go away forever' talk several times over, and the poor girl always widens her tired eyes and seems very distressed at that notion, but her memory is not exactly known for being that great. There was that time some law enforcement came by to ask about you, saying something about how someone claimed to have seen a young woman in this courtyard area on the night of the disappearance. When your name is spoken, the girl's eyes widen, her lips part and she's just started to raise her arm up to point to the back room and say the words 'oh, I kn—' when she's interrupted by being picked up, hand clamped over her mouth and carried out of the room—

Ah, why don't you go run along—

And unceremoniously set in the hall, the door shut behind.

...Not good for a child to hear something fearful like a disappearance, that's all. Could give her nightmares or something. Surely they understand that...?

Thankfully, the present officials do, just nodding and continuing on, seemingly not taking that as reason to suspect anything. Poor Baizhu, it's one of the few moments he actually nearly lost composure, slumping back into a chair with a heavy sigh of relief as soon as they leave. That surely did not do his heart palpitation issue any favors...

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

One of the most unbearable things is the wait and the dread. It's never immediate. He always says something to the effect of ah, I need some time to think about how to handle this..., which you come to realize is just intentionally dragging out your fearful anticipation. To say he has somewhat of a sadistic side would be a fairly accurate statement, he doesn't really want to cause you physical pain, but he does find himself enjoying watching you squirm and shudder and stiffen, consumed with anticipation, dread and fear, as well as reactions of humiliation and embarrassment. He tries to refrain to some extent, but finds himself indulging in invoking those reactions from you more often than he'd like to admit for the sake of his own perception of his self-control.

It's not particularly painful, though, so you can be grateful for that... although there is a sort of dull ache after a while. Getting the drugs into your system is the only difficult part, as you squirm too much to safely inject you, but refuse to open your mouth, so compliance is a bit of a challenge, forcing him to find some means of holding you still. From there, your body sort of does the punishing for you. It's unlike anything you've ever felt — an unbearable sensation of heat, so intense it leaves sweat rolling down your skin, leaves you panting and shivering and gasping for breath, limbs twitching as they desperately pull against the binds keeping your ankles and wrists taut against the bedposts.

He wouldn't leave you to suffer that alone, of course. Well, maybe for a short while, half an hour or so, to heighten the desperation, but after that, he's right there to help you, affectionately running his hand over the top of your head and speaking to you in a soft voice, all far too gentle to be one and the same as the person responsible for your present state of misery.

What do you need? Tell me how to help you.

You're not compliant at first, of course. You shake your head and clench your jaw and refuse to just make this so much easier on you both. It takes a little while. A little more urging and comforting, running his fingers over your thighs and sides and all the parts of your flesh just sensitive enough to earn a shudder, before you start to melt into his touch, and eventually give in, tell him what you want.

There we go. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Not that the torment ends there, of course. Just giving in to tell him isn't enough.

But you haven't been entirely... appreciative, have you? If I do this for you, it pains me to think it will only go unrecognized like everything else I do for you. If you ask with sincerity, maybe...

Once you've swallowed your pride entirely, then, you can get some semblance of relief. Although that itself becomes torturous with time. The intensity doesn't die down, the unbearable urge is still there, yet each successive orgasm begins to become painful, each erogenous spot on your body becomes sore and hypersensitive to the touch. You loathe to admit you end up in tears by the end of it. No worry, though, he's right there to comfort you through it... and ensure you this doesn't have to happen, but you continue to choose it time and time again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Curvature. It's not really any one specific spot, per se, but he would say it counts. The degree of it doesn't really matter, whether it's slight or pronounced. He likes the way his hands feel running over curved areas like your hips and waist, thighs, shoulders. It's something he can appreciate even when his eyes are closed, late at night, just slowly running his hands over the spots and feeling the bends and dips. There's also, of course, the fact that it provides a nice sort of grip, a spot he can lock his arms or hands around and know you won't be able to pull away easily.

#qqi simultaneously being bzhu's greatest tool but also riskiest liability is amusing to me #yandere genshin impact #baizhu x reader

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anonymous-dentist · 5 months

Text

Day Four- Vampires

Cellbit breaks into the graveyard just after midnight, but it takes until three in the morning for his shovel to hit the coffin he’s looking for.

This particular subject was buried so recently that their headstone hasn’t even been put in place yet, so Cellbit doesn’t know who he’s about to be dealing with. Hopefully, they’re physically fit. (Though, really, he’d just be happy if they have all their body parts after the past few weeks’ failures.)

Cellbit lets out a breath, looks up at the cloudless sky, chucks his shovel out of the grave, and gets to work pulling the coffin above ground. It’s heavier than expected, but that’s a good thing; it just means the body’s intact enough to take apart properly.

Once the coffin’s flat on the pressed, dead grass above, Cellbit takes a seat on it and wipes the sweat off his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. It spreads dirt everywhere, but it’s not like anybody’s around to judge him.

“Okay,” he murmurs, standing and grabbing a surgical mask out of his backpack. He pulls the mask on, pinching it at the nose to keep it from sliding down. He doesn’t bother with gloves this time because he’s got a feeling he’ll be taking the whole body home this time.

“Okay,” he repeats. He looks down at the coffin, lets out an excited breath, shakes the jitters out of his body.

And then he opens the coffin, expecting a corpse but instead finding an abnormally-preserved man with one eye open and a slight bloodstain around his mouth.

Strange.

The man looks alive, is the thing, so Cellbit naturally reaches for his camera to document this absolute freak of a corpse.

The second his back is turned, there’s a wooden creak, and then there’s an audible yawn.

“Buenas noches,” he hears from behind- a deep, theatric voice so unnatural that it makes Cellbit’s bones shake. “Soy Dracula.”

Cellbit spins around and instinctively clicks the button on his camera, taking a photo and activating the flash and sending the man in the coffin screeching out of the coffin and onto the ground in a blinded heap.

The man writhes in pain with his hands clutched over his eyes.

Cellbit carefully puts his camera down. He replaces it with the hunting knife he brings with him for occasions just like this one, and he approaches the man slowly. No witnesses…

But then the man suddenly flips onto his back and pulls out his own knife out of his sleeve, and Cellbit freezes.

In his panic, Cellbit defaults to English: “What are you doing?”

The man answers in kind: “What the fuck are you doing, eh?”

“Biology,” Cellbit simply replies, because it’s true. That’s what he is doing despite what everybody around him thinks.

He levels his knife at the man’s throat. “Why were you buried?”

“Because I needed a nap. Why are you digging up graves? That’s weird, man.”

“And getting buried alive isn’t?”

The man shrugs. “Who says I’m alive.”

He drops his knife, then, and sits up, not flinching whatsoever as Cellbit leans in and digs the point of his knife into his throat. He just smiles and looks Cellbit over appraisingly.

“What?” Cellbit breathes. There’s no way…

“I said, ‘Who says I’m alive’. I’m a vampire. You know..”

The man hooks his pointer fingers in front of his mouth like fangs.

At that, Cellbit drops both his knife and his self onto the ground in disbelief. There’s no fucking way.

The man- the vampire- drops his hands and leans back on them. He yawns.

“Sooo, what are you supposed to be?” he asks. “Graverobber? I haven’t run into one of you guys for forever. I thought the government got rid of you all.”

Cellbit sniffs annoyedly. “I am not a graverobber.”

He’s absolutely sick of being called one, both by his advisor and by his own sister- his literal partners in crime.

“I,” he explains, not for the first time this year, “am a scientist.”

The vampire nods. “Right. A scientist robbing graves, yes.”

“It’s for science!”

“Suuuure.”

“It is!”

Cellbit reaches back and around the side of the coffin. He pulls his backpack closer, and then he pulls his notebook out of it, flipping it open to the first page, which has his proposed thesis neatly printed on it in expensive red ink.

He shows this to the vampire, who reads it aloud: “‘The potential to renew life where death has devoted the body to corruption’.”

He looks up at Cellbit with a frown. “So you’re a mad scientist.”

Cellbit scowls and pulls his notebook away, holding it close to his chest. “I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you are.” The vampire blinks, and then his eyes widen in faint panic. “Wait, were you going to experiment on me?”

“Well, yes, but I can’t anymore. You’re not dead.”

“I mean. I am.”

“Not in the way I would need you to be.”

“Huh.”

Silence, awkward.

Cellbit starts going through his notes looking for the next possible grave, sighing when he sees it’s at a cemetery an hour’s drive away.

“Do you, like… need help?” the vampire asks.

“Hm?”

“Getting another body. There’s gotta be another one around here, right?”

Cellbit looks up from his notes with a confused frown. “What?”

The vampire shrugs, alarmingly casual for someone suggesting stealing a corpse. (Then again, he is a vampire. They aren’t exactly known for their morals.)

“I mean, it’s fair, right?” he asks. “I screwed up your thing. I can get you another body, easy.”

Cellbit blinks a few times, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that there’s a goddamn vampire in front of him, let alone a vampire offering to help him dig up and steal a body.

What the fuck.

Sensing his confusion, the vampire says, “Hey, don’t worry, man. I don’t bite.”

He grins, open-mouthed, and it’s now that Cellbit can see his fangs- long, pointed little things easily capable of ripping a man’s throat out and eating it like it’s licorice.

What the fuck.

But, also? What else to research in the (self-invented) field of scientific necromancy than a literal vampire? This guy had to be turned somehow, and now he’s presumably-immortal and perpetually undead. In other words: alive.

So Cellbit nods, and he stands, offering the vampire a hand up.

“I can’t get the next body until tomorrow,” he warns. “I hope you won’t mind the wait.”

The vampire pulls himself up with Cellbit’s help; he’s wearing a ring, Cellbit notices, on his left hand. Ring finger. Huh.

“Nah, don’t worry,” the vampire says. He winks, squeezes Cellbit’s hand once, and then he lets go. “I’m great at waiting.”

#a.d.'s fics i suppose.#a.d.'s fics i suppose #here’s my third vampire au for j #it’s short but I wanted it out there by the end of today

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disarm-you · 4 days

Text

Can I Show You How Sorry I Am?

Pairing: Frank Castle x F! Bartender reader

Summary: You and Frank had been hooking up for several months and then he dropped off the face of the earth. Six months later, he walks back into your bar and has some explaining to do.

Word Count: 3,520

a/n: This is smut heavy but nothing crazy. It was intended to be a smutty porn with plot one shot but I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, I have some loose ideas on making this into a series. Diving into reader’s background and exploring what a relationship with The Punisher would look like. How a serious relationship for Frank would play out. If you’re interested in more, please let me know!

I’m going on vacation in a few weeks and then I will be cutting down my hours at work. I expect to get more stories out starting this summer! As always, a friendly reminder that reblogs are the best way to support writers on here. XOXO

Looking up from the bar, you see the door swing open just as your coworker yells out last call. Curiosity sparked- today had been abnormally easy. Or maybe it was a good day made better under the lense of a full night’s sleep. The weather had been beautiful all afternoon-clear skies, light wind and full sun. You were able to relax outside and soak up a few rays of sun before work, letting its heat warm up your tired bones.

