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alicerosejensen · 7 months

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Warning: Yandere!Older Leon; young reader (20-25 years old); kidnapping, pet names, not Stockholm Syndrome, but the reader no longer resists Leon; mentions of sex; mentions of pregnancy, apathy.

Synopsis: If you knew who Leon Kennedy was, you would have avoided him, but it's too late.

A/N: I'm bad at writing summaries and coming up with titles for this shit. Just a yandere Leon and his pregnant reader hidden from the whole world.

It was raining incessantly for the second day, rolling down the glass of the second-floor window in large drops when you were lying on a straightened bed and staring unblinkingly at the weather raging outside in one of the wide warm hoodies. Even a favorite TV show or a good movie with delicious food could not brighten up the gloom of a gray day, because didn't want to get up and go down at all, especially since has already returned home.

Leon probably didn't bother to find out the weather forecast for the next few days, because he left the house on one motorcycle, which should have already been parked in the garage. You listened with bated breath to the heavy footsteps of his shoes as he climbed to the second floor after opening all these numerous locks on the front door. At some point, you even felt that small wave of fear that sometimes overwhelmed you when he was around.

You have been in his hands for more than a year, during which he suppressed all resistance but was never able to get what he wanted - your love. He probably should have turned to a specialist and fixed his head since he really didn’t understand why you didn’t love him and didn’t want to make contact, on the other hand, such an influence made you obey Leon and even enjoy sex with him after which you felt guilty. Ultimately, given the fact that Leon did not consider it necessary to protect himself, this resulted in undesirable consequences. For you, not for him.

When the bedroom door opened, you held your breath as he walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down, reaching out to you. Water from his wet hair dripped onto your face but he didn't seem to care as he leaned towards you placing one hand on your bump.

You didn’t even flinch or turn to him when his lips touched your neck.

"How are my pretty girl and our baby feeling?" the whisper sent a chill inside.

It wasn't worth the risk of testing his patience. You already tried and realized that it would be worse only for you but not for him.

Leon put his hand under your sweatshirt, pressing lightly on you, forcing you to turn to face him so that you were faced with the blue of his eyes, which looked at you with manic admiration.

“I...we’re fine,” you replied, watching him take off his wet leather jacket, throwing it somewhere towards the window and wrapping his arms around your pregnant belly.

The belly that you hated so much and preferred to wear oversized clothes so as not to notice it in the mirror until the last moment.

“My baby…” with trembling reverence, Leon put his head on your stomach, lifting up your hoodie, kissing the warm skin "my baby… Dad missed you two so much. You know, I brought gifts," he grinned, looking at you.

This sight made you sick, causing another surge of hostility towards him and your unwanted pregnancy.

"I want to see how your belly grows...how my baby grows inside you."

“Leon, I don’t think...” you didn’t finish as he interrupted you.

"Do not think!" He said authoritatively, sitting back on the edge of the bed with the intention of paying attention to you. “Will I think for the two of us or would it be more correct to say for the three of us?” that grin of his again

He probably didn't like that sweatshirt you were wearing, so he asked you to wait while he came down to get your gift. Leon quickly left the bedroom and you were able to breathe a little sigh of relief after straightening your clothes, although the happiness was short-lived and just a couple of minutes later Leon returned with a small white box wrapped in red ribbon, which he handed to you, sitting next to you.

"What is this?" you asked, looking at the light-weight box, afraid to open it, as if there was a bomb in there.

"Open it"

Your hands slowly reached for the ribbon, pulling it towards you. A thin strip of fabric fell into your lap, and you opened the lid of the box, putting it next to you on the bed, looking at a set of lace pajamas with an almost indifferent look, consisting of short light gray shorts that looked more like panties, and a pale pink T-shirt with a cute bow under the bodice. It matched the size, but would definitely emphasize your rounded belly.

"I'm sure this will suit you. It's like you're carrying my gift under your heart." He said, noticing the indifference on your face. “Don’t you like it, angel?”

You liked it before. You think that if he were a normal guy and not a psycho with a mania to control your life every breath, then you would be a gift, but in reality, no. However, it was better to lie.

“It's beautiful, I’m just tired. I don’t feel very well,” his hands immediately reached out to you and pressed you to him, stroking your head and kissing your temple.

"Oh, well, I'm already here for you." you snorted quietly, only thinking about how peaceful it was without him. “I want you to wear this today. In the meantime, let’s go, I want to show you something.”

You put the pajamas back in the box and had no desire to go with him, but Leon took your hand and hugged your waist, gently pushing you towards the door. He probably bought something for the baby too, but it was probably some small thing like a toy or a rattle, but in spite of that, he opened the door of an unfinished children’s room for you that still needed to be painted. He had already ordered a changing table and a baby chest of drawers, which arrived about three weeks ago and now stood alone in an empty room. Leon led you to the changing table and you saw two pairs of baby undershirts.

"couldn't help but buy for our baby" His hands continued to caress your belly, irritating you even more "Especially since I took a few unpaid days off and we can order other things."

“It’s too early for such purchases”

“We will be ready in advance,” another kiss fell on the back of the head, “especially since time will fly by quickly, before we have time to look back, our child will already be in our arms.”

This is what you are so afraid of. Leon doesn't even notice the fear of pregnancy and completely ignores your reluctance to become the mother of his child. Your eyes began to tear up looking at the children’s things that you wanted to tear and throw with all the pent-up rage in his face! You wanted to break all this furniture, because everything that happened to you was not your desire. And you didn’t want and don’t want this child.

Does he really think that you like being locked up in his house and carrying his child?! What has the government done to his brain that Leon thinks he has the right to control your life?

"What is it, angel?" Leon asked seeing tears in your eyes. His lips continued to kiss your head down to your neck. You couldn't even resist while he held you to his chest.

“I...don’t want to,” your voice cracked from the bitter lump in your throat.

Leon sighed irritably, making you a little scared, but nevertheless, tears flowed down your cheeks. His hands squeezed your waist almost to the point of pain as he turned you around to face him. A spark of incipient anger flashed in his pale blue eyes, but he pulled himself together, but for a short moment he looked away, trying not to break down. After all, he was already sure that he had suppressed all your resistance and convinced you that only he could take care of you in this cruel world. An oppressive atmosphere reigned in the nursery. Leon's silence was frightening, making you regret what you said. Under the gaze, wanted to shrink and cry somewhere in the corner of the room and finally wake up from all this nightmare.

"It's just hormones" Leon's dissatisfied tone did not let you be deceived. "A little excitement, that's all. Do you believe me, but I'm worried too? This is normal, because this is our first child."

You wanted to howl after those words. The thought that you would have to give birth to hated children from your abductor and stay locked up for days without permission to go out at least into the courtyard of the house did not inspire you with happiness. Leon controlled every aspect of your life and, of course, will control the lives of his children, who will definitely not be happy.

"You don't have to say that. When the baby is born, everything will get better, it will be a little hard for us at first, but you know, I'm thinking of putting a crib in our bedroom. So we don't have to run to another room when the baby wakes up." his gaze softened for a moment and he took your face in his hands, carefully wiping tears from his cheeks with his thumb "Just nerves okay? I know that we will be so happy as soon as this lump of happiness finally appears on our hands. I've wanted a family all my life and now I won't miss this opportunity."

"It was your dream, not mine." the words spoken had a touch of light courage, although they were uttered with apprehension and even despair.

"It will also be your dream" Leon kissed you on the forehead, pressing to his chest "We will be so happy. I promise"

"Do you really think I'm happy here? Do you really think it's okay to keep me under surveillance here like I'm a criminal? Do you really think I'll be happy to be the mother of a child I never wanted?!"

Leon grabbed you by the face harder, forcing you to hold your breath and your heart beat faster from fear. Of course, he never beat, but sometimes his punishments were worse than physical violence, but inside there was a glimmer of hope that he would be afraid to cause any harm because of your pregnancy.

"I'm doing this for your safety. Believe me, one day completely changed my life and I'm not going to lose the people I care about anymore. The world outside is very dangerous and you just can't survive without someone to take care of you, but that someone is me."

"If the world is as dangerous as you say, then why the hell do you decide to have children?"

A logical damn question! And Leon was clearly confused by it. But selfish desires sometimes overshadow the human mind.

"I'm trying to end this crap. Once I thought it was really wrong, but eventually I thought it over…what's wrong with coming from hell to a house where your real family is waiting for you? Cute kids from my beloved wife who would meet me at the door and whom I would hug. I didn't have a family," he said sadly, "I lost my parents too early, when I was still a child myself, and I always wanted my father to be proud of my achievements at school or teach something new. I hardly remember my mother's affection, but I can give it to our children!"

"This is not the answer to the question" You said without pausing like a statue in front of him clenched in strong male hands

"well…" Leon grinned loosening his grip, "in any period of humanity there have always been their own dangers: diseases, wars, famine, pandemics and so on. But if everyone thinks as I thought before, then humanity will definitely die out. My fear should not interfere with my happiness. The main thing is that I can take care of everything and keep my family safe."

His conviction of his own rightness was indestructible. Leon perceived your abduction and forcible detention as forced care for a loved one who could get hurt with an ordinary fork if he relaxed his vigilance a little. In the end, he grabbed your hand and dragged you down to the first floor, squeezing your fingers tightly, as if he was afraid that you might dissolve at any second. But, unfortunately, all past escape attempts were doomed to failure in advance. Perhaps if you play the obedient girl for a long time, pretending that they really love him and accept this abnormal care, then one day you will have a chance to sneak away, but how long will it take? A year? Two? By that time, the baby will already be born, and for some reason you were sure that his hypercontrol would only increase several times.

Suddenly a funny thought came to mind.

