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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

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Violent Delights Have Violent Ends - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Serial killers, murders, blood, referencing to infidelity, descriptions of dead bodies, bugs

A/N: Enjoy part 2 babes!!!!

Part 1

The worst part about a crime scene was not seeing the dead bodies, it was smelling them as soon as you entered the house. However, seeing them was not exactly great either.

This would have been much better advice than Derek telling you seeing a dead body for the first time can be a bit freaky.

You don’t really know why you agreed to go to the crime scene, but God did you fucking regret it now. Your eyes were starting to water and your hands were ever so slightly shaking. It was clear to you that all the profilers around you knew what you felt. Even if you were hard to read, they would have known just by the way you stopped talking.

Hotch gently put his hand on your arm, causing you to jump slightly and give him a small smile. He led you both to the kitchen to sit down for a moment, giving you a moment away from the whole scene.

Looking at the pictures was so different than seeing it in person. Someone actually dipped their hand in the neck of someone else and wrote on the wall in their blood. And they were cold and calculated enough to put gloves on first so there was no DNA left behind. Fucking psychopath.

“Y/n?”

You looked up from your hands and let out a curt laugh when a tear fell down your cheek. “Shit. Sorry.” Quickly wiping it away, you looked back down at your hands. “Sorry, I just….”

“It’s a lot.”

“Why–why do you need me here Hotch.”

He nodded and looked back at the living room. “Because we have a feeling the way he’s positioning the bodies might help us figure something else out, and you are our resident expert.”

“Don’t let Reid hear you say that. He might just have an aneurysm.” You muttered, a small smile on your face.

It got Hotch to smile in response. “He knows that you know more about this than him. Don’t worry. Can you get back in there or would you like us to take pictures and send them to you?”

You shook your head and stood up. “I’m fine. Just an initial shock I guess. Thank you, Hotch.”

The two of you walked back into the living room, and you were still grateful that you decided to forgo lunch, not giving your stomach any ammo in case it decided to evacuate your body.

The scene was gruesome. The wife’s body was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace arms above her head as if she was lifting something. Her blonde hair had been stained red, almost purposefully with blood, and braided into two long braids that came down the front of her chest. The only indication of any blood on her body, besides the gaping wound on her neck, was that the palms of her hands were coated in now-dried blood.

“It’s um.” You closed your eyes for a second. “It’s John Singer Sargent.”

“The famous painter?” Spencer turned to look at you from across the room where he had been talking to Prentiss.

You nodded. “His, uh. Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, where she um, lifts the crown onto her head…It’s massive, like seven feet tall, four feet wide, at the Tate Britain in London.”

“What does this have to do with her.” Derek gestured to the corpse on the floor. Spencer, who noted that you really couldn’t take your eyes off of the body, pulled out his phone and quickly found the painting you were referencing.

“Oh wow,” Morgan muttered. “He even dressed her in the same shade of green…”

“It’s one of the most famous portrayals of Lady Macbeth out there. Her dress was decorated with….” Your eyes widened.

“With what.” Hotch walked over to you and looked between you and the body, and then over to Spencer. “What was her dress decorated with.”

Spencer quickly made his way over to you and kneeled next to the wife. “Oh my god.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Derek crossed his arms, unamused by the lack of information being spread around.

“Beetles. Ellen Terry’s dress was decorated with the wings of beetles.” You spoke up. _________________________________________________________

Spencer had volunteered to drive you back to the station so that you could look at the actual bodies of the previous victims to see if you could find more details that they had missed.

“This one, Spencer, she’s uh…” You bit your lip, looking at the first set of victims. “This was the Romeo and Juliet one right? Because she’s draped on top of him like every production and painting of Romeo and Juliet I’ve ever seen. If we have to go specifics then I would say probably “The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets” by Leighton. And the um…” You placed that image down and hunted for another one.