Work was comfortably steady and a few regulars left you a larger than usual tip today. Life recently threw you a major curveball but you were set on enjoying the sunshine while it’s here, because the moon will always come around again.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shock of seeing Frank step into the room. It had been, what, over six months since you last saw him? Your eyes were staring at him but you couldn’t seem to focus on one spot. They moved from his deep eyes, down to his black hoodie and the combat boots you loved. You noted that he looked a bit thinner than the last time you saw him and he had one hell of a black eye and split lip. Your back stiffened as you tried to process all your emotions. You were pleased to know he was alive but anger and sadness panged across your chest as you thought about the past year.

You two had never made it official but you had been sleeping together frequently enough that his sharp absence from your life hurt. You and Frank met in the same bar that you were currently in. You were new to the city and Frank was a welcome respite from the coldness New York could offer. He would show up several times a week, somehow always on nights you worked. He would walk you home and you two would enjoy a night cap or three with the evening ending in him making you see God. All of the pleasure and none of the drama. But as time and nature would have it, you managed to catch feelings. You tried to keep them buried, telling yourself he didn’t feel the same. You were too afraid of scaring him off, so you never verbalized your feelings.

However, he skipped a Monday night, which was unusual for him. Concern creeped in when he didn’t visit you three shifts in a row. And then weeks passed and you were consumed with worry about his safety and eventually you began to fear the absolute worst.

Inhaling deeply, you manage to look up as Frank approaches you. “Hey Sweetheart” he says softly, while making eye contact with you.

A flaming arrow shot a deadly blow to your heart as soon as you met his puppy dog eyes. The smell of his cologne hit your nostrils and lit a fire low in your belly. Rat fucking bastard.

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes but you weren’t certain if they were from sadness, rage, or pent up sexual frustration with this big, dumb, beautiful man standing in front of you.

Your coworker walked by, noticing the change in your body language. “Is everything ok over here?” He asks, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah, it is. Um, actually, would it be ok if I took off a bit early tonight? I need to deal with something.”

“Of course, but you owe me one! Text me if you need anything.” Winking at you before he walked back to his station.

“Hey Frank. It’s nice to see you.” Deciding to err on the side of kindness. After all, he did show back up to see you. You might as well hear him out, even if you did give him your customer service tone.

“I know it’s been a while and that’s my fault. Can we go back to my place and talk?”

My place. The words echoed in your head. Previously, the two of you only ever hooked up at your apartment and even then he rarely bothered to stay the night.

“Yeah, actually that would be nice. Let me go get my things and I will meet you outside.”

____________

“So, this is your place, eh?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light as you surveyed the area. Noting the bare walls, sparse furniture and dumbbells stuffed in the corner, it was obvious a single man lived here. However, what you couldn’t tell is if this is a new place or if he dropped you for a different fling and was hiding out this past half year.

“Yeah, it is. Want something to drink?”

”Mmmhmm, beer’s good if you got it.”

You two sat on his futon, taking the first sip,

“Why haven’t I seen your place before you?” You ask, nerves building up in your chest as you put off the real questions you wanted to ask him.

Sighing deeply, Frank glances away until finally making eye contact.“When we first met, I knew I wasn’t going to be in town for much longer. I didn’t think that I would be back once I left.”

Frank then sat down his beer, picking up your free hand and cradling it with his. “But I really enjoyed our nights together. And I kept coming around your bar, while I put off the work I needed to do.”

Inhaling sharply you say, ”Listen, I understand that we never had the relationship ‘talk’ but Frank, we were fucking pretty regularly and then you just disappeared. Poof, gone in the blink of an eye. I feel like you at least owed me a see ya later before running off.” You say, taking a large swig of your beer, trying to calm the nerves that swirled in your chest. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your hand is shaking as you sit it back down. Or the tears welling in your eyes again. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear your heart thumping as you anxiously waited for him to respond.

“You’re right Darlin’ and I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you.” He swallowed thickly and you could catch the slightest gruff in his voice. “I thought it would be less painful if I just disappeared. But when I was gone, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I missed your smile and your laugh. I missed the way your hand feels in mine. I missedâ€¦ the feelings you brought up in me. When the job was over I decided to make my home here, maybe even with you.”

Sighing roughly, you move to sit back, trying to process everything that’s happening. Frank adjusts so you can lean into his torso.You close your eyes and he moves his arm around your shoulder, which softened a bit of the emotions flooding you.

“You know I waited around for weeks, hoping you would show up. And when you never did, I thought you had died. The worst part is that I didn’t have anyone to ask. You always come in alone and I didn’t even know your last name so I kept checking local obituaries-”

Frank noticed the panic in your voice and brought his free hand under your chin, tilting your face up and forcing you into eye contact.

“Castle”

”â€¦What?” You ask while your brain is trying to catch up.

“My last name is Castle.” He whispers, bringing his thumb up to trace your lower lip. He pauses, looking at you questioningly.

You had so many questions running through your mind but being back in his arms reminded you of all the nights you spent wrapped up in your bed. The smell of him being so close to you was intoxicating. Before you knew it the rush of hormones hit your brain as you involuntarily move your face towards him, locking lips ever so sweetly.

Despite their injury, his lips are somehow softer than you remember and your heart rate picks up as he moves his hands up to cup your face. Frank is taking his time with you tonight, enjoying the brushing of your lips together as if it was the first time he’s kissed you. The moment is tender and softer than your previous encounters.

All too quickly though he pulls away. Your breath hitches and you involuntarily grab at his sweater, trying to tug him close again.

“Can I show you how sorry I am?” Frank pleaded as his lips hovered over yours.

“Please.” You replied shakily as you clamber into Frank's lap, reveling in the groan it exudes from Frank.

You shiver as he runs his warm hands up your sides and along your back. You kiss him deeply, one hand splayed across his chest while the other gripped his hair tightly, hoping that it was enough to keep him here in front of you.

You slowly grind into his lap as you part your lips against Frank’s. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth while shoving your hips together.

“Do you see what you fucking do to me?” He growled as he thrusted his hips up into yours, grinding his growing bulge against you.

You whined in response as you pulled your shirt over your head. Without hesitating, Frank reached up and deftly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side and gently cupped your beasts with both of his hands.

Your head dizzying with want, you lean forward to kiss Frank, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth as his large hands fondled your breasts.

Breaking away, he kisses down your neck until he reaches your chest. Moving his head to the side, he slips a nipple into his mouth teasing you until you issued your fist moan of the evening.

Chuckling, Frank moves his focus to your other breast and you loudly moan as you feel the buzzing want for him run up and down your body. You so deeply missed the way you just melt into his touch. It had been a lonely six months since Frank’s disappearance, not for lack of desire though.

You were often hit on by men at your job but most of them were a huge turnoff. Drunk and aggressively flirting with you until you declined their offer and getting angry when you wouldn’t give them your number. But you stayed at this job since the extra cash on hand greatly supplemented your primary job.

You did briefly consider yourself spending the night with a gorgeous blonde woman who came into the bar. She had the most beautiful blue eyes that you could get lost in. Except you couldn’t tell if she was flirting with you or if she was just incredibly nice. You were too hesitant to make the first move. That didn’t stop you from thinking about her as you touched yourself that night. But that was last month and you haven’t seen her come back in.

And right now all you were focusing on was Frank and how you don’t think you’ve fully relaxed since he left. You are unabashedly grinding in his lap, arching your back into his kisses as his hands worshiped your body.

“Frank, pleaseâ€¦” you rasped as he popped his mouth off your nipple and brought you in closer to him.

“Please, what darlin.” He whispered as he pressed your foreheads together.

“I just need you to touch me so badly.” You softly whimpered as you pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“I got you girl.”

You squeal with glee as he wraps his arms tightly around you and stands up. You revel in the safety of his arms, feeling his huge biceps press you up against his firm chest. His strength was one of your favorite physical qualities in Frank. You felt so secure tangled up in him. But despite his strength, he was gentle with his touches to you. He was far kinder to you then a few men in your past. In fact, Frank never used force on you, unless of course you asked him to.

Your mind briefly wandered back to an intense night where you were pinned to the bed with his leather belt in your mouth, hand pulling your hair taughtly, thrusting into you unforgivablyâ€¦.

Frank placing you down on the bed brought you back to reality. Shamelessly watching him as he took off his shirt. The clinking of his belt reminded you of its taste in your mouth and you hurriedly removed the rest of your clothes.

You attempt to slide to the top of the bed but Frank grabs your legs.

“Oh no.” He clicks his tongue while dragging you down to the edge of the bed. “Just where do you think you’re going Ma’am? I owe you an apology.” He cooed, while kneeling on the floor, kissing your inner knee up to your inner thighs

Your skin prickles and your breath hitches as Frank sucked some of the tender skin on your inner thigh into his mouth. Enjoying the reaction from you, he takes his free hand and traces a finger up the seam of your pussy.

You gasp sharply. “Frank, please.” You desperately begged. “You’re being so mean to me.”

Everything about you was driving Frank wild. Your scent was lingering in his nose, leaving him heady with want, how tense the muscles in your thighs are while you were so willingly spread out for him and finally the desire in your eyes is what drove him to splay you open with his index and middle fingers before he starting flicking your clit with his tongue.

Your moans had him groaning as he continued lapping you up. He moved the fingers that were spreading you open lower, teasing your entrance. He briefly enjoyed your gasps of pleasure before slipping two fingers into your wetness, which caused you to inhale sharply as you clenched around him.

Frank slightly leans back and looks up at you. “Yeah, you like that?” He curls his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside you. “Be good and take it.” He husked before sucking on the inside of your thigh.

His words sparked an anger in you- how dare this man come back and then act like this but oh my god did he know how to work you up. And that spark was like gasoline on a fire and you were already so close to coming.

Frank could tell by how tightly you were gripping his fingers. Pulling off your thigh with a wet pop, he brings his mouth back to your clit and it was over. Trails of fire ran up and down your body before dissolving into pleasure.

Frank slowed down to draw out your orgasm as much as he could, waiting until you were whimpering with overstimulation before gently removing his fingers from you.

Still breathing deeply, you open your eyes to find Frank looking at you, while sucking your juices off his fingers. His eyes were a blaze with desire for you, which made your heart start pounding again.

“Frank, I want you.”

He barely heard you over the blood buzzing in his ears. Frank stood up and got on to the bed, encouraging you to move back further. He placed the sole pillow on his bed under your head, making sure you were comfortable before kissing you hard.

You instinctively moved down to help remove his boxers. Once freed, you savored the weight of him in your hand. He was deliciously thick and you can’t help but to start firmly rubbing him. You bring a thumb to the head of his cock rubbing the pre cum down his shaft. Now it was your turn to relish in the noises he was making

Frank was so sensitive that just a small amount of touching had him gently thrusting in your hand, lowly grunting with your firm touch. His enthusiasm reminded you how empty you were. You wordlessly guide him to you, teasing his head up and down your sopping folds until pausing at your entrance. He replaced your hand with his and you moved your hips to slot his.

The pressure of him against your entrance was leaving you lightheaded. The gasps you were making had Frank teeming with desire but he was determined to take his time. Pressing ever so gently he pushed just the head of him inside you as he began to lean down towards you. You tried to buck your hips up into him but he stopped you.