Leon once mentioned that he was a policeman. Apparently, he took the phrase "to serve and protect" too literally.

"What now? Will you punish me?" you asked feeling completely desperate because you were not sure that your acting could last so long that he would believe in this lie. Even if you run away, how long will it take him to find you? You can only escape from Kennedy to the next world.

Leon sat you down at the table intending to take care of your lunch, besides, it was certainly important to him that you eat properly and properly. He seems to have read all the books that said what pregnant women can and cannot eat. By the way, he ignored your question for a long time until you called out to him again.

"You are an obedient girl and don't do anything that could harm our child. I'm sure it's just hormones and nerves. When you give birth, you will feel the joy of motherhood"

As if not so!

You wanted to flush his love and care down the toilet because… you did not experience any Stockholm syndrome and if at the beginning of your acquaintance with Leon you experienced exceptionally bright feelings, perhaps even falling in love, now there was nothing but rejection. Although they don't want to admit to themselves that…sometimes his shoulder and gentle strokes were the most beautiful that you could only get in a lifetime.

In the end, you spent the evening on the couch watching some show curled up in a ball while Leon was sitting somewhere behind typing something on a laptop. He checked on you a couple of times and couldn't resist kissing you on the forehead, as if he thought that in front of him was a cute plush toy that needed to be cuddled. You didn't know what to do and whether you would ever be free again…maybe if one day he gets killed in the line of duty…

You stole a look at him when Leon was brushing his teeth in the bathroom and you were already lying in bed in that new lace pajamas. The thought was seductive and to some extent intoxicating, because perhaps it was his accidental death that could one day free you from this imprisonment.

Even when he lay down next to you, especially intently examining your bulging belly, which was noticeable in such clothes.

Leon pulls up his shirt and leaves a wet kiss near the navel while you scroll through this thought in your head.

Perhaps one day the higher powers will have mercy on you, and everything will end… But now, it seems, there was nothing else to do but just accept your inevitable fate and find himself back in the warm embrace from which gradually does not want to get out.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #reader #leon kennedy resident evil #leon resident evil #yandere resident evil #yandere resident evil x reader #yandere leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader

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imagining-in-the-margins · 10 months

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Extracurriculars (S.R.)

Summary: Reader saves her TA from a frathouse.

Request: gradstudent!Spencer getting dragged to a frat party and hooking up with a girl in her undergrad (someone he's been interested in) A/N: Who wouldn’t want to deflower sweet Spencer? Characters are both around 21. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, frat house, college party, alcohol, drunken sexual activity, heavy petting, kissing, making out, loss of virginity (male) penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), TA/Student relationship Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

When I was younger, my mother taught me a few key lessons about growing up. She had to teach me those things because, while they seemed to come naturally to other kids, they never came to me.

It seemed fundamentally unfair that I could do the quadratic formula before I could tie my shoes. Of course, with that, I could just insist I preferred Velcro. My inability to recognize the socially acceptable way to care for my body, or even recognize the signals it was sending to me, was a little harder to explain. It was even harder to calibrate.

By the time I reached college, I became obsessed with cleanliness to an unhealthy degree. I would avoid any situations where I could find myself fixated on dirt beneath my fingernails or anything that could be even tangentially described as ‘sticky.’

I was petrified of being perceived as anything but pure. I had been that way for long enough that it had basically become my defining character trait.

And then, on one very lonely and poorly planned night in grad school, I decided to challenge the idea that I could only be one thing.

That night, I went to a frat house.

Between the pulsing speakers that measured up to my hips and the remnants of discarded beer bottles, I realized that I had made a number of miscalculations—the kind that my mother had most certainly not prepared me for.

“Come on, man, live a little!” the student beside me shouted over impossibly loud music.

I hadn’t the slightest clue what he was asking me to do, but I could tell from the taunt that my answer would be the same regardless:

“N-No thanks.”

I looked down at the glass bottle still dripping beer from its lip. My stomach churned at the sight. I was so distracted by the thought of spit coating the finish that I had failed to connect the dots to realize that the group was planning to play the aptly named game ‘spin the bottle.’

That was, until the older but somehow less mature man to my side jeered, “Why not? Have you never kissed a girl before?”

My cheeks burned with some mixture of embarrassment and rage. I’d hoped that they would confuse it for drunkenness, if they’d thought about it at all.

I wanted to open my mouth to defend my decision without sounding pathetic, but my lips stayed tightly shut.

Then, just a second before the pause became awkward, a second voice chimed in.

“Piss off, idiot.”

I heard her right before I felt her. Her arm slung around my neck brought with it the comforting scent of jasmine and vanilla. Her heated skin somehow stayed warm but never sticky, and my body quickly corrected its instinct to move closer to her.

She’s my student, I reminded myself.

My favorite student, though.

Although the feeling was shared by the man she was speaking to, he wasn’t so clear about it. He seemed almost sarcastic when he shouted, “Whoa! Careful there (y/n), you might make me think you like me.”

By contrast, she was outright in her apathy when she droned, “No one likes you.”

“Ouch,” he replied with a hand clutching his chest, “You wound me.”

I’d half expected her to respond to him in kind. My mind ran a million confusing calculations to try to determine whether this was just harmless flirting or actual annoyance. All I knew for certain was that my chest burned with jealousy that dissipated within a second of her speaking again.

“Hey cutie, which of these jackasses brought you here?” she asked so sweetly I could taste sugar on my tongue as I tried to answer.

“Huh? Oh, u-uh. No… jackasses.”

Smooth as the cheap liquor we’re drinking.

“Yeah, right,” she chuckled in disbelief before explaining, “That’s all that’s here besides you.”

… Besides me?

“You wanna leave?”

My heart stopped at the mere thought. For a moment, I convinced myself that I had fantasized the question. Perhaps someone had slipped something into my drink that had turned me into a blubbering fool. Perhaps it was something more nefarious.

She wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t what?

“What?” I asked.

Before she could clarify, the now very unwelcome third presence chimed in, “He just got here! Let him stay.”

I watched as she bristled in response. Her fingernails dug slightly into my shoulder and she pulled me closer.

It must have been instinct. There was no way she could have meant it on purpose.

It felt nice, though, to be closer to her.

“I also just got here, and yet, I want to leave,” she sneered.

When he made a motion to touch her shoulder the same way she’d been touching mine, she jumped back with a stern warning.

“Touch me and lose at least one testicle.”

He put his hands up in surrender. She scoffed. Her hand dropped from my shoulder, but I never had time to miss her. She took my hand so quickly that I didn’t have time to think about my response. So, I held hers back.

My heart had finally made up its mind before she spoke.

“Come on, sweetheart. We’re leaving,” she ordered.

I followed.

“W-Where are we going?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Somewhere else.”

She turned to look at me with the utmost skepticism, or, dare I say it, fascination with what she found.

“You have somewhere to be?” she asked.

“Um… no?”

I prayed it had been the right answer.

It was.

“Wanna come back to my place?” she offered with a smile, “It’s not far from here.”

She’d said it so casually that I couldn’t help but feel I’d missed something. Surely, she couldn’t be offering the normal incidental activities typically involved with accompanying someone ‘back to their place.’

I had been so certain of it that I’d even possessed the courage to ask.

“Uh… to do… what?”

She laughed. It wasn’t a painful sound; it was kind and airy. The music of her laughter lined the increasingly quiet streets as the music faded away in the background.

“You’re cute,” she hummed. Then, with a wicked smirk, she purred, “You got something in mind?”

My face filled with what felt like half the blood in my body. The rest went to another, somehow even more embarrassing aspect of my anatomy.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed emboldened and excited by how smitten I seemed. It all felt so idyllic that I didn’t even question when she’d taken my hand in hers again.

“Come on, cutie,” she instructed.

My heart quivered at the compliment. I didn’t even try to convince myself that it had been uttered with condescension or sarcasm. I enjoyed, even just for a moment, the idea that I might be seen as something desirable to her.

I had many reasons not to trust women like her. I had been burned in the past, with ropes and blindfolds that still felt paralyzing. But in that moment, those cruel memories felt worlds away.

She had just seemed so… calm. So happy to flaunt our intertwined fingers no matter how many familiar faces we passed.

“What were you doing in a place like that, anyway?” she asked.

I laughed before I thought not to.

“Did I seem that uncomfortable?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was.”

The admission didn’t seem as humiliating as I’d expected it to. The girl swaying closer with each step seemed pleased at the answer. I realized that she might’ve carried her own concern that perhaps she had overstepped bounds by assuming she was doing me a favor.

“Thanks for saving me,” I reassured her.

“Please,” she sighed, “I was looking for a reason to leave.”

It was a genuine, if not puzzling statement. Although I’d failed to realize in the moment, I would come to learn that we had both arrived at the party with the exact same motivations.

“Why’d you go then?” I asked.

The glitter on her face paled in comparison to her eyes among the streetlights. While she stared at me, I lost myself in the mesmerizing cascade of fluttering incandescence among the backdrop of her irises.

It was not the alcohol in my veins that made my cheeks tinge pink. It was not the bitter heat of the drought, nor the fear of whatever was making my shoes stick to cement.

It was the sound of her sigh and the way she looked at me like I might know the solution to the problem that landed us there together.

“Hell if I know,” she laughed solemnly. “Lonely, I guess.”

That makes two of us, I wanted to say. But it could be zero. If you wanted it to.

I wasn’t drunk enough to say that, though. Just enough to not stop the seemingly rude question from slipping out.

“Do any of those people actually… like each other?”

“Definitely not,” she laughed again.

I wanted to hear it again, but I didn’t know how to make sure of that.

So, instead, I just smiled and said, “Noted.”