“And this one is the Hamlet one since she’s positioned exactly like Ophelia in Sir John Everett Milais’ painting. The Pre-Raphelite one with all the flowers. Look at the sheet the unsub placed her on, it’s completely floral, and did the autopsy come back saying she had drowned, or was drowned and then resuscitated or something?”

Spencer nodded. He was honestly in awe of you. The way you reset your head when you left the crime scene. The urgency you had developed. The sheer breadth of knowledge you possessed just continued to make him fall head first for you. Not that he could ever do anything about it since you lived in London half of the time, and he was always traveling around the US with no sort of set schedule.

“And…uh, where is it.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The one with the, uh, um. What the fuck was that guy’s name?”

Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow. “Are you talking about Caesar?”

“YES. God. I always forget his name. Portia. She swallowed hot coals to kill herself right? But in the picture…” You pulled the photo out of the depths of the pile. “There’s a wound on the wife’s leg. Her cause of death was bleeding out, right? With the way she’s draped on the bed, and her husband is in the other room, it’s not the show. I think it’s the baroque piece of Portia by, uh, um…oh shit what was her name….”

Watching you work literally made Spencer’s heart want to bleed. He would actually propose to you on the spot if it wasn’t an extremely insensitive time to do so, and also you weren’t even dating. It was baffling to him that he had only known you for three days.

“Elisabetta Sirani!” You pulled out your phone and looked up the picture, and lo and behold, it matched the body.

“I think that it’s an art student, or someone heavily involved in art. Some of these are famous paintings, sure, but others? There’s a history there Spence. I only know these paintings because of my Ph.D. Sirani is not as common an artist as she should be.”

He sputtered at the nickname but quickly recovered. “I’ll call Hotch and let him know.”

You smiled at him and he smiled right back at you.

There was too long of a pause. It shouldn’t have happened at all really. But the sheriff knocked on the door, misinterpreting the stare for something more aggressive. “I don’t mean to break up whatever yelling session is about to happen, but the autopsy report came back…those were real wings.”

You looked back over at Spencer. “Tell him to get the team back. You guys need to give the profile.” _____________________________________________________________

“I just don’t understand where someone even gets that many beetle wings. It’s not like you can order them online and have them shipped to your house.”

“That tells you how premeditated this was then.”

“Woman, where have you been all our lives.”

You laughed and Derek smiled over at you.

“No, seriously Y/n. I never thought Art history could be so…”

“Violent?” You guessed, smirking slightly and shaking her head. “There’s a painting I think yo should look up Derek. Well a few of them—Saturn Devouring His Son by Goya is a favorite of mine, and then Judith Beheading Holofernes by Virmiglio has a shit ton of blood in it…or if you want some heartbreak, I am personally fond of Caleron’s Broken Vows, or anything portraying the Kiss of Franchesca and Paulo.”

“I just don’t get how you can store all of this in your head.” Derek pulled up to the college campus and flashed his badge at the campus security, who let him through the gate.

“Well, I don’t know how to take apart a gun, and then put it back together, let alone fire it. We all have our different skills.”

This caused Derek to laugh. “Touche.”

The two of you pulled up to the building with the offices of the Art History faculty and looked around the campus. “This is a massive campus, Derek. I’m pretty sure they have an MA and a Ph.D. in Art History beyond undergrad…”

“Believe it or not, this is not our first murderous college student case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. It’s good to know the youth of America are doing alright.”

That caused Derek to crack a smile. “Well. Let’s go find this professor and see what we can find out.”

The trek across campus brought you back to your college days. It was kind of nice to see that kids still hung out on the lawns and with one another, not just staring at their phones and laptops all of the time.

The both of you made your way up to the stairs of this slightly blocky building. It felt a bit like a museum with the amount of artifacts that they kept on the first and second floors, but as you walked through the fifth floor offices, your face started to fall.

“Derek what was the name of the professor we were supposed to talk to?” You whispered, slowly moving to a stop.

He turned and looked at you. “uh…Doctor Kolek, why?”