Fully leaning over you, he placed one of his forearms to your side, hooking it around the crown of your head. His other hand held your jaw firmly in place. Staring deeply into your eyes he says, “I’m so fucking sorry I left. I won’t leave you again unless you tell me to.” He pleaded as he buried himself in you.

“Oh fuck yes’ Frank.” You cried out as he pressed your foreheads together.

“I fucking missed you, sweetheart.” He roughly whispered.

“I missed you too.” You choked out, trying to hold back the tears in your eyes. Frank lowered the hand that was on your chin to the other side of your head as he started rocking into you, setting a pleasurable pace for the both of you. He slowly moves his hips until your breath hitches. That’s when he knows he’s got the right angle. You cry out as he rocks into a little harder, causing you to grab on to his shoulders.

Sweat was beginning to leave a light sheen on the both of you as more heat began to generate from where you two were connected. Frank was applying soft kisses on your neck and the little huffs he was breathing near your ear made you clench around him tighter.

You noticed his chest flushing and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Franks brings one hand down, and slips it between the two of you and circled your clit, while kissing you deeply. The pleasure of being surrounded by Frank- his weight on top of you, cock filling you, his scent surrounding you, his tongue flicking into your mouth- was overwhelming after all this time.

You pull away, wanting to save the moment in fear of him slipping away from you again.

“You’re really going to stay this time?” You quietly stuttered in between his thrusts.

“Yes darlin. I’m always going to be here.” He grunted. He could feel you getting tighter again and your whines were music to his ears as he kept his current rhythm. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder, leaving little half moons in it’s wake and your back involuntarily arches as you splinter once more from reality.

Your pussy is squeezing Frank so hard that he can’t hold himself back any longer. His body stiffens and he groans out as he fills you with his cum.

You can’t stop the tears from spilling out and streaming down the side of your face during your come down. All of the fear, anger and worry that had been pent up all came rushing out and it was simply too much. He didn’t try to silence you or make you stop. Frank simply held you and wiped away your tears.

“I’m sorry I’m crying so much.” You sniffled, trying to slow yourself down.

“It’s ok Angel, are you alright?”

You nodded your head yes as Frank carefully removed himself from you. You winced from the loss of contact but he softly pulled you into him as he laid down onto his side.

Your crying had slowed down and the weight of reality was setting back in. Your mind started racing with questions. Did he really mean what he said? What does this mean for the two of you? Were you ready for a commitment like this? So many thoughts racing in your head and you settle on one.

“Frank?” You quietly ask, face still buried in his chest while his hands were rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Earlier you said that you were putting off a job. What did you have to go do?”

Swallowing thickly, Frank closed his eyes. He knew that coming back meant coming clean and you might not be interested when you find out who he really is. And maybe that conversation should have come first but old habits have a way of dying hard.

“I will answer all of your questions in the morning. Would you like to stay tonight?”

“Can we take a shower?” You ask as you nod your head in agreement, attempting to ignore a new ball of anxiety beginning to form. What could this man be hiding from you? “Or do you only have one towel as well? You teasingly ask, partly as a way to distract you from your own mind.

“You’re in luck because I have two and they are both clean. I’ll go start the water. Come and join me when you’re ready” Frank kisses the top of your head before getting out of bed and padding to the bathroom.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x fem!reader #the punisher #the punisher smut #soft frank castle

54 notes · View notes

jamminvroomvroom · 1 year

Text

you bring blue lights. part 3

ln x fem!reader

read part 1: a golf swing and a trampoline

read part 2: karma rules!

FINAL PART! i hate it! what else is new? hopefully this wraps things up nicely. thank u for the luv on the other two parts, biiiiiig hugs from me to you MWAH xoxox note: heads up, the max in this series is max fewtrell lmao.

song: little freak by harry styles

in which lando goes back to work and takes you along for the ride. and max is there too. because why wouldn’t he be?

warnings: 18+ pls!! nothing major tbh, smut (mostly implied), bit of angst, bit of fluff, language, anxiety, the worlds most minor f1 incident, max being a snarky little bitch (affectionate)

4.8k words

the colour blue can symbolise many things: bravery and healing. the calm. wisdom and depth. sadness and serenity. permanence.

you weren’t sure what to make of the weather in bahrain. it wasn’t too hot, nor was it cold, but lando was still wearing a hoodie nonetheless. you sat in the passenger seat of the rented volvo, the mild temperature unable to reach you here, especially not with the quadrant hoodie draped over your shoulders. you wanted to shrug it off, the material that once symbolised an unbreakable friendship now resting uncomfortably, a weight, a reminder, but you were there to support your boyfriend, in his every endeavour.

your eyes could have watered, but you blinked, uncontrollably almost, refocusing your gaze onto the centre console, where lando’s large hand held yours. he squeezed once, twice, drawing your eyes from your laced fingers onto his.

you realised then that he’d been murmuring your name, his eyebrows furrowed, concerned. the last thing he needed to worry about today was you. it was quali day in bahrain, the first of the season, and you were sat next to a man on a mission. pull yourself together, woman. you smiled, your lips stretching unconvincingly, the corner of your mouth twitching. this couldn’t be classed as anxiety anymore, it went far beyond that. he sighed, deflated already.

“listen, if you’re not ready to do this…”

“i am. i am!” your voice was abnormally high pitched, and lando wondered where his cool as a cucumber girlfriend had gone. you hated the worry that clouded his sky-grey eyes.

it was your first time in the paddock, and naturally, you were a wreck. a picturesque mess. you’d picked out a nice outfit, something that made you look put together without trying too hard, classy without looking like you were leeching off of lando. you knew what they’d say about you, otherwise. they were already saying it. he’d tried his hardest to keep you hidden but the internet was ablaze with theories and questions and lies and judgement, so he’d suggested that you come to bahrain, viewing it as a perfect opportunity to break the ice with the media and the fans.

it had been finalised and you’d been mentally preparing yourself since the moment you’d decided to attend. but when he turned up to your apartment one day after a meeting, an anxious, babbling mess, you wondered if you’d made a mistake.

it turned out that the bahrain grand prix was a team quadrant event.

with your ticket booked, you’d chosen to suck it up, business as usual, but the idea of a weekend caught between two men that hated each other was not your idea of a good time, especially not when you were the problem. the morning that max had caught you, bare legged and lovesick in lando’s kitchen, would probably haunt you as long as you lived.

lando was angry and max? max was furious. now, they’d both just gone cold.

there was a stillness in the kitchen, ice cold all of the sudden, all of the warmth of you and him gone. you felt like a child caught in the act, nowhere to run. lando looked pale, afraid, utterly distraught. your eyes flicked between him and max, waiting for the dam to break; who would crack first? you couldn’t bare it, lips parting in a whisper.

“max-“ you barely heard yourself but max heard you perfectly, melancholic disgust in his eyes as they flitted to you. you felt small. you felt sick.

“don’t.” he barked. you sunk into yourself, shaking slightly. lando didn’t like that, stepping forward.

“listen to me, we-“ lando started.

“don’t you fucking dare.” max took a deep breath, shaking his head as if to compose himself. it wasn’t working. his eyes glazed over. “you’re not even sorry, are you?” he was looking straight at lando now, as if you weren’t even there.

lando’s lack of response spoke volumes. max cracked, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment shining through the rage. you held your breath. max turned to you, searching for solace, remorse, anything. you looked away.

“you two deserve each other.” max spat.

the slamming of the door made you wince.

lando felt selfish the second you touched down in bahrain. he watched your leg bounce on the plane, in the car, sat on the edge of the hotel bed, and wondered if this was all too much too soon. he needed you, but did you need this? the media, the fans? him? he ached watching you stare at your intertwined fingers sat on the centre console, your eyes glistening.

he was so, so selfish, a point proven over and over, and you were everything but. you were here, living proof of the fact.

the quadrant hoodie you wore, the bright blue contrasting with how you’d paled the second he’d parked the car, reminded lando of his crimes. you were blue, too, his calm amongst the chaos, an ocean that he thanked every god he could think of that he got to explore. you were a serenity, a serendipity, his bright blue light that kept him grounded.

if he’d ever doubted it before, he knew he loved you, completely and utterly, when you took a deep breath and got out of that car.

you let lando lead the way, a few steps ahead. you wondered if he could feel you shaking. you let go of him briefly, to scan your pass and slide through the gate, but he was reaching for you instantly. his thumb rubbed the soft skin of your hand, soothing you as the flashes of the cameras began to creep in the further you made it in to the paddock. you stared ahead, keeping your face as neutral as possible, letting him tow you along.

you stumbled when he stopped to take a picture with a fan, signing another’s hat, taking the moment to gather yourself. you became all too aware of your surroundings, the sheer amount of cameras pointed in your direction making you nauseous. as your hard exterior began to crumble, you felt his arm hook over your shoulder, a firm kiss planted on your forehead as you fell into step beside him once more.

“you got this, baby.” he murmured. you couldn’t help but smile up at him, finally feeling a small sense of ease. lando smiled back at you, and suddenly you wanted to frame every single stupid pictures they were taking of you both.

“so do you.” you grinned. he smiled bashfully. you knew how much this weekend meant to him.

you made your way into the mclaren hospitality, keeping close to lando. you sighed, relieved to be away from the cameras, and he introduced you to some members of his team, letting you make small talk while he spoke to his engineers.

you were intrigued watching him fall into the zone, calm, at ease, immersed into his world. you didn’t miss the way he kept an eye on you as he made his rounds. he ushered you over, pulling you deeper into the building, greeting people along the way. soon, you found yourself being led into his drivers room.

lando placed his bag on the table, small smile on his face as he moved around the room. you hoisted yourself up onto the massage table, swinging your legs, content in just watching him in his natural habitat.

“what are you smiling about, hmm?” you asked, eyebrow quirked.

“just you, being here. it’s nice.” he crossed the room and closed the gap, hands smoothing over your thighs as he parted them to stand between your legs.

“i like seeing you like this, you know. like watching you.” you placed your hands over his.

“oh, i know, love. always catch you staring.” he smirked.

“in that case, maybe i’ll just go back to the hotel.” you turned your head dramatically, leaning away from him.

“don’t be like that, you’d be lonely in that big bed without me.” he teased.

“i’m sure i could find a way to entertain myself.” you smirked at him, a frustrated groan emitting from the back of his throat as he grinned down at you.

“you’re cruel.” he murmured, giving into his desire and closing the gap.

you smiled against his lips, gripping hard at the material of his hoodie to pull him closer. his hands moved over the crease in your thighs, pulling at your hips as he kissed you harder. you threaded your fingers through his curls, tongue brushing his bottom lip. you enjoyed the noises he made, the low hum that vibrated against your mouth. your flushed body ran cold at the sudden rattling of the door handle.

you had no time to react when the door swung open, jon nonchalantly walking in, talking over his shoulder to a tired looking max and niran. your blood ran cold, hit by a sickening sense of deja vu that had you burying your face in lando’s chest. you felt lando vibrate as he cleared his throat, jon stopping in his tracks.

“shit.” jon grimaced, realising. “sorry, i- we didn’t know you were in here, someone said you were in the garage, didn’t mean to walk in on you like, uh, this.” he rambled awkwardly. a scoff from somewhere behind him made lando tense up, your eyes squeezing shut in discomfort.