By some miracle, she giggled again. Once she finished, she turned to look at me. At first, I met her eyes, but the intensity caused a shiver to spark throughout my entire body. Goosebumps rippled as my heart struggled to make sense of the feelings her eyes stirred inside me.

She laughed again. I wouldn’t care if it was the hundredth time. I savored the sweet sound in each of its iterations.

With her bitten lip and her half-lidded eyes, she swayed closer to me until our bodies bumped. I wondered if she could feel the way I shivered in response.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re cute,” she answered.

It was such a strange thing for her to repeat that the insecurity riding the waves of alcohol bubbled over again.

“You aren’t drunk, right?”

Again, she laughed.

Again, I begged.

“No, silly! I know my limits.”

She certainly hadn’t been shy with sharing the lack of them, either. Her arm wrapped around mine and pulled me even closer. It took every bit of focus I could muster not to trip and bring an end to the most wonderful waking dream.

Of course, that focus vanished almost immediately once I realized what part of her anatomy was now pressed against my arm.

So soft and warm and—

“Why are you worried about it, anyway?” she hummed.

At the same time, she dipped her head down to force me to meet her eyes instead of staring at her chest. Somehow, that wasn’t the most humiliating part of the exchange. No, that honor was reserved for the question that followed.

“Are you sure you don’t have any extracurriculars in mind for when we get to my place?”

“I was just making sure!” I yelped in the most pathetic kind of defense. It took me a moment and her own wayward glances down my body to realize that the tease hadn’t been an accusation.

If anything, it felt more like an offer.

Pride and confusion swelled in my chest. In the chaos, a few words tumbled out of my mouth that I hadn’t pre-prepared.

“I-I mean, you keep calling me cute, so… Sounds like something a drunk girl would say,” I laughed.

She didn’t, though. Instead, she came to a sudden stop and her lips curled into a slightly unnerving curvature. A hungry, stomach turning desire for… something.

Me?

It couldn’t be.

I stopped, too, holding my breath and waiting for some permission or instruction to do anything but wait. Thankfully, she turned and climbed the stairs of what I could now safely assume was her porch.

She threw the door open without further fanfare but a little bit of a tease.

“Get inside, idiot,” she laughed.

I followed her instruction. Of course, I paused at the door and waited for her to show me the way. I nearly passed out when she intertwined our fingers once more and led me through the darkness of her otherwise unoccupied apartment.

My training to hopefully get into the FBI would have had me carefully inspecting her surroundings to learn more about this tantalizing woman. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I knew there was no way I could focus on anything other than how it felt when she looked at me.

Especially then. Together in the light polluted darkness, she didn’t stray too far. Even when she reached behind me to shut the door to her room, she lingered.

I stumbled backwards, not in fear, but as a horrible overcorrection to what I wanted to do.

To my surprise, it didn’t dissuade her.

In fact, she came even closer. She stepped forward until her chest was pressed against mine and her breath ghosted over my ear.

“Was he right, by the way?”

“Who?”

She let go of my hand and began trailing her fingers softly up my arm until I honestly couldn’t see straight anymore.

I wanted her so badly. Almost on cue, she splayed her hand across my lower back and held my hips against hers.

Again, I whimpered. Again, she giggled.

Her hips rolled forward against my now very prominent erection wedged between us. Just before she spoke, she took a sharp inhale that was released with a shaky breath.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” she asked.

I couldn’t even think to speak, let alone lie.

I shook my head no. Her free hand immediately tangled in my hair, tilting my head to the side just to see whether I would resist.

I didn’t.

“Do you want to?” she asked.

That time, I had to say something. I was too afraid the moment would slip away.

“Um… are you… asking me to kiss you?”

Immediately, she returned the question with a question.

“Are you telling me no?”

“No!”

Her hand in my hair held me steady while she retreated. The room felt hopelessly cold without her body heat.

“No, no, I’m not telling you no,” I babbled while she looked on with that same wicked smile. “As in, I think my answer is… yes?”

Before I could resort to begging, she closed the distance between us. Her hands held my cheeks and pulled me forward until our lips crashed together.

I knew my kissing her was clumsy and naive, but I couldn’t help it. The moment I tasted faded fruit flavored chapstick, my mind gave up on any hope for reason.

Just when I thought she was done with me, she kissed me again. She kept kissing me—the action becoming sloppier and sweeter with every passing second.

Her hands dropped to grip fistfuls of my shirt at the same time mine jumped to cup her face.

She was so soft. The pillowy feeling of her lips made me forget how much I normally hated stickiness on my skin. Because I loved how it felt when her lips lingered.

I would’ve kissed her for hours, forever, but she ended that hope with a firm tug of my shirt before she tossed me towards her bed.

My heart leapt into my throat. It lodged itself just behind the Adam’s apple like it could hide its blatant affection from her somehow.

She stalked closer like she had before. She drew feathery patterns up my goosebump riddled arms before she whispered in my ear.

“You’re fun to kiss.”

“I-Is it bad?” I stammered, for some reason.

“No, it’s fun,” she repeated.

She didn’t dwell for a second on my insecurity and momentary idiocy. Instead, she began lowering her fingers down my stomach and giggling as she felt the muscles tense.

“You wanna do something more fun, Spencer?”

Completely lacking any oxygen, I breathed, “Like what?”

“You’re a genius, right?”

Just like that, she firmly grabbed hold of me through my pants. I responded with a broken, strangled cry that fell away the moment she started to drum her fingers against the burning fabric.

“Do I need to say it?” she teased.

Her tongue peeked out between her teeth when she pulled back to look at me. At the same time, she began palming my erection with such familiarity that I nearly fell apart in her hand.

“Fuck,” I groaned involuntarily.

“Never heard you talk like that before,” she whispered, “Hope it’s a nice word.”

Euphoria flooded my senses that were dangerously heightened by the alcohol I’d consumed to make it through the party. Not enough to be inebriated, but enough to make me stupid.

Even more stupid than I was already made by the blood pooling in the appendage fighting against my pants.

“Fuck, please don’t stop,” I gasped. My hips started bucking against her, and for a moment, I thought she would grant me mercy.

But then her hand slowed to a stop.

“Gonna have to stop if you want to get to the fun part,” she cooed.

Half-joking, I slurred back, “Is this not the fun part?”

Then the world came to a standstill, the universe pausing its incessant tumbling to allow me to hear her next words with a crystal-like clarity.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

I nodded without hesitation or shame.

“Use your pretty voice,” she chastised so kindly it made my heart ache.

“Yes,” I pleaded. “Yes, I want to f-fuck you.”

She smiled and it didn’t feel like a mockery, somehow.

“Good,” she chirped. Then, without hesitation, she began steadfastly undoing my pants.

She seemed so skilled at the movements that I doubted whether she’d had any alcohol at all.

I’d been so caught up in the wonder of her that every ounce of fight left my body. I let her undress me and barely managed to help in my stupor.

She still didn’t mind. The smile on her face persisted the entire time.

“Lay down,” she commanded.

I followed. I scrambled back onto her bed without ever taking my eyes off her.

She moved so elegantly, so graceful as she stripped and presented me with the most beautiful sight. My heart was pounding so hard against my rib cage that I was worried it might break free to find her.

Yet when she finally crawled on top of me, my body tried to sink into the mattress. As if to stop me, she wrapped her devilishly warm fingers around my dick.

Still, I’d managed to squeak, “Aren’t you worried that we’re… moving a little fast?”

“Are you worried?” she shot back without judgement.

My mind was caught in two types of fog, however. I tried to breathe through it, tried to think of anything besides how nice it felt when her fingers ghosted over the bare tip, but I couldn’t.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” I laughed again, the words getting caught on soft moans still pouring from my mouth.

“You tell me,” she dared.

Then she kissed me. This time, she didn’t stop at my lips. Her lithe tongue slipped between my teeth and nearly wrapped around my own.

The muffled sounds of pleasure between us were getting harder to bear. That energy, the pent up frustration of almost a full year of wanting her had to come out somehow.

I grabbed her hips harder than I thought I was capable of. My nails dug into soft flesh and it caused her to make the most beautiful sound.

That beautiful girl gasped before she moaned against my cheek. Her hips dug harder into my lap, bucking against the hardness wedged between her thighs.

I dragged my nails down her legs, surprising us both at how much I loved to watch her writhe.

Still, I knew she was the one in control. She looked down at me like a toy that played perfectly along with her fantasies.

I wanted to let her have her way with me. But when she leaned over my body, I couldn’t stop myself. My lips caught her breast the moment she came close enough.

My hands were gentler there, palming at the supple tissue that slipped between my fingers. I lavished the hardened peak at the center for as long as she would let me, suckling at her breast like a man starved.

Eventually, though, she wound a hand through my hair and pulled me back against the pillow.

In my daze, I hardly noticed the condom in her hand until she rolled the latex over my dick.

Suddenly, and without thinking, I sputtered out a confounding command.

“Wait!”

She froze. Her flushed chest heaved, still glistening with evidence of my affection.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with the most genuine concern.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I just…” I tried to assure her and myself.

The poor girl looked horrified, like she was waiting for me to condemn her for her absolutely delightful enthusiasm up to this point.

It was such a silly worry that it almost made me laugh. It almost made the vulnerability that would follow feel like no risk at all.

“I need to tell you something first,” I explained.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at her. I really looked at her—that dazzling star of a girl. My student, my favorite student that I’d watched and lusted over in every class. My mind simmered with that feeling; the knowing that the thing I coveted most might actually be mine.

“I… like you,” I said.

Less eloquent than I’d hoped.

If her bubbly, wholehearted laugh was any indication, she still didn’t mind.

“Well, I’d sure hope so!” she snickered.

I felt compelled to explain.

“No, I mean, I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, I really like you,” I insisted.