You pointed to the door you stopped in front of.

It was slightly ajar and looked as if the lock had been busted. Morgan quickly, pulled out his gun and shoved you behind him, calling out the woman’s name as you both held your breath.

When there was no response, Derek slowly pushed the door open. Her office was a wreck, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Papers were scattered, there were frames on the floor, and a dent in the wall as if someone had tried to throw something at someone. You called out the woman’s name again, only to gasp. Derek turned and faced the same way you were looking.

Doctor Kolek was face down on the floor. There was no blood around her, and the room didn’t smell like death, so that was a good sign, but she was clearly unconscious. Derek quickly rolled her over and checked for her vitals.

“She’s still breathing. Call a medic.”

You scrambled to pull out your phone, dialing 911.

#x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader

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gothgleek · 7 months

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Alicent based on this post about Modest!Alicent by @dirtytransmasc

Details under the cut

-I was obsessed with the veiled pieces that OP mentioned and I loved the image of her in gold veils that looked like she was dripping in gold.

- The veils are based on Catholic veils (specifically and 4), medieval head coverings like ones worn in Ophelia 2018 and wimples (2 and 6), Star Wars (5), and the Tudor period (7). Most of them are sheer because one, I couldn’t figure out how to wrap them around her head without her looking like a blob of color and when it did look okay she looked like she was wearing a hijab and it felt too appropriative to draw on Alicent. This is also why her hair is visible in most of them but in practice she would cover them with thicker fabric.

- Alicent wears long billowing sleeves with heavy skirts. OP said that Alicent would wear dresses that conceal her figure which I tried to maintain but some have a shapelier silhouette as it looked better with my art style. I hope one day I will be able to draw modest clothing without making someone look like a blob but I’m not there yet.

- Dress 1 is inspired by the series Isabel 2011, which from what I’ve seen has some nice costumes. It also gave me a good base for something historical and modest but still luxurious.

- The second is based on Lady Macbeth and Ophelia in the Ophelia movie. I debated on adding braids but I think Alicent would’ve worn them. They’re neat, mature, and somewhat conservative hairstyle while also giving her an opportunity to wear more accessories which is expected of her as a queen. I know OP said modest but irl royalty had to wear extravagant clothes to prove their status and with the pressure of civil war and being the second wife, Alicent would certainly wear luxurious jewelry while staying simple compared to the rest of the Targaryens. The beads are Targ inspired as she would also need to embrace Valeryian styles to stay in Viserys’s favor.

- This side view of Alicent has the deepest neckline because that is what worked best for a side view. I also noticed Catholic veils tended to have patterns so I added simple gold flowers. The dress is medieval based.

- What sparked my artistic interest was OP’s descriptions of the veils so I had to do a dedicated work with a veil in the spotlight. In the original post, it was mentioned that Alicent would wear shawls with tapestry like designs. I couldn’t think of anything that would look good with fabric folds and creases but on a lace veil? I could definitely do that. Tbh it’s not my favorite design (Helaena’s was my favorite) but I think it represents Alicent’s loyalties pretty well. I’m personally pleased with how the dragons and tower came out.

- I don’t care about Star Wars but some of Padme’s outfits have screamed Alicent to me since the beginning. The golden lace veil with pearls is the centerpiece so her dress is much more toned down.

- This is again based on Ophelia’s costuming and on OP saying Alicent appears to be dripping in gold wearing golden veils. I added jewelry shaped like the Hightower sigil with green gems decorating it.

- OP mentioned shawls with tassels and patterns so I had to add them onto the last dress. Well, I had fur instead of tassels but the statement still stands. I also tried to make the veil based on Spanish mantillas but it never turned out correct so I kept it simple. The dress is a mix of Alexander McQueen Fall 2011 and the Tudors era.