“not like it’s the first time.” max muttered.

“i just came to pick up your schedule, sorry mate.” jon quickly cut in. you dared to look, peeking out from lando’s hoodie. niran was staring at the ceiling, quite clearly wishing he was somewhere else. you wished you were there too. max had his arms crossed, looking around the room. you couldn’t work out why he’d come in here.

max caught you staring, eyes hardening immediately as he took in the way your fingers curled into the material of lando’s hoodie, of lando’s hands on your hips. you could visualise the flashbacks he must have been having. he turned on his heel, leaving without another word, and you sighed. niran threw you a sympathetic smile, awkwardly waiting for jon who’d finally found the paper he was looking for, and then you and lando were alone again.

you looked up at him, noticing the way his jaw was tensed, the way his eyes had darkened, cold all of the sudden. he didn’t need this kind of stress, not when he was hours away from getting in the car. this season had no room for error, not when his new teammate was tipped to perform well, not when he was the new leader. you wondered if your being there was right.

“hey, its okay. maybe i should just go back to the hotel today, hm?” you suggested softly. his dark expression switched to one of vulnerability.

“no, no. you shouldn’t have to leave because he can’t be a grown up.” lando shook his head, frustration evident in his tone.

“you’ve got an important day ahead, babe. last thing we need is you being surrounded by all this,” you gestured around the room. “negativity.” you reasoned. his face fell further, hands moving to cup your cheeks.

“none of this is your fault, okay? you’re the only one i want here. let him sulk. i tried to fix it and he wouldn’t have it.”

“we hurt him, lando. it is my fault.” you averted eye contact as you spoke.

“hey, look at me. look at me.” you met his eyes again, which had warmed up significantly as he gazed at you. “i want you here. i need you here. don’t let him get to you. he’ll be doing work stuff anyway, you’ll hardly see him. i want you to be a part of his, okay? try and have some fun.”

you sighed, realising that your desire to be near lando, to support him, outweighed the guilt you felt towards max. after all, as cruel as it may have been, that’s why you’d chosen lando. that’s why you were here, every discomfort that you felt pushed aside. you nodded your head, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“now, i need to get changed. try not to stare too much, darling.” he pecked your lips, tension melting away as the smirk returned.

you pushed him away playfully, choosing to scroll through your phone as he started to prepare himself, letting your eyes wander occasionally. he’d wink every time he caught you looking.

despite the blush on your cheeks and the smile you couldn’t contain, you couldn’t help the bad feeling that crept in, lurking at the corner of your happiness. this would be a long weekend.

lando busied himself with his race suit, changing quickly. every time he looked up, throwing you a wink, he pretended that he wasn’t spiralling. he could see you thinking too hard, worrying, acting like you weren’t. all he wanted was for you to have a nice time with him, experience something so important to him, and already that idea, that visual of you becoming a bigger part of his world, it was crumbling all around him.

he let himself be angry at max sometimes, framing him as the source of your anxiety, but that was just a pitstop he made before he placed the blame back where it belonged; this was all lando’s fault. but this mess, this chaos, this love? he was willing to pay for his mistakes forever if it meant that every race weekend started and ended in your arms.

and so, lando did what lando did best. he kissed his girlfriend, got in his car, and made his way into Q3.

lando had qualified well, better than what had been expected, hugging you right when he’d bounded into the garage. you’d been surprised at how nervous it made you, watching him drive out of the garage and onto the track. you found yourself unable to take your eyes off him on the screen ahead of you, nails chewed down anxiously for the entire session. you clung to him, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. you allowed yourself to kiss him, just a quick peck, settling.

you let him leave once more, comforted by the fact that his biggest danger now was the media that awaited him, and navigated yourself out of the garage. you couldn’t pretend you weren’t a little bit lost in the winding corridors, but finally you stumbled out of the tunnel, the one your boyfriend always tapped the top of, a superstition, and into the sunlight. you hovered in the entrance, staring out at the bustle of the paddock.

it felt so surreal, overwhelming to be here for lando. with him, at last. you just couldn’t seem to shake the fear you felt watching him get in the car. the thought of the impending race made you nauseous.

as you stood there blocking the entrance, lost in your thoughts and the complexities of your relationship, you were reminded of the only hurdle it faced, at the unimpressed clearing of someone’s throat.

you turned quickly on your heel at the noise, snapped out of your thoughts. you gulped.

“can i get past, please?” max asked, refusing the eye contact that you were desperately trying to make. you didn’t miss the way his eyes rolled at the sight of the blue quadrant hoodie covering your frame.

“i should probably let you, shouldn’t i?” you smiled, weakly, a feeble attempt at breaking the ice.

all max did was nod ever so slightly.

“will you talk to me?” you took note of just how pathetic you sounded.

“i can’t, i have somewhere to be.” he said, quiet with emotion, careful with his tone.

“just a minute, please max.” he flinched at his name falling from your traitorous tongue.

“i can’t do this right now.” he tried to side step you, but you blocked him.

“i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. if you believe anything, believe that.” you begged.

“i don’t know what to believe anymore.”

you didn’t fight him again, defeated as you watched him walk away.

you seemed different when lando found you later after the media rush, in the quiet of the paddock. you seemed sad, although you kept it carefully concealed. he noticed the way you held his hand tighter, kissed him softer. he wanted to get you out of the paddock, away from it all, take you back to the hotel where he could touch you and hold you and take away this dull pain.

he prayed that you weren’t getting too blue, that you wouldn’t go cold in his presence, the more you adapted to the bittersweet realities of his lifestyle.

he wondered if his anxieties were misplaced when you kissed him with everything you had and tumbled into the white bed linen with him, burning for one another.

lando reminded himself that you were still here. he knew all too well that you didn’t stay for just anyone.

lando looked beautiful when he was asleep. he was always so busy, always on the go, so you cherished these mornings dearly. a stream of sunlight made its way over the sheets, creeping up his body, bathing him in warmth. you hadn’t shut the curtains properly, urgently falling into bed with him, but you were thankful for it now as he stirred. the only thing better than watching the soft rise and fall of his chest was watching him wake up.

his eyes fluttered open, his arm stretching out and over your waist. you gazed at the blue-green of his eyes, rolling over and into his side. you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, engulfed by the heat of his bare skin pressed against yours. you stayed there quietly, letting him wake up.

suddenly, he let out a groan, rolling on top of you, curls falling in his eyes. you’d told him one night in dubai, after a cocktail too many, that he should grow his hair out. you’d whispered something seductive in his ear about having more to pull on. he’d quickly taken you back to your suite, and happily obliged with your request ever since.

you’d spent last night in a similar situation, pouncing on him immediately when you’d gotten back from the track. a day spent watching him drive had riled you up, and paired with your neediness, you were gagging for it by the time you got him alone. lando pulled you out of your daydream with a kiss, his body melting into yours.

“what’s on your mind?” his voice was low, gravelly from where he’d just woken up.

“nothing, just thinking.” you mused. he leaned in closer, lips brushing yours.

“about what? because i’m still thinking about last night.” lando murmured. you smiled coyly up at him.

“why? what happened last night?” you faked confusion, eyebrow raised.

“this beautiful woman could not keep her hands to herself.” lando feigned shock.

“that must have been so difficult for you.” your voice oozed sarcasm.

“it was very hard.” he grinned, devilish, leaning down to kiss you again.

you could feel the press of his body, every inch of his warm skin against yours. your hand slid softly across his face, brushing his curls back, tugging gently at the strands as his lips left yours and trailed down your jaw.

the air got hotter, charged, when he nipped at your neck, your collarbone, and dug his fingers into your hip, kneading your soft edges. your mouth hung open, panting slightly in anticipation, skin alight as his hand worked across the crease of your thigh. lando gripped your inner thigh, spreading you open, letting his fingers run rampant.

he continued to mouth at your shoulder, biting down gently as he found your clit, the medley of pleasure and pain making your eyes roll back. the rest of your morning was a blur.

lips on yours, fingers working you open. his name, a prayer. your legs, wrapped around him, numb. sweat and bliss, you and him. your legs shook, vision bleary.

lando was all yours, belonged to you, your name tearing sweetly from the depths of him as he let himself get lost.

you stared up at him, breathless and grinning.

lando had one singular thought when he managed to pull himself from the crook of your neck, languid and tingling. between the chaos and the quiet, you found a way to bring him back to earth, gleaming blue.

i love you.

“are you looking forward to the race?” you’d heard him ask.

it had been quiet for a while, your unrelenting bout of morning sex leaving you a tangled, sleepy mess.

“i don’t know.” brutal honestly seemed to be your forte.

“ouch.” he teased.

“i don’t know how to be okay with watching you.” it was the realest thing you’d said to lando all weekend, mumbled into his collarbone where you hid your face.

“you’ve seen me race.” he shifted, as if he was trying to find your face, your eyes, voice laced with confusion.

“yeah, but that was before.”

“before what?”

“just…before.”

before i knew what you meant to me.

before i broke your best friends heart.

before i fell in love with you.

you spent the duration of the formation lap looking for the nearest exit, telling yourself that you were being ridiculous, and wondering how every other loved one coped every race weekend. to your surprise, max was stood on the other side of the garage. you figured he would have chosen to be anywhere else, but his fingers drumming against the countertop, in an identical fashion to yours, made you wonder if he shared the pit in your stomach.

your eyes flitted around nervously, taking short breaths as the cars lined up on the grid. five lights went on, and then out, and you held your breath.

lando made it through turn one, turn two. through lap one, lap 17, lap 34. he was having a good race, a great one even, the byproduct of a strong start, his race craft and a calculated strategy. you made the mistake of starting to relax.

you gasped when an alpine tagged his car. one hand flew to your mouth, the other gripping the wire of your headphones in sheer, gut-twisting panic. your eyes fixed on the screen, watching him spin, spin, spin across the track. you were frozen, utterly unmoving, time stopping around you until his car suddenly did out on track.

he was fine.

he skidded to a halt, making his way safely back onto the track, carrying on as normal. he was completely, totally fine.

you burst into tears.

you heard the headphones clatter gently against the surface top, a blur through your tears, and quickly left the garage. you blindly made your way through the stupid, little corridors and back into that tunnel that led to the paddock. you slumped against the metal wall, sobbing, no use in wiping your free flowing tears. how were you supposed to do it, to live this life, holding your breath every time lando went to work?

you heard footsteps approaching, a pang of embarrassment flashing in the pit of your stomach that made you want to disappear. you took a shaky breath, wondering how you could possibly escape, when you heard the footsteps coming to a halt, the mystery person stopping. you looked up shyly, blinking away tears. you were shocked to see max was stood opposite you, leant against the wall behind him. he sighed.

“stuff like that happens. he’s fine, you know?” max reassured you. you couldn’t quite believe that he was here, let alone offering you some shred of comfort. the tears made a comeback.

“how do people do this? i barely made it through turn one.” you sniffled, voice cracking.

“you just learn to live with it. that fear that you’re feeling, it never quite goes away. but watching him succeed? it becomes worth it.” max spoke with a quiet admiration, one that made your heart ache. you were reminded of just how human he was.

“what if i can’t do it? the idea of something happening to him…” you trailed off, shaking your head.