That time when she kissed me, it felt like her own confession. Scooting forward until her heat was pressed against my own, she sighed happily against my lips.

“You’re so sweet, Spencer,” she hummed, “I really like-like you, too.”

Even though my mind tried to deny it, my foolhardy heart recognized the truth in her words. It clung to her the same as my hands drifting over the new marks on her thighs.

“But we don’t have to do this,” she assured me. “Do you want to do this, or do you want to stop?”

“I want you so bad,” I whined without any hesitation. “Please, please—I want you.”

That cruel twist of her lips returned. The sound of my begging urged her on until she lifted herself just above where I wanted her. She leaned forward again, propping herself up above me while her hair tickled my face.

“Kiss me,” she slurred against my lips.

I did. I kissed her even more feverishly than before and used all the air in my chest to worship her.

I was convinced my lungs would collapse when she finally started to ease her way onto my aching cock. Each second of tortuous pleasure, the scorching heat of her enveloping me like flames kissing desiccated wood.

My jaw was dropped open, my mouth losing all moisture as I panted and twitched with pleasure. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I saw her. I watched as she winced at how far her walls had to stretch around me.

Yet I felt her desire dripping at the base of me, glistening the same as my spit spread across her breast.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred as she settled at the base of me.

I looked down at where I’d disappeared inside of her and decided it was better than any magic trick I’d ever hoped to master.

“Does that feel good?” she whispered when she saw the wonder in my eyes.

Involuntarily, my hips bucked into her and made her gasp. Then, still without meaning to, I did it again.

“Yes,” I hissed when she tightened her walls around me.

“My sweet boy,” she cooed between breathy laughter, “You’re so fucking precious. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

As if she hadn’t already.

But I would come to bite my tongue quicker than the words could make it out. Because for all the pleasure her descent had brought, it couldn’t compare to the feeling of her hips subtly rocking throughout her ascent.

My body actually trembled, overcome with the unadulterated pleasure of her careful rolling up and down my dick. It seemed insane for such a simple motion to render me absolutely dumbfounded, but it did.

I didn’t say a word. The only thing spilling from my lips were moans and butchered attempts at her name.

My hands, however, wandered. They traced her silhouette and groped whatever softness it could find. They settled, naturally, at her breasts. Through the motions of curious, clumsy fingers, I felt her heart beating harder against my palm.

As its speed increased, so did that of her hips. She came down harder while the pitch of her moans grew higher and more airy.

“Spencer,” she whined.

It sounded like starlight igniting deep in my chest. I felt that tension growing in my gut, threatening to bring an end to the wonder of loving her.

“Wait,” I grunted. My hands fell to her hips and halted her movements before I begged, “Sl-Slower.”

She obliged me. With her head tipped back and her hands on my chest, she rode me so slowly that I could feel every detail of her twitching muscles.

“You’re so beautiful,” I groaned.

My hips caught me off guard as they started to move. They bucked up into her with increasing intensity until it broke her rhythm.

That beautiful girl fell forward, barely catching herself before she collapsed against my body.

“Fuck me, Spencer,” she mumbled against my neck. She interrupted her own pleas with sloppy kisses against my jugular that lit my body on fire.

That passion was quickly muted by her words, however. Because that was when she growled, “Take me, Spencer. I’m yours.”

I’d never been a particularly strong man, but there was absolutely nothing that would stop me then. My hands splayed over the back of her thighs and lifted her just enough for my hips to move freely.

She clung to me, her arms wrapped around my neck and her whole body rippling with each collision of our hips.

I fucked her harder, my hands carving the memory into her skin and my jaw clenched so tightly I thought I might draw blood from my tongue.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” she purred. “Give it to me.”

Then, just before I found my peak, I felt it. The unmistakable feeling of pulsing muscles as her body seized in my hold.

I gasped, choking on a moan as I felt her body begging me to fill her with the full extent of my desire.

I emptied myself into the condom and wished that it could have been her instead. I felt the warmth dripping back down me and dared to wonder what it would have looked like on her now-marked thighs.

“Good boy,” she snickered like she could read those fantasies raging in my mind. “That’s my good boy.”

She lifted her head just enough to plant one final kiss on my forehead, and then she promptly collapsed against my chest. I welcomed her weight despite the lack of air. Breathing hardly seemed important compared to her comfort.

And it was comfortable for me, too. As I nuzzled against her neck, I found a sense of home that I’d never felt before.

She was sticky with sweat and spit from haphazard kisses, but she was so beautiful that I barely even noticed.

When she got off of my lap, I missed her immediately. My hand chased hers and, to my unending pleasure, she let me hold it. She lingered for as long as she could before she excused herself and left me to clean up the evidence of what we’d done.

Her room was still as quiet as before. The heavy bass from the frat house felt lifetimes away. The alcohol still swirled in my bloodstream, doing little to warm my now freezing body.

When she walked back through the door, my body flooded with relief. I watched as she grabbed all of my clothing she’s tossed around and placed each piece on the nightstand.

There was a strange sadness in her eyes that I would’ve done anything to remedy.

“Hey, uh…” I started, yet my throat closed when she looked at me.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I-I have a question,” I said.

Then paused, again.

She smiled. When that didn’t serve as answer enough, she laughed.

“Yeah?”

That lovely sound granted me the confidence to finally ask the question I’d been pondering since the moment I stepped into her room.

“Are… Are you still lonely?”

I hadn’t thought it possible, but her smile grew even brighter. Abandoning starlight for the full force of the sun that would soon peek over the horizon.

“Not so much anymore,” she answered bashfully.

I smiled, too. With a playful tilt to my shrug, I asked her one more question that begged for an answer.

“Can I stay anyway?”

Again, she giggled.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

“So would I,” I told her.

And so, we did.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug

Complete Taglist: @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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comradekatara · 2 months

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I’m curious if you have any thoughts about Ty Lee and Mai re: their reasons for and willingness to follow Azula during the course of the show? Their introductions — with Ty Lee initially reluctant and joining out of fear, whereas Mai was all in the moment she showed up in Omashu — contrasted with their endings — Mai growing resentful and eventually betraying Azula, and Ty Lee staying close to her right up to the moment she spots an opening — are so fascinating and emblemic of their characters

yes, exactly. ty lee has to be coerced whereas mai doesn't need to be told twice. more specifically, ty lee had the initiative to run away at some point (it's also far easier to leave your home when you have six identical sisters) and has settled in an environment that she actually enjoys, whereas mai is trapped with her family and takes up azula's offer specifically as a means of escape. that doesn't mean she particularly enjoys the prospect of hunting down the boy she used to like, but she gets to see the world and use her knife skills and hang out with her besties. it's not perfect, but it's still a far better deal than being stuck under the thumb of her controlling mother and scheming father in a foreign city that is essentially a ghost town (now that its entire native population is literally living underground). mai doesn't like being bossed around by azula – or being bossed around by anyone, for that matter – but she knows better than to question the commands of her princess, so she sticks to side-eyeing her as she complies, and only ever denying her requests when azula is too far away to notice ("she can shoot all the lightning at me she wants, i am not going in that wall sludge juice." "just take the bear." etc etc).

ty lee, however, doesn't just comply with azula's commands, she comports herself into the very image of obedience, she forces herself to embody exactly what it is azula wants in a loyal servant, but also in a best friend, and in a beautiful girl. because, like, the thing about mai is that she is really very normal. she uses apathy and sarcasm to mask her true emotions, whether they be fear, rage, or a combination thereof, but she's also quite sincere and blunt and kind. mai adapts to her environment in the sense that she knows to comply with the demands of her family and azula, she knows how to play the part of fire nation noblewoman, but she's not closed off from her feelings, she just presents that way. ty lee, however, is a complete and utter chameleon, to the point that she's somehow the one who seems more sincere out of the pair, even though nary an honest word comes out of her mouth throughout the entire show.

mai expresses her disagreements with azula when she knows that the moment allows for it, and she expresses her irritation, her vulnerability (to an extent), and her emotions when she can. but even when ty lee could choose to be honest, it's like she doesn't actually know how. the most honest ty lee ever actually gets before her betrayal is when she insults mai's makeup, and she's still putting mai down in azula's presence as to establish a hierarchy of affection. even when she's lovingly teasing mai by demonstrating how their friendship is genuine enough that she can insult her instead of vapidly praising her like she does with all those shallow, stupid boys and a certain princess, she's still strategically positioning herself in azula's favor. she operates in a coded language, simultaneously communicating to mai the sincerity of her affection and communicating to azula that they are in fact a pair, teaming up to put down and bully mai as they have been doing since they were children. in the beautiful words of shiv roy, ty lee has never eaten a grapefruit without an agenda.

even though ty lee does seem more loyal to azula despite having to be coerced into joining her, whereas mai seemingly agrees immediately, ty lee is an acrobat and a circus performer; contorting herself to suit the needs of others and appear a certain way to certain people is literally her wheelhouse. whereas mai is a thoughtful yet impulsive, apathetic yet sincere teenage girl. and the cracks in mai's agreeability begin to show as early as in her introductory episode, when azula decides to sacrifice tom-tom to keep bumi, and mai has no choice but to comply with her princess despite obviously wanting to save her baby brother.

mai's loyalty was always on a razor's edge; it was never an ideal situation for her, she just never found a better option. mai lived her whole life in an extremely stifling gilded cage, and she craves enrichment in her enclosure. but then she sees potential beyond the bars, as demonstrated by zuko, and she takes a stand for something she believes in. ty lee doesn't do that, because ty lee does not truly have beliefs beyond her own immediate survival. you can say she values entertainment, laughter, violence that doesn't kill, but i think she'd become anything the world demanded of her without a moment's hesitation. and in this moment, the world demands that she choose. choose between the girl she loved to put down and ostracize within their little trio so as to better curry azula's favor, or the girl who threatened to burn her alive if she did not comply with her every demand. and it should be so obvious, shouldn't it? of course ty lee would choose mai over azula, it's so clear in hindsight. but it shocks azula, and it shocks mai, and it even sort of shocks ty lee herself. because she has done such a good job of hiding her personhood so far beneath her facade that even mai, the one person she cares about more than her own survival, doesn't actually know it.