#alicent hightower #house of the dragon #HOTD #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #alicent targaryen #heleana targaryen #fashion history #asoiaf clothing #fantasy costumes #mine #asoiaf hair and clothing #team green #pro team green #pro green

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cordeliawhohung · 9 days

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girl the ps!gaz calling u his wife around the studio even after the shoot (thanks shotmrmiller for that one) reminded me of when i was lady macbeth for a production and the girl who played macbeth still calls me her wife to this day 😩

not ps!soap but i was immediately PLAGUED, utterly DISEASED with thoughts of reader and soap being in the same theatre company doing the scottish play and his down bad self calling you his wife from the moment you two were cast as macbeth and his lady, and then continuing to call you that forever afterwards 🥴

johnny would be a real menace about it for sure

would keep calling himself a method actor. he's gotta "stay in character" or whatever. tells you not to worry when his hands skirt a little too close to your ass, it's what husbands and wives do, after all. says the same thing when he's fucking you in the dressing room after hours, too.

it's just what husbands and wives do.

#core responds #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #f!reader

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asumofwords · 1 year

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: 'I'm not here to fuck spiders' type of vibe. I am just going to warn you now, the reader is definitely a 'fuck around and find out' type of gal. "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't'" - Lady Macbeth, the original man eater, my guiding light.

Chapter 30: Fire and Blood

For days you bobbed beneath the surface of consciousness, breaking through the waves rising to the top, looking around to observe your surroundings, your body still heavy as a stone before you crashed down into the abyss once more, tart liquid on your tongue.

You emerged from the turbulent waves again, eyes sliding open, head turning sluggishly to the seat beside your bed. Each movement of your head against the pillow made nausea climb up through your throat.

The world spun as you were finally able to concentrate on the figure that sat rigidly beside your bed. Donned in a tight green dress sat Alicent, watching you unmoving, with her lips pursed into a tight line.

She sat so stiffly, you would not be surprised if a rod had been shoved inside of her. As though you were to blame. As though by some inexplicable reason, that she had been put out by the actions of her own son, who had been encouraged by her bitterness for years.

How dare she fucking look at you like that.

Fury burst through you as you struggled to pull yourself sitting, desperately dragging your body up from beneath the sheets, grunting. The pain in your side was raw as you heavily laid your back against the board of the bed. You sucked in greedy breaths, holding in whimpers of pain as your side was alight with pulses.

She watched you impassively, having not moved as she waited for you to pull yourself upright. She did not offer help, nor twitch at the sight of you struggling, or in pain. She was every inch an Ice Queen.

You looked at the tables beside your bed, they were empty. No cups to throw at the Green Queen, no blade to slit her throat with, no makeshift weapon to avenge your family.

You stared at her, begging to keep your grief at bay, and let your anger rise above it all. You needed to hold strong. You needed to be a dragon.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, head tilted as she spoke.

How were you feeling?

Her son murdered your brother in front of you, chased you about the skies tormenting him. For years she and her kin have made your families lives a living nightmare. Her son usurped the crown from your mother as she forced people to support him. She made the realm a more dangerous place for women, ensuring that you would never become heir to the throne.

How were you feeling?

You watched silently as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, pulling and twisting, waiting for your response, though none came. The skin around her nails were raw and bloody as they twisted in her lap.

You wished she would bite through the bone next time.

“I prayed to the Seven every night for your speedy recovery from certain death. You fell and Aemond caught you. The Prince brought you here, gaunt, pale, wet with rain and blood. The Maesters were sure you would not survive, but Prince Aemond insisted on saving you."

Saved you?

Saved you??

He was the reason you were in this godforsaken bed.

It was almost laughable. In fact, you did laugh, though the dryness of your throat caused your lungs to seize. A ragged cough forced itself from your lips as you doubled over in pain, clutching your side.

What had he done to you?

What was wrong with your side?

If he had saved you, why do you feel broken?

You sucked in an agonising breath as you leant back, pulling the white chemise up your side higher and higher from your body, slowly exposing your skin to the room. You grunted with every movement.