“i can’t believe i’m about to say this but,” max sighed once more, reluctant to admit what he’d come to realise. “he needs you here. and i know you, you wouldn’t be doing any of this with him if you didn’t want to. if i believe anything, it’s that.”

you looked down at his words, the echo of yesterdays run-in ringing in your ears. he knew all too well that you wouldn’t be in a relationship that you didn’t want to be in. the guilt crept back in.

“i didn’t mean for any of this to happen the way it did.” your voice wavered.

“well, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” max shrugged.

“what?” your head snapped up to look at him, blindsided by his words. was it so obvious?

“what? you do love him, don’t you?” max asked, confused.

“i, well, we haven’t- i mean, i haven’t-“ you rambled.

“don’t tell me you guys fucked me over for nothing.” max teased. you looked up at him like a rabbit in headlights. he laughed at your expression, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. you joined in, laughing with him as the tears finally dried up.

“you should tell him.”

“if i do that, are you gonna hate me even more than you already do?”

“i don’t- i could never hate you.” max’s gaze softened. “and as much as i’d love to right now, i could never hate him, either.” he rolled his eyes.

“talk to him?” you suggested, cautious. max smiled.

“don’t push your luck this weekend.” he grinned. “you ready to go back in there? the race is pretty much over.”

you nodded, smiled, walking alongside him in comfortable silence back into the garage. the team were elated, a decent recovery made after the shambles of last season, but all you could focus on was how desperate you were to see lando. max walked back to the desk where he’d been watching the race, throwing you a reassuring wink. you smiled softly.

max was the first person that lando really saw when he entered the garage. the air seemed to have thinned out, lighter, somehow. he’d ask questions later.

max smiled, small. lando could barely contain the grin he returned the olive branch with.

something clicked, somewhere deep in his chest, and the healing process began. in progress, finally, slowly but surely.

lando inhaled, and for the first time in forever, it felt easy. he almost couldn’t remember what that felt like.

then, lando saw you, a bright blue light, starlike, his beacon, waiting for him in the corner of the garage. he weaved his way through the sea of people until he was secure in your arms.

oscar walked in first, the team cheering him on after his first race. lando followed soon after, getting his own celebration. you watched on, a warmth filling your chest; you knew max was right. you watched lando walk through the garage, met with slaps on the back, ruffles of his messy curls. he smiled wide, wider somehow when his eyes landed on max. it was a welcome surprise, one that drenched you in relief.

lando’s eyes darted around until he found you, catching you staring from the back of the room. he made a beeline to you, engulfing you in a hug. his eyebrows furrowed, confused, perhaps, at your puffy cheeks and red eyes, but your hands flew to his cheeks, lips meeting his. he kissed you back, smiling against your lips. you pulled back, grinning up at him.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“i’m just so proud of you.” you murmured.

“i’m so glad that you’re here.” he gently squeezed your waist, nose bumping yours.

“i need to tell you something.” your stomach twisted, this time in excitement; butterflies.

“what?”

“i love you, lando.” his whole face changed, his smile bigger than you’d ever seen it.

“i love you.” he replied, cupping your face. his thumbs grazed your cheekbones. “god, you have no idea how much i…” he trailed off, searching your eyes for a moment before he kissed you again, deep and slow. the tears that hit your cheeks weren’t your own, and you held him even tighter.

you broke apart, his head falling into the crook of your neck, hot kisses pressed to the exposed skin. your fingers ran though his hair, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

over lando’s shoulder, you could see max, hint of a smile on his face. your eyes watered again, meeting his across the garage, and he smiled, properly.

all the pieces fell, messily, into place.

max watched on, aching at the way you clung to lando, your hands in his hair, lando’s lips pressed so intimately to the delicate skin of your neck. max felt a dull sense of happiness sneak in; you and lando were the picture of what love was supposed to look like. you’d never looked at him the way he’d always caught you looking at lando.

it didn’t hurt any less yet, but he was starting to realise that it would.

thank fuck that’s over

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph @wilmasvensson @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @h0e-xoxo @mattxxamryli @pjofics

(i’ve removed tags that weren’t working - lemme know if you wanna be added or removed xoxox)

#lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #max fewtrell #max fewtrell fic

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back2bluesidex · 9 months

Note

Could I request Snow on the Beach and Tae? I don't have any specific genre requests. But I love how dream-like your writing is, and it would fit the overall vibe of the song. 🥰

Snow on the Beach - KTH

Pairing: Actor!Taehyung X Assistant Director!Reader

Theme: Fluff, confessions

Song: Snow on the Beach

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Nothing at all

Minors and Karens Are Not Allowed in this Blog!!

A/N: Thank you so much for this request and also, thanks for calling my writing dream-like. 😭 Hope this turned out the way you wanted.

“And cut!” the director’s voice pierce through the wet, chilly but somehow pleasant ocean air.

Seven months worth of hard work comes to an end today, just within a blink. How did seven months vanish in thin air, just like that?

It was just yesterday when you got Mr. Choi’s call out of the blue, asking you to assist him as an assistant director in one of his upcoming dramas. You heave a sigh of relief. Obviously, everything that’s good, comes to an end, regardless of your wishes. Now it’s time to pray. Praying for the final product to turn out just as you and Mr.Choi want, praying for the drama to be received well, praying for your career to finally take off after the success of this project, praying to meet Kim Taehyung again and again.

God! You are so impossibly in love! And you never planned on this. Certainly, a struggling, barely getting by, direction professional like you could not even afford to think of falling for someone as high profile as Kim Taehyung, who is also one of the most popular actors of the industry.

Yet, you did. You fell for him, that too, head over heels.

Taehyung is nothing like what you thought he would be. This being the first project with him, you got to see him upclose.

Usually high profile actors and actresses like him tend to be nosy, a little problematic and sometimes straight up rude.

But Taehyung is different.

Every time you suggested something, he listened to it, considered it, told you if he likes it or not and if he did, he acted upon your suggestions.

He would always go an extra mile and would bring snacks and coffees to the set.

He was hardly ever late.

He would place his own suggestions very gently whenever he didn’t like something instead of being super aggressive about it.

All in all, Kim Taehyung is certainly the most well-mannered and professional actor you have ever worked with.

He is also the most handsome human being you have ever witnessed.

His handsome features are certainly there but what makes him even more beautiful is the light that he emits. You have never seen anyone lit from within except for Taehyung. And as a result, you were falling hopelessly in love with him, even before you realized.

You feel new, you feel refreshed, you feel content, you feel foreign under your own skin, is this what being in true love is? Just loving the person from a distance and not dying for their reciprocation? Is this what overpowers desires and sends you to a different dimension where you could stare at the person for hours after hours without wanting them to spare you a glance? And everything else becomes a bonus?

You don’t realize that you have been staring at Taehyung for quite a few minutes while he hugs and greets staff congratulating a successful culmination of the shoot. But then you feel someone’s elbow on your upper arm, your trance breaks.

“Get ready by seven. We are hitting the club tonight” says Hyun Mi, one of the production staff slash your new friend, as she brushes sand off her jeans.

“Umm.. I am not going.” You reply, your eyes find the man again.

“What? Why?” She is visibly upset.

“I am tired. I need some sleep before the flight tomorrow. You guys have fun.” You reply, stealing a last glance at Taehyung. He catches your gaze on him and gives you a little smile accompanied with a small bow.

Your heart starts beating abnormally in your chest. You bow back before starting to pack your stuff neatly in your bag.

“It’s never tiring to watch the ocean, isn’t it?” the low, baritone voice that you have come to love so much, startles you out of nowhere. Your body shifts on its own accord in reaction to the voice and your coffee cup clanks against the balcony railing.

“Easy, easy. It’s just me. Taehyung. Did I scare you?” he chuckles at your flustered form.

Fuck. What is he doing here? You think.

“Oh yes. You did.” You reply, inhaling a sharp breath. “Didn’t expect you here. I thought you were having dinner with the production house staff?”

“I escaped.” he whispers, standing beside you a little too closely. Close enough for your arms to brush with his. Goosebumps spread all over your body, even though you are wearing a thick sweater.

“What about you though? I thought you were clubbing with others?” His breath hits your skin directly and you understand the intensity of the proximity.

“Nah. I would rather sit and stare at the sea alone.” you answer.

“Then you don’t mind me keeping you company. Do you?”

“Not at all. I appreciate it.”

You two fall into a comfortable silence. There is no rush, no urgency of saying anything… just you and Taehyung, watching the ocean making and breaking a new wave each second. The moment feels too intimate, something you would share with a lover.

Ironically enough, you are sharing it with the man you are in love with, also the man you can’t have. But it’s alright. You are at least sharing it with him. You don’t want anything more. You don’t even dare to wish for anything more.

“Umm… are you perhaps seeing someone? As in dating?” He is the one to break the silence with a question that you have never expected.

“No.” Your voice is small, unsettled and you don’t even know why.

“Then.. Do you mind having a coffee with me when we go back to Seoul? I am free for the rest of the month so any time you can manage will be okay with me.” Taehyung manages to say it all within one breath. If you are not wrong then, his voice suggests nervousness.

“Are you- are you asking me out?” Your own voice isn’t anything better. You, too, are very nervous. But your nervousness amplifies by tenfold when you turn your head to look at Taehyung.

Soft ocean breeze ruffles his hair, his caramel brown eyes are full of mystery, his tongue pokes out of his mouth and wets his lips, you are staring at the scene as if he is aurora borealis.

“Fuck. You’re beautiful.” Wait, did you just think loudly? But no. It's Taehyung’s voice. Wait, did he just call you beautiful?

Your face hits up within a second. Your lips get caged within your teeth but you can’t hide your smile. Taehyung just called you beautiful, fuck! He did. You smile as if you just won a contest.

“So, what’s your answer?” Taehyung’s voice rings right in your ear.

“I would love to have a coffee with you, Taehyung.” You somehow manage to voice out, despite the crazy beating of your heart.

“I think I will need your personal number then.” Taehyung chuckles as he scoots even closer to your body, placing his hand on top of yours.

#bts fluff #taehyung fluff #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung x you #bts x you #bts x y/n

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klwrites · 7 months

Text

Born To Die.1 (Jason Todd x reader)

The reader and Jason were friends for a long time before Batman took him in. You and him only had each other and the streets of Gotham.

(TW drug use)

Cold nights were the worst. You weren’t sleeping outside or anything but the kitchen floor of your job wasn’t the coziest. Speaking of warm, there was more warm next to you last night, where did Jason go? It wasn’t abnormal to wake up without him. Hell, you’ve spent more mornings without him then with, but no matter what you always ended up sharing the day by lunch time. You took a few steps outside before the familiar smell of smoke ran through your nose and you let your nose guide the way. There was a long path that trailed behind the buildings your job was in, heading to the usual spot you whistled to calmly grab his attention.

“It’s not even 8 am is it? Already at it?”

You joked, what better way to warm up? He passed it over to you while you mumbled a thanks.

The crisp air was awakening.

“You working today?”

“No,” you paused, taking a hit. “I know what we should do today though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Holy shit, Firefly… you’re insane.” Jason chuckled, looking around at the empty green house.