"anything to get me out of this place," is mai's response to azula's offer. mai was always looking for a better situation, striving for the best possible scenario within a very limited array of options. but ty lee knows what she wants, and she knows she cannot have it, and so she denies herself. denies her own agency, her affections, her desires, her personality, her intelligence, her values. she would do anything to survive, even if it means killing every single true part of herself. mai's betrayal against azula is decidedly a declaration of love, not only for zuko, but also for herself. but ty lee's betrayal is the greatest declaration of love there is. her willingness to throw away her so deliberately, carefully cultivated, precarious security and safety for the sake of someone who doesn't even know that ty lee loves her is such a resounding confession that it actually shocks mai into perfect stillness. mai, who is always so quick to act and react, frozen to the floor by the cosmic weight of this revelation, this paradigm shift. mai had always assumed that she was the discarded, neglected, bullied friend of the trio, the one who would always be second best to azula (and keep in mind ty lee never actually says that azula had to coerce her into joining, she simply says "azula called a little louder," because she is always making mai read between the lines). but here, ty lee proves that there is one she values over her own life and everything she has done to keep it, and it is mai.

"why?" asks azula. "why would you do it? you knew the consequences." i think that mai would gladly throw her worthless life away if it meant dying for something real, something true within a world of masks and lies and manipulations. she knows the consequences, but they no longer matter, now that she has sight of something that she truly, actually cares about. but ty lee is different. ty lee excels in the world of masks, lies, and manipulations, thrives in it to the point that azula, so-called "people person," doesn't even realize that the girl she loves is nothing more than a carefully cultivated phantasm. ty lee truly cares, far more than mai, about the consequences. and yet, when it comes down to it, when she weighs all her options, she not only hurts azula to save mai, but she stays by mai's side through it all. the girl who could effortlessly subdue every guard holding her in place and jump up onto the gondola cord and run across its length to the other side of the volcano within minutes stays next to mai with no resistance, merely sheds her mask to finally glare at azula with her true face. so it is not entirely accurate to say that ty lee's values are conditional and fabricated. there is, in fact, one thing ty lee values above all else, but only when it is true.

#flashhwing #asks #mai #ty lee #maixtylee #azula #analysis #azula&tylee #azula&mai #ohhhh you got me talking abt the atla ship i have been obsessed with since i was a baby who simply liked their contrasting aesthetics #you got me RAMBLING ABOUT MAI AND TY LEE 😭😭#i love them so much......#mai my babygirl my everything. ty lee my insanegirl also my everything #ppl who dont like the boiling rock are so crazy. dyke drama truly does not get better than this!!!!!!!!

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betterfettered · 5 months

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Hello hello we'll be back to our regularly scheduled obey me programming soon but I'm so down bad for blade from honkai star rail right now so I wrote a real quick little thingy about him.

Your yandere kidnaps you

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere, please let me know if reader is gendered)(noncon)(violence against reader)(kidnapping)(forced affection)(masc rage)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(Please let me know if I am missing a TW)

Part 2

[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

You thought your master’s bondman was not just cute, but also harmlessly so. “Blade”, he called himself, which you thought was so melodramatic that you could not help but smile whenever you happened to see him. On greeting him, you bent your knee and lowered your face as a maid ought to, but surreptitiously peeked at him from beneath your fringe and pressed your lips together to hide a laugh at the stilted way it made him hold himself, the apathy in his expression stirred up into a vague discomfort. For all the chagrin his name heralded, you could not help but see an awkward man who liked heaps of sugar and a touch of salt in his tea, one who would nudge your arm with his knuckles before demanding in monotone that you reaffix his barrette and shivering when your hands brushed his scalp. A hissy cat, a moody kid with overgrown bangs – you were fond of him, and nowhere near as scared as you should have been.

In fact, that lack of fear made it hard to understand what was happening when he first locked you away. His expression not budging out of its typical hollowness, he simply wrapped his hand around your arm and began to lead you; you followed, as a servant did, through halls and down many stairs. You didn’t question it when he led you to a part of the compound you had never been to until a door shut behind you, hard, and you turned in time to watch him slide a bar into place to lock it. When he faced you again, it was to glare down his nose at you with his typical emptiness, this time with more intensity than you were used to.

There was a brief pause, then he raised his hand to your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost just above your skin until you raised your own hand to push his away.

“I o-ought to be going,” you said, taking a step back. “I’ve plenty of work to do.”

That was not the right answer. This time he seized your wrist, hard enough to make you hiss a little, and dragged you further through the hall you had been sealed in. It was hard to focus with your heart pounding so hard, but you tried to scan your surroundings to see where you were and only recognized that you were somewhere dark, poorly lit by dim bulbs and no windows, with his feet leaving prints in the dust telling you that no one had been down here for quite some time in a way that makes your stomach drop, because you have a bad feeling about anything he could need privacy for–

Your fears were validated as he pulled you into a tiny room, some defunct servant’s quarters you’d imagine, containing nothing but a small bed covered in threadbare sheets and a rickety nightstand. Panic overwhelmed you, and you immediately began to struggle against him like mad, your chest seizing up so hard that it took you a while to realize that that loud noise you could hear was you screaming, apologizing, promising to do anything else that he wanted if he just let you leave.

He had been uncomfortable trying to approach you gently, unsure how to do it with his hands reforged specifically for killing and only killing. Subjugation, however, was his only nature, and once you began to act like prey, he allowed his instincts to take over. The nails of your flailing hand caught his face but seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever; he wrenched you forward by your arm hard enough that you stumbled and then kicked your feet out from beneath you while still holding your arm so that he could press you onto your back as you fell. It was relatively easy to pin you after he did that, and he did so by planting his knee downwards into the soft flab of your stomach, driving it in a little deeper when you tried to squirm away and loosing a knife from his belt to remove your clothing with.

He fucked you like a punishment, pushing into you with no foreplay and holding you down by both of your wrists as he thrusted into you hard enough to make your fat thighs clap against his skin. He watched you rather emotionlessly, unmoved by the tears pouring from your eyes and down your temples into your hairline or the whimpers that occasionally escaped your lips despite how hard you were pressing them together. Wracked with pain and with humiliation at your body suddenly being so exposed and shock at how things had turned bad so quickly, how you were suddenly being pinned under him like this used like some disposable toy, you looked just beyond the side of his head and traced cracks in the ceiling while you waited for him to finish. The room had been quiet but for the hoarse creaking of the bed, so you were surprised when you suddenly heard a grunt from him: he freed one of your wrists to bring the back of his hand to his blushing face, covering his mouth as he finished, his eyes growing distant as he stared down at you and his cock pulsating inside of you, making you feel sick.

You expected him to fix his clothes and leave you there, back to his same nonplussed demeanor, but instead he continued watching you the moment that he came back to his senses. As though that would make him vanish, you squeezed your eyes shut and only felt what happened next. He grabbed hold of the bottom of your face with his horribly cold hands, the bandage wrapped around it feeling clammy with his sweat, and then his lips pressed onto yours and his fringe tickled your forehead. You recoiled in shock and disgust, retreating backwards into the mattress and turning your face away from him, wiping your mouth before you could stop yourself. You flinched, expecting to feel the bruising of his hands roughly handling you again, but instead he lied down on you a little gently, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he commanded.

It took you a second, but eventually you complied.

“Now say that you love me.”

“I--… I can’t,” you whispered back.

“You will. Say it.”

It took a long time for you to finally comply, and to his credit he waited in your embrace without moving as he awaited you saying it; eventually, your disgust was outweighed by your worry that he would never pull out of you and leave if you did not obey, so eventually you did finally whisper it into his hair, tears welling up in your voice as you pried the words from your throat.

After what felt like an eternity, he eventually left, but you were not allowed to because he locked the door from the outside when he went. In fact, you were kept in that tiny room so long that you lost track of time. You tried to measure your days by the showers you took in the adjoined bathroom, or the times you’d get hungry and eat some of the food you’d been left the day before, but you could not stop the time from blending together into slop no matter what you did.

It was easiest to measure time in when he suddenly reappeared to see you.

The first few days, upon just the sound of him unlocking the door keeping you shut in here, you would shake uncontrollably and fix your eyes to the ground. Once he entered, you tried to put as much distance between him and you that you could, though that was only a few steps or so. That ruined feeling, the unfamiliar slickness and soreness between your legs would rush back over you in memory and you’d feel overwhelmed to the point of dizziness, your trembling jaw barely able to form “please don’t” as he stared you down impassively. The second or third time you did this, he lost patience with it and dragged you kicking and screaming back over to the bed, but this time he only lied down beside you and rested his head on your chest, then demanding the same two things: to put your arms around him and say that you love him. You obeyed, sobbing, but sooner rather than later you got used to your new routine and became proficient, or comfortable even, in the new ritual of greeting him.

“Welcome back,” you’d tell him when he entered, going over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying him back and forth. Then you’d say you missed him or you were thinking of him or you were happy to see him. You started to wonder if that was actually true: he was your only human interaction, and after (what felt like) a few weeks you felt almost excited to see him, especially when he bought you things you requested, like wine and puzzles and lube and books. You felt like you could kiss him when he brought you a video game from his companion, though he seemed not to be sure what it was.