Around your ribs were thick bandages pulled taught against you. Blood stained the left of the creamy strips. Tentatively, you went to pull the bandages away from your skin, to look at what lay beneath.

“Aemond saved you.” She repeated, as though you hadn’t heard her.

You scoffed, but the rush of air caused your side to flare with pain. You sucked in a shallow breath, snapping your head to the woman at the side of your bed.

Her face had not changed. Ever the martyr. Ever the goddamn self righteous woman of the Gods who could do no wrong. Who could never be held accountable for the domino affect of her actions.

You swore to yourself then and there, that once you were healed and ready, you would kill her. Present her eyes... No. Her head to your mother as a gift.

As you looked down at your side, large bruises peaked above the bandages, dark purples and reds blooming across your skin. You breathed shallowly, fingers resuming their pulling on the bandages, more discolouration becoming visible to your eyes.

“He saved you from the fall, a certain death if you were to hit the waves below you.”

Your fingers pulled at a bandage with dried blood away from your ribs, the strips resisting as they had stuck to the wound below. You held your breath as you pulled the bandage further away, feeling the scabs pull from your wound, a sharp stinging spreading across your side.

Beneath the bandages, your skin was deeply bruised. A large gash ran around the side of your ribs from your front, to your back. Its edges were jagged, as though a blade had been roughly pulled along your flesh, the tight skin snapping apart from the tension.

Through the ragged and torn flesh were lines of hastily done stitches, their dark thread holding the wound tightly shut together. Every movement pulled on them. And the wound was swollen and red, there was no sign of infection to be seen.

You sucked in a stuttering breath as you placed the bandages back against your side, slumping as you watched the woman in front of you ramble.

“The Seven heard our prayers and saved you from The Stranger. Princess Helaena has prayed for you too, as did the King. You are safe here. We have made sure that you have had the best medical treatment in all the realm.”

You felt bile rise up in your mouth. You stared at her, unblinking until finally you spoke.

“My brother is dead.” Your voice cracked dryly.

Alicent stiffened in her seat, sitting up straighter as her hands came to a stop in her lap.

“I grieve-“

“Lucerys was murdered…” You cut her off. “By your son…A Kinslayer.”

Every word twinged your side in pain.

You breathed heavily, the strumming pain curling around your lungs as you waited for her to respond. The Dowager Queen simply stared at you, waiting for you to talk again.

You both sat like this for some time, willing the other to talk as thoughts whirled through your mind. You gave in to the silence.

“I suppose you have informed the Queen that you have me as your prisoner?” You inquired dully.

The Dowager Queen's perfectly manicured brows twitched above her eyes, lightly scrunching in the centre as she suddenly shifted in her seat.

Her fingers picked at her skin more openly.

Realisation dawned on you, as you leant your head back, looking down at her from your nose.

“They do not know I am alive,” You prodded, “Do they?”

The Hightower did not respond.

There was your answer.

A huff of laughter jerked out of your mouth, side twinging. Your lips pulled into a wide smile as you began to laugh, the pain from your wound ignored as joy coursed through your veins. You wondered if anyone else in the Keep knew of your survival, except those trusted by Alicent to tend to you.

You laughed loudly at the predicament as the Dowager Queen sat rigidly in her seat, fingers clenching in her lap. Your laughter peeled across the room dryly, wisps and croaks following after.

What a delight to know that Alicent truly had made a grave mistake.

The door to your chambers opened as Ser Cristin Cole and Aemond walked into the room, watching as you laughed heartily, clutching your side in agony as you felt the stitches pull tightly in your wound, fresh blood soaking the bandages.

You laughed louder at their entrance, their confusion evident on their faces as they came to stand beside Alicent, looking down at her, eyes searching for answers.

Aemond watched you intently, almost unsure of how to react.

Oh Gods, it just got better.

They think you've gone mad.

A cough worked its way up your throat as your laughter turned into a string of hacks, pain capturing your entire body. The bitter taste of blood pooled in your mouth as you coughed, hand coming to touch your lips delicately as you smiled through the pain.