He questioned you robbing a magical treehouse,

“I’ve seen the women who owns them she doesn’t need all of them… and shes a criminal.”

“These won’t hurt you will they? You don’t know what she could have in these plants.”

You laughed,

“Yes, this tired women laced her beloved plants.”

Stretching your hand forward touching the large flower bud planted in the middle of the greenhouse. Your finger tips felt warm as the plant shared its energy to you.

“This is one way to make it through the winter.” Said Jason, taking stems and roots of various plants and throwing them into his bag.

If I get sick this winter I’ll die.

You let go of the plant, feeling full of life again. You excitedly let out a shout of energy.

“Her plants have something to them, man.”

“You’ve been here before? Without me? That’s dangerous.”

Not really, you replied.

You shivered, weak against the wind. Gotham city’s pollution was out of control and non frozen greenery was impossible to find. You curled up closer to yourself while sitting on the floor. Homelessness as a plant being who needs the sun and warmth to thrive has some ugly moments. Taking one last weak sad breath, you shriveled down into your unconscious.

After a while of freezing, a tall being with fiery red had come across your inhuman rotten looking body. Don’t ask how you knew, but you knew she knew you needed her help.

“Finally awake are you?” A deep gorgeous voice questioned from the shadows. You sat up from wherever you had been laid down and looked around. A green house, full of the craziest plants you’ve ever seen. The strongest energy you’ve felt.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t worry about it. You were dead on the streets of Gotham before I took you here. You should be thankful.”

“Why do I feel so strong?” You honestly asked. Her green skin was a give away that you could be honest with her.

“Because, darling, there’s no plants like my own. Where are your plants, hm? How did you let yourself freeze and die like that?”

“I’m stronger then her. It wouldn’t matter.” You said shortly.

“Uh” he said doubtfully, “alright”.

This women can survive winter and, well, you can’t. So you need her plants. As many as you can get. Prop lifting is the act of stealing plants by taking a piece of their stems, and planting the stem to grow your own plant; ‘propagation’ is the act of making one plant multiple.

“I need a Greenhouse.” You sighed

“If I could give you a greenhouse I would.”

“Means a lot,” you laughed, “Thanks.”

Even though you rolled your eyes, you can’t lie and say Jason isn’t a sweetheart at the whole plant thing, because he’s the best, most thoughtful, best friend anyone could ask for. Continuing picking the stems of colorful, glowing, exotic plants, when next thing you knew a plant reached out and grabbed your wrists and ankles holding you in place. Firstly, you looked towards Jason to see he was caught too.

Here we go. Your eyes glowed white, and skin glowed a fluorescent green and light pink. Connecting to the plants to calm them, freeing you and Jason instantly. Jason ran in-front of you as protection, but, no offense, you didn’t need it in this situation. Pulling Jason away you faced the one behind the attack. Poison Ivy. You didn’t know much of her criminal history, just that she saved you once. Even though that ended up meaning nothing.

What separates you and The Poison Ivy is that you’re an empath in a way. You survive on the energy of other life, just by living in it. (Or living in a perfect world at least) You can manipulate the energy from others into whatever energy you want, with practice. You don’t have that much practice. You did the one thing you’re good at. Sleep. Poison Ivy fell forward with her plants.

“We gotta go.”

#batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #dc robin #batman and robin #robin x you #jason todd x y/n #dc universe #batman x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #robin #teen titans #dc titans

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animentality · 2 months

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Now I need to know what you think is missing from Wyll, Karlach, and Gale’s character arcs. For Wyll and Karlach, the emotional character moments to not feel as important as they should be. Karlach’s goal of killing Gortash doesn’t doesn’t relate to her current issue with Zariel and Wyll kind of has a flat character arc from hero for Baldur’s gate to hero for the sword coast and then hero for Avernus or back to Baldur’s gate. Gale’s is a bit harder for me to point out the major issue but I think it’s that the consequences of his choices happen off screen after all the conflict.

Thanks for answering so many of my asks!

Yeah no worries, I enjoy thinking about Baldur's Gate, the same way a mental patient dreams of violent neurosis.

Anyway, here's my suggestion.

As it is, right now, it does NOT make sense for Zariel to want Karlach? She literally has armies of pit fiends and orthons for the Blood War. The fuck does she need some random tiefling for? And one who needs an Infernal Engine for a heart just to...barely keep up with real devils?

Why even use an Infernal Engine like that, anyway? You telling me you couldn't use that shit for something way more useful than making some random girl able to fight the devils that you already have at your disposal?

What makes wayyyyy more sense is...let's give Karlach a disability. She has a heart murmur, or some kind of heart abnormality. Let's say that in that day and age, such a thing could kill her.

Now Gortash is a thief. Let's say he STOLE an Infernal Engine, and he's dying to test it out. See how it works. Let's say he wants to test it out on a live subject, because he's a tinkerer. He tells Karlach he can fix her heart. And she's desperate, because she think she might have a heart attack, and die. So she agrees.

But instead of fixing her heart, he replaces it with an Infernal Engine. And she's furious, because, they find out, it's unstable and it has to return to Avernus.

And Gortash, being the prick he is, just shrugs and condemns her to the hells, because he has what he wants. He now knows how the Infernal Engine works. He's "nice" enough to send Karlach to the hells, though. Let's say he might have soooome connect, who can at least direct Karlach to Zariel.

So Zariel, being a little more sympathetic than most, takes Karlach in. Gives her a home. Teaches her how to fight, and recruits her for her cause, mostly out of pity. But then Karlach gets tired of fighting in the Blood War. She betrays Zariel, by running away, and that's when she gets tadpoled.

And it'd be a slap in the face for Zariel, because she took that girl in, when no one else would've! So she's hurt and betrayed, and that's why she's hunting Karlach. She hates traitors.

So that's re-framing Karlach! It makes more sense to me this way, because as it is, Zariel has no reason to want Karlach, OR to hunt for her. And also, Gortash's relationship with Karlach is still preserved, just shifted, to make more sense.

And her ending arc could be...force Gortash to fix her heart, after he's learned enough about Infernal Engines to now know how to do that. And confront Zariel.

Let's say Mizora too, or at least Mizora.

You could have a great boss fight somewhere interesting, maybe go to the hells...whatever.

And her entire character arc could go from "sad golden retriever who gets kicked and then DIES" to:

"I was betrayed by someone I used to care about, who used me for his own benefits. I am 'stronger' now than I was before, but at a cost. I was taken in by someone kind...and then I betrayed them. And now, I'm on the run because of that decision...but I did get dealt a pretty shit hand in life. I must now confront the man who hurt me, and apologize to the woman I then hurt as a result of my past trauma."

At the very least, we could see her evolving. She seems innocent and sweet at first...and then you find out, she did some horrible things during the Blood War. She has PTSD. She's grizzled and disillusioned. And maybe she has a hard time trusting people, after being betrayed AND betraying someone who was kind to her. But with the help of Tav/Durge, she learns to stop running from her trauma. To face her old demons head on. Maybe she even drops her "cheerful" act and becomes colder. But in the end, when she's either killed Gortash and had Zariel fix her engine, OR had Gortash fix her engine, and then confronted Zariel, she could return to her happier self, just more honest this time about how she really feels.

Also, she wouldn't have to fucking die.

She'd have a proper working heart, and can live her life.

Now as for Wyll...

Sighing, because his arc is botched.

In the EA, I know he was originally more sleazy?

He like...was called the "fraud" of the Sword Coast. He was meant to be a more morally gray guy, who seems like a hero, but who actually made a deal with a devil for his powers. I didn't play EA, but from what I understand, you could confront him more for being fake?

I would like it if they'd kept this complexity. Have Wyll be putting on "airs" but also be more willing to hurt innocents in the guise of being a hero?

Have him be a little amoral.

But Tav/Durge can either push him to greater immorality...or end up making him a proper hero in the end. Someone his father could be proud of...or maybe. Confront the damage his father did to him, growing up, maybe trying to make him something he was not.

And basically, becoming a hero, but on his own terms, and rejecting his father's idea of what a hero is.

That could be an interesting thing to do with him. Have Mizora be that evil devil on his shoulder...and Karlach be the good angel, because she would basically be like, well...I don't want Mizora to come after me on behalf of Zariel, so...come on, bud.

As for Gale...

Well.

I don't know.

I haven't played through Gale's arc as much, but from what I understand, his biggest issue is that he doesn't get much of a quest in the end. Just the Sorcerous Sundries stuff, which is whatever. You get to decide if he picks the bad Gale ending, where his ambition destroys him, and he becomes just another asshole god, or if he chooses happiness, and becomes a teacher.

Just give him an actual ending quest. Let him fight either a representation of Mystra or Elminster!

Let him reject both of them.

I honestly hesitate to suggest ways to fix Gale, only because I don't know enough about him. To me, a character choosing happiness over ambition is a pretty solid arc.

I just think the execution at the END could've been better.

Also, not just exclusive to Gale...

one of the biggest issues with BG3 is the fact that they chose to split their time doing the dumb, play as an origin thing, rather than prioritizing letting the whole cast intermingle. They could've developed more chances for Tavs/ Durges to influence the party, together and individually, have their decisions matter throughout the entire story.

Instead, they gave us the backstories, and then we just decide literally in Act 3, are they gonna be good or evil.

You only get to see character development if you are ROMANCING them, which is just, terrible, because it limits you to only seeing one character truly develop. Also, even if you are romancing someone, then it's still not really showing you that development.

Like, for Astarion, right, let's say you're trying to convince him not to be Cazador 2.0...you just choose that.

Let him Ascend, or don't.

But your relationship with him doesn't have THAT much of an effect on him?

It would've been far more interesting if your actions in Act 1 and 2 decide what happens there, and there is NO going back by that point. Oh, you forced him to drink from Araj?

He's going to become Ascended, and you can't stop him.

Oh, you chose to encourage Gale's ambition in Act 1? He's becoming a god, good job.

Your Durge was nasty to everyone, and killed so many innocent people in Act 2?

Everyone should fucking leave your ass then. ESPECIALLY if you become the chosen of Bhaal.

That's my issue with the general character development of Baldur's Gate. It's left entirely to, pick dialogue option 1 or 2.

There's not an actual reason to get a character's approval up unless you want to have a sex scene with them.

There's only ONE thing that'll make characters leave, otherwise, they just smile on and don't care that you just killed Isobel for no reason.

And going back to the romance being used as the linchpin for character development...sure, Astarion must learn to trust you and be honest and stop trying to manipulate you. But you don't actually get to reprimand him for that sort of behavior. To challenge him. To force him to see how he's hurting himself, and others?

Like Astarion is a big asshole!! He's a racist, he's mean to kids, he approves of you being horrible.

But then at the end...he just...is good now?

Because you chose to be good, and he's just going along with you...but that's lazy writing.

You had to SHOW us. You had to make us REALIZE he's getting softer. And not just to you, but to everyone.

It makes no sense to me in the epilogue how Astarion just, is a hero now, for no reason. If you don't romance him, I mean, it defaults him to "hero."

And I just don't get that.

So anyway.

Too long of a post, but....

that's my big issue.

Karlach, Wyll, they get no character arcs, and have no depth. Their endings are unsatisfying and uninteresting.