Well, more like you could kiss him and want to, because you often kissed him, actually. After greeting him you often led him, still emotionless as he always was, over to the bed where the two of you would lie down in the same position, his head on your chest and your arms around him. When you could stomach it, you’d roll over onto him and press your lips to his and moan into his mouth and grind on him, doing your very best to arouse him. Your hope was that if you preempted his lust with seduction of your own, maybe the sex would be easier, maybe you would have fewer nightmares that woke you up screaming. Strangely, your success with this strategy was variable: often times, he allowed your ministrations and then let you ride him until he came, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while his other hand covered part of his face. Other times, he seemed to grow overwhelmed with your affections, flipped you back over and rested his head on you again, burying his reddened face into your chest so you could only see the top of his head. You’d be confused, not sure what to do, and he’d quietly command you to do the same thing he always did: wrap your arms around him and tell him you love him.

Still, no matter what you did, you could not escape that often he wanted to hurt you. You could predict it based on how much blood he was covered in when he visited you or how he seemed to bristle away from your touch, but most reliably he was in this violent mood when he woke up from nightmares of his own, seemingly gripped with unwavering rage that drove him to want to destroy, whether that be furniture or himself or you. If you were unlucky and he went for you first, you’d be awoken by him striking you, hitting your face or dragging you by your hair or roughly tearing your clothes from your body. You learned better than fighting back quickly, as that only made him angrier, and so you just tried to shield your face and go somewhere else in your mind until it was over. Sometimes he’d fuck you dry, hard enough that you bled a little after, other times he’d hit you all over your body until it hurt to move, other times still he’d twist your arms painfully behind your back, lean into your ear, and tell you exactly how he was going to kill you in gruesome detail that made you want to vomit. He only seemed satisfied when your tears had run out and you stopped moving, overwhelmed by pain and despair, and then the room would fall into silence but for the sound of his panting, slowing breath.

After these rages were the only times he’d hold you and tell you that he loved you in a way you knew was meant to be comforting but only sounded flat and disturbed.

Eventually, he let you go (later you learned that it had been around two and a half months after you’d been captured). It was unceremonious – he simply left one day and did not shut the door behind him. It took you nearly an hour to summon the courage to leave, as you could not help but fear that this was some sort of trap, that he’d be waiting just beyond the threshold to punish you if you left. In the end, though, it was not, and after some walking you found yourself back in a central corridor of the compound with business as usual happening around you. It was hard to comprehend how other people were talking, laughing, cleaning, working without bone deep, paranoid fear strangling them. You’d dreamed of your freedom for a long time, of the relief you’d feel to be out of his clutches, but there was no relief to be had.

You could not sleep with any semblance of normalcy after getting out, so you often lied awake at night and wondered why he had gotten rid of you. Had he grown tired of you, bored? Had he moved on to someone else? Had he seen that there was something within you that he had irreparably broken that made you not worth using any more? Part of you worried about this so endlessly because if he was angry that you failed him, you needed to figure that out so you could prepare for him to return in one of his rages.

But another part of you, one that you could not bear to acknowledge, had grown used to making him and his comfort the center of your universe, and now felt lost without him. You wished that he had just kept you until you died.

#yandere #tw noncon #tw non con #yandere x reader #yandere smut #cw noncon #tw: noncon #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr blade #betty fetty

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 2 years

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I've been thinking a lot about the one-dimensional kinda fandom interpretations of Dazai and Chuuya in particular - the overemphasis on Dazai's weird brand of mischief/manipulation and Chuuya's anger and tendency to lash out and how it's not like these traits are... wrong, per se - these are their surface level/immediately notable characteristics - it's just that it misses the nuance as to why these traits likely exist.

What these interpretations don't fully capture is their very similar cores deep down - two people plagued by feelings of alienation, human inadequacy and repeated loss. Despite starting from these very similar places, they both dealt with the issue in near opposite ways. Dazai numbed himself to pain (remember: he hates pain! I cannot emphasize this enough!) and rarely gets close to anyone for fear he will lose them - his loss led to apathy, a withdrawal from humanity, a fear that he will always be empty inside - his ability: No Longer Human. Chuuya, on the other hand, refuses to numb himself and instead feels every single emotion in full and values his bonds with others over anything. He wants to belong and makes efforts to be perceived as a part of his group. Underlying this, however, is a kind of tired grief paired with resilience - remember that his ability is Upon the Tainted Sorrow. Not anger, or rage.

Sorrow is what results from this kind of heavy identity crisis and loss - for both of them. Think of Odasaku's read on Dazai as someone who looked close to tears when "acting" in front of the sniper poised to shoot him, describing him to Gide as a too-smart child left in the dark, or the way Stormbringer constantly reminds us that Chuuya is 16 and the desperation he feels in the scene where he holds his own dying clone, unable to help him.

Both characters carry a melancholy, resulting from their respective issues with their own humanity - I know I'm not the first one to comment on how their abilities could just as easily be referring to each other as well as themselves. This reads as very intentional to me - much like Atsushi's story begins as a clear parallel to the short story Rashoumon and Akutagawa sometimes being referred to in more beast-like terms than man, it makes sense that Dazai and Chuuya would reference each other in a similar vein.

And if that was the end of it, then we would expect that deep sorrow to shine through in both characters, but it rarely does except in pivotal moments. That's because the both of them have had to constantly deal with external threats - they believe they cannot afford to show vulnerability.

So, what you get instead is Dazai taking a kind of twisted ownership over his inhumanity and using it to make people afraid of him and to control everything so that he is never blindsided and hurt again, in the process, further alienating himself and making his issues worse. He inflicts fear so he doesn't have to be afraid. He can relax and be as silly as he wants - so long as everything around him is completely according to his predictions. There's a bonus to his foolish demeanour as well: hardly anyone can read him well enough to get close.

Then you get Chuuya, who feels so strongly and so much that it has no choice but to boil over, and due to never being able to or feeling comfortable with being anything but "the strongest", he hides moments when he is touched, or worried, or grieving, with anger and violence and defensiveness. As such, he is always seen as more weapon than person, a cut above the rest, forever standing out to others no matter how much he tries to integrate. The closest he came to true belonging was wrenched away from him before he could have a chance to know what that would actually feel like with the death of the Flags.

These surface traits are defense mechanisms. And the amusing thing to me is that likely means these two would love if that's all most people ever saw of them. (Of course, they clearly do want to be seen and accepted, but defense mechanisms become automatic over time because they often feel much safer. Likely another reason they clash so much - they see each other, and it is deeply uncomfortable for them both.)

So, you have Dazai defending himself with his two-faced nature, making jokes and/or manipulating everyone in the vicinity, and Chuuya defending himself with intimidation and anger, never letting any vulnerability show through because anger is easier but at the core of all of this is that loss and that grief and the sorrow and fear that pervades from it.

#they both really said 'do not perceive me' lol #i know i'm kinda stating the obvious here but eh #it was fun to write out #also quick note #i don't have the novels on me so i'm relying on memory #if i've misremembered something please let me know and i'll fix it - just be polite!#bsd #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #soukoku #skk #storyrambles #actually does this even make sense?#lol i hope it does #bsd meta #bsd analysis #ugh i've read this over like five times i'm just gonna post it now

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cockslutpadalecki · 8 months

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But The Flesh Is Always Weak

Summary: It’s been a week since Andy broke things off, but to you, it feels like a lifetime.

Characters: Professor!Andy Barber x Student!Reader.

Words: 3K.

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, possessive behaviour, unhinged behaviour, gaslighting, manipulation, a face slap, throat grabbing, hate sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), forced orgasm, throat fucking, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: The last visit to these two… well, for now. Thought I’d had better get round to posting this! You can read the rest of their story here. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

It’s only been a week since Andy broke things off, citing, “You should be dating boys your own age,” but it feels like a lifetime. A lifetime spent in hell.

Every passing minute hurts. Every waking thought is plagued by his words and his touch on your skin. You drive yourself crazy, crying to the point of exhaustion before you wake up and do it all over again.

You can’t eat; you can’t sleep. Your chest aches with every breath you take without him, and quite often as you clutch at it in the midst of another breakdown, you wonder if dying from a broken heart is possible.

You shuffle through each day like a zombie, mindless with no real destination in mind— just wandering around waiting for something to distract you.

It’s not until you get an email from him nine days in— addressed not only to you, but the Dean— that the agony seems to lessen slightly at the sight of his name.

“I’m reaching out as you haven’t been to class for the past week and a half. I’m growing concerned for your wellbeing as this is just not like you. Please get in touch as soon as possible.”

It becomes an olive branch that you obsess over, desperately trying to seek out any hidden message he could be attempting to send. But after days of searching, you have nothing to show for your efforts and you begin to resent him.

Anger bubbles up in place of your heartache— a strange sense of still needing him like you need air, but at the same time, wishing you could hurt him just as badly as he has hurt you.

You can’t believe he has the audacity to show concern like he’s not solely responsible for shattering your world into a million tiny irreparable pieces, without a shred of noticeable apathy.

The driving force that propels you to attend his class surprises even you. You wake before your alarm, eager to dress in the outfit you excitedly picked the night before. Your stomach flutters as you walk through campus, feeling the most clear-headed you have in days. You can’t wait to see him.

You feel a little giddy at the prospect of seeing evidence of the breakup on his face— perhaps red-rimmed eyes or melancholy preventing his smile from reaching his lips, but he somehow looks better now than before.

He doesn’t bat an eyelid when you slink into the hall while he’s mid-speech. He barely acknowledges your presence when you hand him your overdue essay; a secret love note slipped in between the pages just like you used to do.

But what stings the most is that he doesn’t stop you from leaving when class is over. It’s like you don’t exist. Like the past nine months meant nothing, along with the litany of promises he’s already broken.