“They do not know I am alive.” You laughed, hand pulling back to look at the spots of blood on them.

You leant heavily against the board as you looked at them all grinning, blood in your teeth. Aemond watched you curiously, eye patch once again gone, as he looked at your hand covered in blood.

You pushed your arms below you, pulling yourself up to sit higher against the wooden board behind you, as you shook your head gently at the woman in green, tutting her as you did.

“You’re all going to die.” You beamed viciously, “You know this… Don’t you, Alicent?” You pushed out a grunting laugh again as your eyes skimmed to Aemond, watching him as you spoke again.

“They’re coming for you. All of you.” You mimicked Rhaenys warning. You slid your eyes back to Alicent who’s head sat higher on her neck. “Oh Alicent, I thought you were smarter than this.” You chastised her, “Mothers favourite son, and fathers favourite daughter?”

You laughed again at the absurdity.

“You really should have told them that I was alive.”

You looked pointedly out of the window across the room, sighing dreamily as you spoke, the room silent except for your voice, “I suppose they should be here very soon.”

Aemond shifted on his feet as he stepped forward, placing his seated mother behind him. Always the protective young man you thought, as your laughter turned into little huffs of giggles before you finally calmed yourself.

The bitter copper taste in your mouth made you run your tongue along your teeth to clear it.

“If you continue to allow the Queen and King Daemon to believe that both I… and my brother were slain, you will find the Keep burnt to ashes before the morrow. If you were clever, I would send a raven.” You mocked.

“We have tended to your wounds, brought you back from the brink of death, kept you safe he-“

“Safe? You have imprisoned me in my old chambers,” You looked about the room as you spoke, smiling through the pain, “Your demented son chased me and Prince Lucerys around the skies when we were messengers, and allowed my parents to believe that they lost two children at the hands of your Kinslayer son.” You hissed.

“I would have sent a raven by now, though I have no issues with dying in the Keep with you all.” You smiled, looking directly at Aemond, “At least I will get to hear you scream.”

Alicent pushed up from the seat beside your bed turning to Ser Criston Cole, before swiftly leaving your chambers, the dark haired knight trailing after her as you guessed they were to send a raven to the Queen.

“Send my regards to my mother!” You called out as Aemond stood stiffly beside your bed, looking down at you.

You stared up at him as you sat lazily against the board of the bed, fatigue slowly working its way through your body as your side began to throb viciously.

You sighed as you looked at him, his demeanour confused you.

The silver haired man looked tired, large bags under his eyes standing out against his pale skin. Most likely due to celebrating his murder and capture of his obsession.

The One-Eyed Prince went to turn away from you, but you stopped him.

“Aemond wait.” You called out to him, false desperation in your tone as he halted to turn and look at you, eye searching your form before it paused on your bandages.

You swallowed thickly, looking down into your lap before looking back at him, pulling your face tightly together as you faked a sob. The tall man twitched forward towards you as you pulled your hands up to your face, hiding your sneer.

You dropped your hands back to your lap, looking at the man before you. Nothing but violent rage curled through you as you looked at him. Images of your brother dying, flashed behind your eyes.

You sniffed.

“You saved me.” You spoke quietly, looking him in the eye.

Aemond shifted on his feet as he looked at you, saying nothing.

You sniffed again, wringing your hands in your lap before touching your side gently, “Thank you.”

He still said nothing.

Simply observed you.

Come on you bastard.

“Thank you for saving me.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. You watched his form relax, the tension moving slightly from his shoulders.

Men.

They are so easy to manipulate. How dull they all are. You simply bat your eyes, put a little bit of stupidity in your tone and flash them your cunt, and they will do anything you say.

Anything.

"Thank you, uncle." You sniffled as you gave him a sad smile.

The Prince took two steps towards you, still towering over you as he watched. You looked into your lap, twiddling your fingers together as he stood beside you.

Look innocent, and sweet.