And...BG3 needed to actually show the characters evolving. But they didn't have time to do that, because they chose instead to just, reveal the trauma of their backstory from Act 1...forget the characters have backstories in Act 2...and then decide if they want to be good or evil in Act 3.

And that's...really...boring. And they feel like cardboard cut outs by that point, and not people.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3

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jacksprostate · 2 months

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f Narrator wanting to murder maim mutilate m marla.. or marla/ male marla and narrator/f narrator worsties/besties. or marla/male marla and tyler… or anything with marla/ male marla..

Marlon called me, interrupted me at work, and he said he had a bruise. He said I needed to come and look at it right away, because he needed to know.

This was him, asking me, pounded flank steak, to look and tell him the nature of his bruise.

Marlon hasn't had health insurance in years, so he tries not to think about it, usually. It's easy, since there's no difference when you have health insurance. It's old hat.

But today, he thought about it.

And he noticed a bruise.

So I'm walking up to the Regent hotel after work, and he's in the lobby in his limp little tank top. He'd call it a wifebeater and imagine himself in place of the wife, I'm sure. I wonder if he isn't cold all the time. Mr. Marlon Singer, such a masochist just so he can show off his skeletal body with all the cigarette burns I have to hear him and Tyler laughing over.

I am Jane's abnormal hemorrhoid development.

He doesn't mention what Tyler and I stole from him, even though I think it was all the cash he had. Even though just three days ago he tried to chase me around the house and beat me with a broom. He made me and Tyler go sleep in the junkyard. Buried under our furs, howling at the moon. Maybe I can't fault him for that.

He couldn't keep it here where the guys he brings back could get at it, he said, and sure. But he should've known better than to tell Tyler about it, because now it's bags upon bags of lye being kept in the driest room in the house.

I work on grinding cracks into my remaining teeth as he grabs his neighbors Agatha and Dianne's Meals on Wheels kits. The delivery lady remarks on what a good young man Marlon must be, helping out these old ladies. Oh, yeah. A real, upstanding, mummified rat of a man. Maybe he helped them into the ditch. He yaps at me the entire walk up to his room, and I don't hear a word as I methodically rip up the skin around Tyler's kiss on my hand with a broken nail. It's been infected since Tuesday, and the ring of puffy red flesh makes the ghost of her lips white like the center of a neon tube. Always buzzing.

We get to his room, he says to me, "One of these boxes is for you, you know."

I think about all the women who bother to use what little time they have to operate charities that keep the poor and destitute alive enough to want to kill themselves. All that time spent cooking mac and cheese en masse and putting little packets of powdered milk next to little cartons of the liquid, like they get at schools and prisons, packets that can only be opened by the nimble fingers of caring relatives these elderly recipients do not have.

Sure.

Tyler told me I need to be eating at least two meals a day, or she'd steal a blender and make me drink raw chicken. So I eat the Meals on Wheels box. Sorry Agatha. I rip open the powdered milk packet, dump it into the carton, hold it closed, and shake it. Twice the calories. A recipe for palliative care.

Marlon's sitting there, quiet, eating Dianne's latest last meal. All the urgency is gone. Sucked dry. He's got pallor like a hospice heart failure. When dogs get treated for heartworms, the worms die, and sometimes, not all of them break apart. Sometimes, there will be thin, dead cords of necrotized nematode strung through their heart waiting for the right beat to fall apart and clot a vital artery. This can take years to happen. Your pet recovers perfectly from treatment until seven years down the line, you give it a doggy cupcake and a pulmonary embolism for its tenth birthday.

Marlon looks like he's had his first melarsomine injection and his owner is thinking about taking him to a dog park instead of bothering with the second. If you let a dog get its heart rate up too high when getting treated for all the parasites you let grow in it, its heart will explode. Or all the worms will clog its lungs. Whichever one it is, it's happening to Marlon here in this room. On this bed.

He says he'd found a bruise, a while back. A nasty little thing, like the crush of a plum under your thumb. Near one of his ankles. And Marlon Singer knew he couldn't afford any novel treatments, and he'd seen too many people rot from the inside out from them already. He did not go to the clinic down the street that gets its windows broken in often enough that there's just big black billowing sails of trashbags over their storefront more often than not. Marlon says he once saw a rat nailed to the door, which is something you'd think would be too neat and poetic for real life. He didn't go to the clinic because he didn't have to. And maybe if he was fucking guys he wanted to he would be a bit more cautious, but the men Marlon Singer gets to fuck are the type to have given him those bruises in the first place. They're the reason there's single mothers visiting that clinic, like half melted wax getting scraped out of the picture. He says he shouldn't feel guilty.

I tell Marlon about where I got the idea for poisoning all the food at the Pressman hotel.

He asks me what I mean by that, and I tell him about my first boss at the company I work for now.

When I first started there, I was selling our cars to companies. Bulk orders for work vehicles. My job was to not fuck up any contracts we already had. Marlon is probably aware, but the type of man involved in that sort of thing, he knows he's got you on a collar and chain. You and him both know he'll be renewing the contract, but you have to do the song and dance for him. Pretend you like how close he gets to you. Pretend you don't want to rip his testicles from his ballsack when he leans in sweaty and tells you how he likes your hair, did you go and do all that just for me?

Because he knows. And you know. But enduring this is what you were hired to do. If you were a man, you would've been hired to create a sense of the old boys club with this guy. But you're not.

There is so much pretense in the world.

Anyway, my first boss, call him Joe — whenever I'd return from those trips and dinners, Joe wouldn't pretend that it wasn't a shit job. He'd commiserate and wish me luck with the next one. He didn't overstep, he wasn't creepy, he kept his distance. The best you could hope for. Thirty days on the job, they asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was doing great. The job was amazing, I felt embraced by the company, my boss was great. One of those things was true to me.

And when Joe got his promotion, for being such a great regional manager, he cornered me in my cubicle and informed me he'd been jerking off into my nicely labeled thin salad lunches each time they showed up in the office fridge. He told me this with the same smile he'd always worn.

Marlon, he's next to me, and he leans closer like we're having a nice little confession. My skin itches.

It was before the 90 day clause kicked in my health coverage, so I had to wait at one of those free clinics like Marlon's, and I was surrounded by a lot of young men, wispy mangled pears. What little flesh was left was soft. When I told the nurse what happened, I watched myself die in her eyes. Dappling up with rashes and bruises until I was all painted and sunken like a bog body.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd become the oral Mary. How many times I vomited in that office toilet, I don't know. I stopped bringing lunch.

The thing is, I couldn't see it in his face. Joe's, I mean. Not even when he told me. I couldn't see it in anyone. So I stopped eating out. Stopped eating altogether, really.

Marlon, his response was to go to the support groups. His tragedy was that it was a slow death, coming for him. Best to wriggle into the pile of dying bodies, see what it's like. Maybe that could muster enough suicidal impulse.

I tell Marlon, of course, I couldn't go to HR. I was a new hire with no evidence and previous record of liking my boss. I didn't want to tell my mom. I didn't want her to know. Those uncomfortable dinners became absolutely, wretchedly unbearable as I thought about the food I was being forced to share.

When the option came up for a dead end job in the least loved department in the building, I put on the best performance of my life to get the part. Best aspiring Compliance and Liability head and sole department employee, that's me. My new job was to keep secrets. It was, already, old hat.

For months I thought about waking up from a narcoleptic fit at my desk, with Joe leaning over the cubicle wall and asking if I was alright. I watched my stomach like it was nuclear. Every extra second it took until I bled like usual slid me closer to buying myself a shotgun and pumping a slug or two into my brain.

It's an unavoidable fear, I tell Marlon. You can't do anything about it. Once you know, you know. At some point, you have to find the peace in it. Imagine yourself, a balloon popping with meaty chunks flying apart, splattering onlookers and raining viscera.

For a month, six months, I had cancer. Worse than cancer. Every time I eat out, I get it again.

Marlon is looking at me, melting stained glass, drowning in that sort of shared pity you build together with someone who's dying.

I don't want Marlon to feel guilty.

I tell Marlon, that's why I poison the food at the Pressman hotel. Someone's got to do it. Blood in the tomato sauce, spit on the steak. Imagine what you could do to a soup. The men who go to the Pressman hotel, they're the kind that leave Marlon bloody and walking around Paper Street calling for Tyler to come out and burn more holes into him. They're the kind that get promoted from regional manager. They're the kind that lean in close, pull your wrist towards them, and say there's one way they know you could secure the contract renewal. The kind that almost ruin it in a temper tantrum when you don't, resulting in an upper management intervention on the 24th day of your new job. They're the kind that hear that shit and say you should've been more appeasing. More polite.

Don't feel guilty, Marlon.

I hope all of them rot so everyone can see the maggots eating their insides.

Marlon isn't smiling. I am unavoidably bad at distracting him. There's something final in it, when he sighs, and takes off his tank top. He says it's on his back, and I should just tell him.

I look. I see it. Black hole, botfly, necrosis. There's so many things these broken blood vessels could be. Withering, snapping apart like mummified heartworms. I imagine driving the two inch melarsomine needle deep into the muscles bunched upon his spine.

I look.

I press my hands into him, and I grip like I'm trying to rend my fingers through his skin, deep into his body cavity to rip out his guts. Like I'm trying to grab the rope of his small intestine and strangle him with it. Marlon's yelling at me and trying to hit me, arms flapping like a chicken, and I am bruising ten deep circles into the soft pearskin of his abdomen. It's the only place left on him that's mealy, that isn't frayed rope under worn out leather.

I tell him, you've got bruises. They look mostly normal, to me.

Don't worry too much about it.

And Marlon, he leans into me, and I let him.

#asks #fight club #female fight club au #my writing #obv directly in parallel to the book chapter #this has been sort of floating in my head #in the book its probably the most caring moment the narrator has for marla #and i think that is the same here actually #its just female narrator off the charts detestes marlon more in the first place. puts all her sense of sympathy and shared solidarity into #Tyler. but. yeah #anyway made marlon's life absolutely miserable #and the narrators #i actually went back and forth on that #i dont want to... necessarily... give her Solid Reasons in a way male narrator doesnt have #but its sort of inescapable that fucked up misogynistic shit would happen #and i was thinking how to resolves the food contamination question in my head #hard to explain #inherently more horrible shit will happen to her than male narrator #but not excessively and i want it to feed into the same issues. in this case her complete subjugation in the office and inability to freely #reject the horrific shit shes forced to play along with #resulting in her doing the same to the fat cats rolling by #anyway #she does care about marlon #its complicated

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writing-wh0re · 1 year

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Hey Hey!

I have decided to get back into writing - however, my requests are closed as I am writing for myself and sharing it with you all. I figured this would be an easier way for me to get myself back into it. Soooo I have decided to complete a mini series. Its a Royal Au! with Henry Cavill (because why not?) I hope you enjoy this as much as I am, I’m having so much fun writing this.

All writings will be #writing-wh0re-requests

Likes are great but feedback is golden!

Royal Au!

Pairing: Knight!Henry Cavill x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 2,264

Series Warnings: Smut 18+, Explicit Language, Slight Praise Kink, Vaginal Intercourse, Unprotected Sex, Oral (female and male receiving), Angst, Jealousy, Semi Public Sex. Mentions of Death.