He’s doing fine and you’re not? How is that fair? your mind screams as you glance over your shoulder, catching Rebecca hovering around his desk like a common house fly, buzzing around shit.

You pause in the doorway, your stomach dropping like lead when Andy finally approaches her, and places his hand delicately on her arm.

And as he flashes her a wide grin, all of the momentum inside you deflates— the hurt and pain he has caused you morphs into pure rage.

The following evening, you know he’ll be alone at home. Five times you try to talk yourself out of going, but the overriding consensus eventually wins— he won’t be able to turn you away on his own doorstep. You just want to talk to him.

Maybe ask if he’s replaced you with Rebecca yet.

You pull up outside his neighbors’ and switch off the engine, gathering up the courage to get out when you notice movement at the front door. Andy steps outside, but he’s not alone.

You’ve only seen her— his wife— in photographs, and you actually hate that she’s more beautiful in person. Part of you wonders why Andy would betray her, but then you remember all of the horror stories he would tell you.

Her beauty is only skin deep.

From the things you know about their relationship— how strained it is— it surprises you when he wraps his arm around her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her hair as they walk to his car. They’re laughing, smiling without a care in the world. From this vantage point, they look and act like newlyweds. You feel sick as you keep watching, noticing the way he gently pats her ass when she climbs into the passenger seat.

The same passenger seat you’ve sat in countless times on drives back from secret trysts in dingy motel rooms, while your cunt still throbs.

Just before he gets into the car, he looks over his shoulder and for a wild moment, you swear he locks eyes with you from across the street.

He’s brought her here. The same place you used to have dinner. For a moment it feels like a knife wound to the heart that he would have the audacity to share this with her, but then you realise he has to be sending you a message. He must know you’ve followed him and he’s trying to communicate with you covertly so as not to draw attention to it.

Your stomach flutters, feeling a heavy sense of relief wash over you.

He still cares. He still wants you.

For an hour, you sit in the parking lot before you regret drinking so much soda on your way here, needing desperately to pee. You know you could go to the mall across the street, but your feet pull you towards the restaurant before you can stop them.

You make your way to the restroom, careful to avoid their table, and just as you’re about to leave, you spot Andy making his way towards you. Your heart leaps into your chest and you double back, waiting for the moment he’ll come bursting in, overwhelmed with joy at the sight of you.

Nothing but silence follows, except for the dull thud of the men’s door opening and closing.

Naughty. He wants you to go to him.

Giggling, you sneak out of the women’s and push open the door to the men’s restroom, confused a little when you don’t spot Andy at the urinals. You’re about to retreat when you hear his familiar whistle, remembering all the mornings after the night before where you’d wake up to the sound of him in the en suite, whistling his favorite tune.

He knows you’re listening. Dropping breadcrumbs in the hopes you’ll follow the trail right to his feet. And as you slip through the small gap between the door and frame, you hungrily swallow down every piece.

You wait until he’s finished in the stall before making yourself known. You don’t want to frighten him but as he begins to turn in the small space, ready to leave, he spots you in the doorway and nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus, what the fuck!” he half shouts, half whispers.

“Oh god, I missed you,” you gush. Andy stares wide-eyed at you when you rush towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso. You inhale deeply and revel in his familiar smell, the scent enveloping you like a hazy dream. It feels so good to be so close to him again. Pulling back, you gaze up at him before rising onto your tiptoes, preparing to place a kiss on his lips.

He quickly intervenes, pushing you away. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you so I went to your office, but you weren’t there so I thought I’d go by your house,” you reply simply, like he’s just asked you what two plus two is.

“Th-that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

You shrug. “I saw you getting in the car, so I followed you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to see where you were going, silly,” you giggle. “Bet you couldn’t imagine my surprise when you brought her to our place,” you add a little sharply.

“Actually, I used to come here…” he pauses before continuing with, “y’know, before.”

The metaphorical knife in your chest twists at his words, but you manage to recover quickly.

“It’s okay,” you smile, “I can let that go.”

You reach out for his hand, loving the softness, but inexplicably rough of his skin on yours. He allows it for a moment, running his thumb over yours before snatching it away.

“You can’t be here.”

“Afraid she’ll catch us?” you sidle up to him with a cute laugh. “Is this a new thing you want us to try?” Gently, you cup him through his pants and a wave of heat ripples through your gut. Andy hisses, his cock stirring against you as you squeeze gently, encouraging it to swell. “C’mon, don’t you remember the risks we used to take?” You rise up again, kissing the underside of his bottom lip. Even his beard feels amazing brushing across your chin.

He snaps, yelling, “No!” as he pushes you away, yet again.

Sudden hot tears gather in your eyes at his outburst and a horrid realization sets in. “Have you really moved on already?”

“How can I move on from something we never really had in the first place?” he brutally admits.

Ouch.

“But you promised me the world,” you start tearfully, “why would you choose her over me?”

Andy’s brow furrows. “She’s my wife.”

So? “That didn’t seem to matter when you were fucking me in her bed.”

White hot pain explodes across your cheek as the sound of the slap follows. Your hand shoots up to cradle the area, your skin throbbing. Fresh tears form as you try to stop yourself from crying with a loud sniff.

Andy steps to you, covering your hand with his. You’ve never seen him look so apologetic, even after he dumped you. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— that was wrong.”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed as he comforts you, asking if you’re okay. You just nod slowly, unable to find the words. This is what you needed to prove he still cares.

“What we did, we shouldn’t have done,” he says softly. “I took advantage of you.”

“Was it really taking advantage when I wanted you too?”

Andy smiles kindly, stroking your hand with his thumb. “I can’t give you what you want. You need someone who will treat you like you deserve.”

“Why would I want anybody else?” you counter back with a shake of your head.

He lifts his hand from yours and places them both on his hips with a heavy sigh. “I know it’s hard to get over somebody you care about, but with time, it will get easier.” He reaches out, tenderly rubs your bicep as a form of comfort. He looks awkward doing it, like he’s afraid to touch you, when he’s touched you— fucked you in more intimate places than most boys would even be able to find on a map.

Is he recounting that from experience? Is he telling you he’s not really over you either despite his insistence he is?

“I don’t want time, I don’t want it to get easier. I just want you.”

Andy rubs his fingers into his eyes and lets go of an exasperated huff. “Listen to me,” he glances up, lips tight in a frown, “I’ve tried to be nice about it, but this is the last time I’m gonna say this. We’re over.”

Your cheek smarts as your jaw tightens and the rage you’ve managed to suppress bubbles up. “Then I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone you hit me.”

He stares down at you in contempt for the first time ever, his features twisted in disgust. “That was an accident, I didn’t mean to do it, you know that.”

“Was it though?” You give him a teasing pout. “‘Mr. Barber came onto me, slapped me when I said no’,” you put on a sad voice before it returns to normal. “Sounds like an open and shut case to me.”

“Don’t you understand how damaging those accusations would be?” he spits, incensed. “I would lose my job, my marriage, everything.”

You smile at him, giddy. “But then we could be together for real! No college to prosecute you for fucking a student and she’d divorce you, it’s perfect.”

The ire on Andy’s face contorts into sheer bafflement. “You crazy bitch, you’ve lost your fucking mind.” He tries to shuffle past you, but you block his way. “Get out of my way before I move you myself.”

“What are you going to do, Sir?” you taunt. “Hit me again?”

He lunges forward, hand wrapped around your throat and forces you up against the wall of the stall. “Don’t tempt me,” he breathes out heavily, gazing down at your body until his eyes meet yours once again. “Why I ever thought getting involved with you was a good idea, I’ll never know.”

“Because, and I quote, ‘no other pussy could ever come close’,” you manage to croak out from beneath his grip. Reaching out, you cup him through his pants and he hisses between gritted teeth.

Andy swats your hand away, but you quickly grab hold of his, shoving it beneath the hem of your dress. You let out a moan as his fingers brush up against your damp panties.

You see the way Andy’s eyes flicker at the contact, the slight loss of control when his fingers flex around your throat. You move his hand up and down your clothed cunt, letting go of tiny whimpers as flames of heat begin burning through your core.

“Touch me,” you beg. “Please.”

His jaw ticks like he’s fighting with himself, growling under his breath as you use his hand to pluck your panties to the side.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you purr. “Show me how much you’ve missed my tight little cunt.”

Closing his eyes, he mutters, “Stop,” but makes no attempt to pull away.

He wants this just as much as you.

And when you finally manipulate his fingers inside you, you can feel the resistance ebb as he starts to fight for control and eventually you let go, confident in the knowledge he’s not going to pull away. You reach for him and unzip his pants, the warmth of his cock meeting your fingertips as you slip your hand inside the gap.

“Remember how good I used to make you feel,” you whisper with delicacy.

He doesn’t respond, instead choosing to stare at you the entire time, face tight with disdain as the sloppy wet sounds of your cunt fill the tiny stall. Legs trembling, you can feel your orgasm beginning to crest. The pressure in your gut becomes too much. You push at his hand to move it away, but Andy doesn’t stop.

“No. You wanted this, so you’re gonna come,” he tells you sharply. “Do it.”

“I c-can’t.”

“You will.” He leans in, capturing your lips in a wet kiss as he presses the base of his palm against your clit, and you unravel like a spool of thread.

You’re still coming as he removes his hands from your body, hurriedly lifting you up around his waist. He’s inside you in one swift stroke, stuffing you to the brim for a split second before he’s pulling back out.

He fucks you like he hates you. Mean, hard thrusts that push you back against the stall until your spine physically aches from the force. You embrace it— every bruise, every welt— the pain reminds you of how close you came to losing him, and you promise yourself that it won’t happen again.