Quite the performance you made as you reached a hand shyly to grasp at his that was by his side.

And he let you.

You reached for that hand and held it as though you were a maiden, shy and unsure. You pushed down your disgust and the way your skin crawled at the contact of your brothers murderer.

You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles softly as you gazed up at him, before you brought his hand towards your face. You felt him stiffen slightly, hesitant, and so you put the act on harder.

You almost dropped his hand, uttering a gentle whisper of 'sorry'. His hand squeezed yours gently, keeping it in your grip. He was reassuring you.

You had him.

Hook, line and sinker.

Letting your lips pull into a mournful smile, you looked down at his hand before you brought it up to your lips. You had to use every ounce of energy within you to not bite his fucking fingers off.

Those rough fingers. The ones that had been inside you. That had touched you. That have held blades and swords, and books and wine. The same ones that had taken life, touched your lips as you pressed a slow and gentle kiss to them, shyly looking up at the Prince.

It was every mans wet dream.

He leant into your touch, his eye blinking. He seemed almost shocked.

Good.

You rubbed your cheek against his hand, looking at him with your sweetest doe eyes. Something you had learnt from your father. He said the eyes carry a thousand words that your lips cannot.

As you leant your face into his hand that was still clutched in yours, you smiled sadly at him. Pathetically. Like a bird with a broken wing, singing a sad song to its captive.

And as you watched his shoulders sag, and the tension leave his brow, and his lips relax from the god awful purse he always wore when angry, you let yourself smile.

A soft smile, just a hint.

A sort of smile you give to someone you might pity.

And you did pity him.

What a stupid fucking man.

You opened your mouth, closing it again for show as if in thought on how to thank him next. Perhaps he was thinking you may ask him to bed you. He could certainly crawl into bed with you, and you would certainly bite off his cock.

What an exhilarating thought.

You opened your mouth again and spoke in the most sickly sweet manner that you could muster.

"Thank you, uncle. For saving me. For saving my life."

You paused for effect.

“Now that I live... I will get to watch you die screaming.”

You smiled cruelly at him. Hand still holding his gently against you.

And then tension was back in his shoulders and face, and the spell you had cast was broken as the older Prince seemed to come to his senses, his one eye locked on yours as silence captured the room.

“You really should have killed me, uncle.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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so-i-did-this-thing · 3 months

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@crowtoed and I remembered that Boston is a feasible day trip for us, so we got to see the John Singer Sargent exhibit before it left the MFA.

Loved seeing the textiles that were depicted in many of his paintings. Lady Macbeth's beetle dress was a highlight for sure!

#john singer sargent #my face

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be-missed · 6 months

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Not So Secret

Florence Pugh X Fem!Reader

(picture not mine)

Summary: Everybody knows that Florence Pugh and Y/N are best friends, but after attending a costume charity party, will everybody still thinks the same about their friendship?

A/N: Hi, thank you for the support. Keep safe, always.

Warnings: pronouns used (herself, she, her, themselves), implied sex (I guess?), notify me if there are any.

Masterlist

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"Are you sure you want to attend with this costume my love?" Y/N asked Florence while they are waiting for the hotel elevator to arrive at their floor.

"Yes darling, I know how you love the characters, and it suits us don't you think?" Florence answered while wiggling her eyebrows.

"Okay my love, thank you for the support" Y/N replied with a shy smile and added "you look wonderful with that green dress, I love how it fits you." and Y/N smiled and squeezed Florence's hand.

Florence gets close to Y/N and whispered "You'll love what's under it" and bites Y/N's earlobe.

Y/N blushes and pushes Florence "You got to stop saying that my love, look at me I'm all red." while fanning herself for blushing.

"Well coloring you hair red suits you, can't wait to see it spread on our bed sheet though." Florence then again tease Y/N.

"Florence stop..." Y/N covers her face while she tries to calm her heart, beating faster than it should be.

The elevator dings and it signals that one of them should go down and ride the car.