Part 1 - The Princess & Him

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Royal meetings were never something I enjoyed. Slipping in and out of a mindless daze while my father waffles on about, wait fuck, what is he saying?

“Ahh finally listening?” My brother whispers. I roll my eyes, nudging Arthur and pulling myself up straighter in the red velvet chair.

“Your highness, onto the next topic, when is the Princess set to disembark?” Sir Packerrton says, flicking through his paperwork.

“Disembark?” I blurt out, all eyes flicking to me. Although there are only 10 people in this room, including myself, their staring makes my skin feel engulfed in flames.

Sir Gilsten chuckles, his chuckle shaking his round stomach and slumped shoulders. He looks up from his agenda paper work, his thin glasses sliding down his oily wrinkled nose.

“Lucky you’re pretty my lady, you clearly don’t comprehend.” Glisten tuts, rolling his eyes and looking at Sir Frank who accompanies him in chuckling.

“I beg your pardon.” Arthur grits, “She isn’t the only one who needs an explanation, where is she traveling to?”

Sir Glisten slides his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it pains him to speak to us. The room is almost silent as everyone takes in our shared reaction to this news.

“Princess Y/n will be disembarking the Kingdom of Midflora to Nules Empire tomorrow two hours after first light. She will be accompanied by Prince Arthur and their private Knights, Sir Henry and Sir Charles.” Sir Frank reads off the paperwork.

The mention of his name erupts butterflies inside of me. My eyes quickly flick to Henry's, his eyes quickly locking to mine before focusing forward, tuning everything out.

“That’s all well and good Gilsten but what are we leaving for?” Arthus questions, staring down the red faced man.

“For the Princess to find a husband.”

My stomach drops, my eyes go back to Henry, his jaw clenched.

He knew.

“And this involves me how?” Arthur demands.

“Arthur” I plead, not wanting to do this to begin with and certainly not alone.

The men at the table laugh, including our father who has been abnormally quiet throughout this meeting.

“Arthur, she needs a chaperone and I am too busy to attend myself, you must replace me.”

“Oh I’m sure Y/n can handle it, she’s going to be Queen before I’ll have the chance at King.”

“Arthur.” I warn, knowing he’s using our father’s threat of throwing him out of the family to rile him up. My mind races at the thought of becoming Queen one day, knowing it's not my path. There’s no way I’d be Queen before he was king, he’s older than me and his children will succeed me. He’s just pissed off. I quickly calm myself down, so many emotions swirling around inside of me.

“I thought I was free to find my own partner.” I spit.

My father opens his mouth to speak, Gilsten cutting him off.

“This isn’t just for you. Arthur, you’ll also be scouting for a wife, however it's not as urgent as your need is, Princess Y/n.”

My mouth falls open in shock. My need? I’m only 25 and I haven't lived yet.

“Why are we just finding out about this?” Arthur shouts, his hands slamming on the grand oak table.

The room fills with murmurs before our Father stands, following Arthur's lead.

“Out!”

Everyone looks between themselves, before following the King's instruction. The sound of the heavy wooden doors closing echoes through the room.

I cross my arms, looking at my father. Multiple waves of emotion threatening to spill.

Our Father sighs, sitting back down in his chair.

“I wish your mother was still here, she would help you understand.”

“Understand? Father, Mother was your riding instructor's daughter, she would understand the need to not do this.” Arthur shouts, his chest rising and falling with anger.

“Your Mother was different, your grandparents knew her and her family, they were honorable.”

“And you don’t think we would find partners that bring us honor?” I disput.

I feel Henry’s eyes on me, flicking mine to meet his, sadness and anger floats within his eyes.

“It’s easier this way.” My Father states, looking between both Arthur and I.

I take a deep breath, feeling a hand rub my arm up and down.

“It's okay.” Arthur whispers.

I take a shaky breath in, feeling a droplet on my cheek, am I crying? Fuck.

“Y/n, honey.” My Father softens slightly, only momentarily.

“Excuse me.” I stand, my chair rumbling against the wooden floor.

“No, We discuss things in this family.” My Father spits, his index finger pointing at the table.

“Do we? Because I don’t remember there being a discussion about mine and Arthur's love lives. It shouldn’t be a discussion in the first place. And the need for me to find a husband? I’m only 25, there is no need for me to accomplish anything!” I scream, my eyes starting to fill with more tears.

“Be up at first light, I’ll send Mia to wake you.” My Father states, his stare cold. I look over at Arthur, his face red and his fists balled so tight his knuckles are white.

I scoff, my vision becoming blurry as I walk out of the room. I rush through the halls to my bedroom, shutting my door and sliding down the back of it. The straps of my dress fall down my shoulders as I sob.

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A soft knock hits against my bedroom door as it pushes open.

“I’m awake Mia.” I mumble, my eyes focused on the sun rise as I sit on my bay window.

“I’ll be sure to pass it on.”

“Henry.” I breathe, closing the distance between us, my arms wrapping around him as he picks me up. Both of us holding each other, savoring the quiet moments.

“I’m sorry my princess.”

“When did you find out?” I sigh, pulling out of his embrace.

“Two days ago, they had me stand in during the meeting. Your Father didn’t make any comments, he sat there and stewed on his thoughts, I didn’t know what to tell you.”

“It’s okay, I'm just going to ignore the whole thing and not be a pleasure to be around. So watch out.” I wink, causing Henry to sigh.

“This is going to suck, seeing men with their hands on you.”

“Maybe I could tell them I’m an impure Princess, who longs only for a knight who knows how to touch all the right places and they will run for the hills.” Henry’s eyes darken at my words, his hand caresses my face, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip.

His eyes focus on my lips, before his eyes lock with mine, a small gentle smile dancing across his face before our lips touch. Gentle, soft and loving before quickly turning into hunger, desire and need. Both of us know this may be the last time for a while.

Henry’s fingers stroke through my hair, his tongue slipping into my mouth as they twist together. His other hand holds my waist, softly squeezing my skin.

“Please.” I whimper.

“Princess.” Henry sighs, the breathless moan sending arousal to pool between my thighs.

Henry pulls away from me, my lips tingling, my body aching for him. Henry steps back, a whimper slipping past my lips. Henry reaches out, gently slipping the strap of my silk nightgown off my shoulder. His touch caused goosebumps to litter my skin, a small shiver running down my back.

I slip my arms out of the fallen straps, the silk falling off my body and pooling at my feet. My naked body is on display for him.

Only him.

“Henry.”

“Y/n, baby, give me a moment.” He whispers, licking his lips as his eyes trail over me.

Blush heats my cheeks, butterflies erupting inside of me, hearing Henry say my name always has this effect on me. Henry slowly undresses himself. Tingles run through me at the sight of his naked body.

“C’mere baby.”

We close the small distance separating our bodies. His warmth engulfs me, his lips kissing and sucking my neck, a small part of me hoping he leaves his mark.

Henry picks me up, walking us over to the bay window. Henry sits against the soft cushion, my knees resting beside his thighs, his hands on my ass.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, his eyes staring deeply into mine.

I cup his face in my hands, our lips meeting in the middle as Henry’s fingers rub my clit, my hips grinding against his movements.

“Fuck.” I whisper, my head falling back, his lips trailing up my neck.

He slides his cock up and down my slit, collecting my wetness before his tip nudges inside of me. My mouth falls open, breathless whimpers filling the area as I sink down onto him. Earning a low groan to rumble through his chest.

“God, look at you.” Henry moans, my hips rocking back and forth, one of his hands on my ass, helping to guide me back and forth. The other stroked my hair, watching my face contorted in pleasure.

“You’re mine princess.”

“All yours Henry.”

Henry moans against my chest, his face buried in my breasts, his lips sucking on my nipples.

“Say that again.”

“Yours Henry.” My fingers lace through his hair, fingertips scratching at his scalp as he continues to kiss my boobs.

“Y/n, god you feel so good, fucking ruining you for anyone else.” He groans.

My eyes roll back as his hips start to thrust up to meet mine, his dick disappearing deeper and deeper inside of my warm wet pussy.

“Henry.” His name passed my lips like a chorus, a song neither of us would tire of hearing.

I place my hands on his shoulders as we move together, his fingers rubbing my clit as his cock slides in and out of me. I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, earning a hiss to fall from his lips.

“Just like that.” I whimper, the feeling of his cock rocking in and out of me causing my brian to fuzz.

“Doing so well baby.” Henry whispers, his lips kissing along my jaw.

“Don’t stop, Henry, fuck, I’m close.” I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling our bodies closer together, angling my hips to meet his thrusts. His cock nudges against my sweet spot, my toes curling.

“Henry, god!” I yell, his hand coming up to cover my mouth.

“Be a good girl.” Henry warns. I nod against his palm, my eyes rolling back as I cum over his cock. His fingers slow on my clit as shocks of electricity flow through me.

Henry continues to fuck up into me, his thursts becoming sloppy as I kiss his neck, sucking and biting the skin.

“Cum for me, fill me baby, ruin me.” I whisper, biting his earlobe, his grip on my hips becoming stronger, leaving small bruises that are a reminder on my skin.

“Fuck, Y/n.” My heart swells with pride as my name falls from his lips. His head thrown back against the window, his thumbs rubbing small circles on my hips and his cock pulsating inside of me.

The morning sun shining through the window shows our glistening skin. Small marks left on Henry’s body and even smaller left on me.

“Y/n!” Arthur yells, knocking on the door. “You have ten minutes and I hope you’re packed!”

“Shit.” Henry and I say in unison as we rush around the room. I dash over to my draws, pulling out under garments and rushing through the wardrobe for something comfortable yet elegant.

I peek out of the wardrobe door, watching Henry do up his shirt, his eyes focusing on the land outside. God, how did I get so lucky yet so unlucky all at once.

I shimmy into a simple black dress, a scoop neck and silk fabric that fits against my body just perfectly.

“I always liked this dress.” I smile at Henry’s comment, his lips kissing my exposed shoulder.

“I thought you did, I think everyone else hates it.” I crinkle my nose causing Henry to chuckle.

Before anything more is said, there is a knock at my door.

“Y/n?” Arthur’s voice slips through the crack.

“You can come in.” I reply, Henry slightly distancing himself from me.

Although Arthur is aware after catching Henry and I in the garden in the evening, he is sworn to secrecy. Especially if he doesn’t want our Father to find out about his Bar maiden.

“Henry, I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.” Arthur chuckles, looking between the two of us.

“Father is looking for you, Mia is coming to grab you bags but I thought I better interrupt, whatever this was before someone else did.” Arthur explains, as Henry nods at him.

“And I am forever grateful for your efforts with this Arthur.”

“As am I.” I smile at my brother who smiles back at the both of us.

“C’mon then, we don’t have much time and I don’t want to delay this for much longer, I’d rather it be over.” Arthur states putting his arm out for me to take.

I quickly turned to Henry, kissing his cheek before taking my brother's arm.

“Meet you down there.” I wink as Henry smiles at me.

“I understand this is going to be hard, for both of you and if at any point I can help ease the stress, make me aware.” Arthur whispers as I squeeze his arm.

“I appreciate you dear brother.”

♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕

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