"I'm gonna go first, yeah? I'll see you there my darling." Florence announced and kissed Y/N in her lips tenderly.

"See you there, Evelyn." Y/N said.

"I'll be waiting for you, Celia." Florence replied with a smirk and the elevator door closes

The ride to the party was not that long, ton of paparazzi are waiting outside with their big cameras flashing lights like diamonds in the sky, a red carpet is spread, reporters are lined waiting for stars, and a hall full of spooky designs waiting to be fulled.

Florence was the first one to arrive, greeting every fan that's waiting for her, posing for every camera that she saw, and finally, stopping at a reporter.

"Good evening Florence, you look stunning with the green dress, you look like a rare jasmine. Can you explain and introduce who you are dressed as?" The reporter asked Florence.

"Well as you can see, I am wearing a green dress with my blonde hair, nominated and won some Oscars, starred in Little Women but not as Amy. I am Ms. Evelyn Hugo" Florence said with a sexy smile and a wiggle on her shoulder.

The reporter cheered for Florence and Florence did a little swirl and asked "So if you are Evelyn Hugo, will we spot your Seven Husbands here? Or will one of them come?"

Florence answered "Well it's better to spot them then, if there are any of my lovers will attend" and winked at the camera.

Screams can be heard from far away, notifying them that another stars have arrived. Florence saw that it was Y/N her eyes can't just leave Y/N and stared at Y/N with a wide smile on her face.

"Well it looks like your best friend is here Florence, do you know what she is dressed for?" The reporter asked Florence with curiosity.

"Uhm, I think you might need to ask it herself." Florence answered with a cheeky smile and bid her farewell to the reporter.

As Y/N arrived to the red carpet, Florence had made her way inside the hall and started to mingle with people.

"Hello, Y/N what a nice outfit that you have, you look stunning as ever. Can you please introduce us who you are?" The same reporter that interviewed Florence asked Y/N.

"Well, I'm an award winning actress, I have a lover named Edward, and played Lady Macbeth. I was called "Screen-Queen", I am Celia St. James." Y/N ended with a graceful smile and did a curtsy.

The reporter was trying to connect the dots with her earlier interviews but tried to compose themselves but hides it and continues to ask Y/N.

"Well what a wonderful character you are. The red hair really suits you. And if I may, your best friend, Florence Pugh is attending as Evelyn Hugo, did the both of you talked about it?" The reporter asked.

"Well, yes. Florence and I talked about our costume tonight and isn't she wonderful in that dress." Y/N answered.

"If you are Celia and Florence is Evelyn, does your relationship, not only being as best friends, but also lovers, and being married also applies just like in the book?" The reporter asked with a smile.

Y/N smiled widely and answered "Well, we aren't in Spain, in our bed with our nightgown, so the married part not yet."

The reporter was speechless for a sec and Y/N bid her good bye as the reporter was silenced because of the news that was dropped at her.

"Well folks, you heard it here first, Florence and Y/N dressed as Evelyn and Celia is here tonight and will surely enjoy it. Hoping for a strong relationship from the two wonderful actress." The reporter stated after recovering from the shock wearing a bright smile.

As Y/N entered the Hall, everybody is looking at her with a bright smile on their faces with congratulatory words. Trying to find the only person that she wants to be with for all of her life, a hug from the back surprised her and when she looks back, its Florence.

"Good job out there" Florence noted as she can now freely kiss Y/N in front of every body after keeping their relationship in the low "Are we gonna get dressed in our nightgowns tonight and marry each other?" Florence teased Y/N/

"We aren't in Spain are we now, huh?" Y/N answered Florence with a smile "But Spain or not, nightgowns or not, in bed or not, I'm gonna marry you." Y/N said and again kissed Florence.

"I love you." Florence whispered

"I love you more" Y/N answered.

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A/N: thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!

#florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh imagine #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x you #happy halloweeeeeeen #seven husbands of evelyn hugo #fic

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