Another wave of heat builds steadily beneath your skin, tingling all the way down to your toes. This time, you welcome the overstimulation, squirting all over his cock with a heady moan.

“Oh fuck,” he growls into the juncture of your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. “God, holy shit.” Andy roughly pulls out, and drops you to your feet. He tugs on his dick as you move to kneel before him, presenting your tongue like a dog waiting for a treat.

Andy grabs your hair, tugging hard on the roots as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat and you gag from the lack of warning. He fucks your mouth, exploding messily across your tongue with a strained grunt, stray droplets of cum spilling out from the corner of your lips, unable to lick them away.

Your throat throbs when he retreats, and blessed air rushes back into your lungs with an almighty whoosh. Eventually, he loosens his grip on your skull and leans into the stall with his palm, eyes firmly closed. His breathing is still jagged and unsteady as he repeats, “fuck,” to himself as the enormity of the situation comes crashing down around him.

Finally, his eyes flicker open, the pure disgust and conviction returning to his expression as he stares down at you, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it.

“This is it,” he states curtly. You slowly rise to your feet in the small gap, leaning in to kiss him but he pulls back.

“Don’t be like that, Daddy,” you pout. “You used to love tasting yourself on my lips.”

His jaw tightens in frustration as he snaps, “I mean it,” and your name rolls off his tongue like molasses.

“Okay,” you smirk with a light shrug, triumphant that despite his insistence, you know it won’t be. You have leverage and Andy, of all people, should know that's the golden ticket. You slip from the stall without another word, taking a moment to check yourself out in the mirror before turning to press a finger to your lips. Grabbing the door handle, you yank it open without bothering to check if anyone is around before sauntering out, a little limp new to your gait.

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #defending jacob fanfiction #dark!reader #chris evans fanfiction

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 6 months

Text

Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader) 3

A/N: Thanks for the wait! The last two weeks have been a rollercoaster for me, and this is the only place I can go to escape. This POV will mainly be from Alucard's perspective.

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Chapter 3

He's glad you don't see his face when he leaves - rushing out with any excuse under the sun.

In his mind, it's a mess, his senses frantic, elevated to a pulsing rush that he can't tell if the rush of a heartbeat is his or hers.

His skin feels alight in almost agony, every step he takes gives him more reason to be rid of the witch he’s allowed into his father’s castle—no, his castle now. He can be quicker than her to get rid of her before she finds any weapon to use against him.

He could make it fleeting the pain- he was not cruel like his father - he was always quick with giving death to those, it was maybe the human part of him who saw it the same way as giving an animal mercy.

She will find some way to boil my blood, he told himself, crush my bones to make powder. He could not stop the frantic part of his mind screaming not to be so kind to her, not to provide her the things any host should.

He couldn't trust humans again - he told that to himself over and over again - not those whom he allowed to understand the knowledge of his castle, even those who had killed his mother had become a bitter memory. Alucard was no fool, it was the same pain his father felt the day his mother left them, but even his pain, grief and rage burnt him into the man Dracula was always meant to be. Alucard was not as certain if he could possess such vengeance on humanity so soon, but he had tried being sympathetic and it had gotten him scored and beaten. It burnt him all the same, and the betrayals would keep coming to him, over and over again.

Maybe it was his human side, the side of his mother, that was telling him to be a good host, to tend to her injuries and give her refuge. She would've done the same if she was here. Though he was not just part human, and if his father had still been living or had she stumbled into any other vampire's home, it would’ve been in the blink of an eye before his father had her innards spilt and hung as decoration, her throat slashed before her fist could make contact with the doors.

It had worked with his mother though, would it be a coincidence if it could happen again?

Human or not, Alucard knew she had been a witch the second she entered his father’s castle. The stench of witches was ancient and as old as the earth itself. It was one of old power, dormant yet ready to strike. It was stronger on her compared to other creatures he had come across.

Alucard was knowledgeable about witches' hatred for most creatures: humans, creatures of the night, and vampires.

They were familiar with their kind, keeping to themselves, sometimes nomadic and travelling until they could find a place they called their own.

But this girl was far from her coven, muddied and riddled in cuts, she looked half from dead by the time she arrived at the doors of the castle. Alucard did not doubt that if she had not been any sooner, night creatures would've found quick work of her body, he would've been little to no help at all at this point.

Running a hand through his golden locks, Alucard sighed heavily, defeatedly, staring off to the side at the portrait, half-covered and drawn from the sight of his mother. Her lovely, kind smile brought him to feel the guilt first, then the resolution. "You will call me harsh," he said aloud, in acceptance of the unfortunate situation, "but giving her one month of refuge was enough-- even Father would have called me brash for such a thing. No doubt agreeing her body would be spiked alongside the others."

He does not dare look at her in the painted gaze, knowing that despite it being a painting, her knowing gaze is enough to make him feel further shame. He does not regret his choice of words or his apathy. It's rough work to trust again, and he thinks he will never open his heart to a stranger again. He will keep her at arm's length before her final day comes, and then he'll send her on her merry way, never to be seen here again.

He could imagine his friends, even hearing their precise words in the back of his mind, nagging him. "You should be kinder, Alucard." Sypha is first to console with gentle words, but hers are just like his mother's. "You do not know how far she has come."

He thinks and he agrees before he thinks to his other friend's opinion. What do you think, Trevor? He regrets asking in his head, to the exact reasoning, he knows how the Belmont would answer, "I'm not sober enough to be having this fucking conversation."

The Dhampir sighs dejectedly, finding reason to begin with slowly finding parts of the castle to keep to, in hopes of avoiding her.

The awkward exchange was enough to make you feel even more threatened than before. Just as you thought you had been able to see the smallest of cracks in Alucard's personality, he shut you out. You didn't feel angered by that though, you knew killing your father was enough to make anyone feel a sense of sorrow to hang for the rest of one's days.

You decided to clear up the plates and then find where Alucard spoke of the guest bedroom, where, to your delight was a better place to stay than anywhere you had stayed for all your days of living. The room was far too spacious to be one that belonged to perhaps a member of staff, with silken sheets and dropped curtains, the bed looked lavish enough that you feared you would never be able to rise from again if you dared lay on it.

Thanking yourself for being clean before you threw yourself onto the bed, your body screamed in joy when the softness of the sheets hit you, and you were overcome with a smell of light lavender, soothing and sweet. You could almost imagine hitting the pillows right away and having the best sleep of your entire life, but you knew that that had to wait. Exploring awaited.

It was perhaps a blessing that you didn’t run into Alucard as you wandered the long halls, taking in the aged beauty of the castle. You took in the paintings, the décor, the statues that made you know that life once hung in the halls. It hung like doom how the drab ruin and cracks in the walls told you the castle would never be the same. You told yourself that if you were allowed, you could help tidy some of the rubble.

Your gaze caught a painting you hadn’t seen before: caught in secrecy with a red curtain, covering the majority of the oil painting. Taking glances behind you and in front, you drew in closer, pulling the curtain back to reveal the beauty of the canvas.

The two figures you didn’t recognise, but they looked like opposites. Light hair and dark hair. The sun and the Moon. Human and Vampire. You knew the vampire was Dracula: from his dark locks and wine-coloured eyes, he was drawn closely to his wife, whom you now knew was Alucard’s mother.

The woman was comely and time had not taken away her beauty. Her lips were curled in a sweet, soft smile, holding in her arms a buddle of blond curls similar to hers.

You stared as you looked at the babe, his innocent beaming smile had small fangs poking out, his golden eyes were joining his duel backgrounds, and though you feared the Dhampir, you could not help but find the baby version of him to be adorable.

What made you what you are now? You thought.

Continuing from the corridor, you entered the closest room with its door slightly ajar. It was dark when you entered, the tall curtains drawn. You didn’t wish to disturb the room as it already was by pulling back the curtains, you opted for a better solution.

Looking back through the door you came through, you cupped your hands in front of you, speaking a gentle tone, “Ardeo.”

Your flame came with better ease, yet it acted as the needed torch and light to help you see better. You can now take in the room better: amazed by the very sight in front of you.

You knew Dracula was a man of knowledge, but the room you stepped into was one of grandeur no living man would ever comprehend. Despite the mess of some bookshelves, its books scattered everywhere, the room was very much one that left you in awe.

Observing closer, your curiosity got the better of you (your mother always told you that), and walking over to the books you could see. Using one hand, you scanned the spines, taking in the words. Some were foreign to you, others in the language you knew, but were that not even the church could understand.

This… was far more than just common knowledge, and you were amazed by how much any subject could be used. You grew interested in Dracula, which had books on different species, one you had in particular.

Humans, vampires, dhampirs, speaker magic. Witches.

In the face of being so absorbed in the books in front of you, you failed to hear the sound of a door creaking open, the fluttering of a cape, the sound of footsteps approaching with such haste, that you didn’t have time to look-

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” The voice barked, a hand pulled you away from them, and from the small flames in your hand, the face in front of you erupted from fury to fear.

Alucard had every right to be angry at you in this moment: you did after all cross into a room you were not supposed to go in. It was not that that made your heart rate spike, but the fact that his sword was once again by your throat, cold as a kiss of death against your flesh.

He did not speak, but even if you tried to, the blade made it difficult with how it dug into your skin. You cried out, both of you mirroring one another with expressions: horror written in your eyes.

How when you had seen his baby picture as adorable, you wanted to take it all back, now was replaced with the sight of his fangs flashing in front of you, hissing like a feral cat in distress.

You felt his hand leave your shoulder, and the strength alone was brutal in how tight his grip was. He was not as close to you now, only did you see those golden eyes staring directly into the flames you held as if it was a normal phenomenon.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, shaking the fire away as the room was engulfed in darkness once again. Only, you were thankful that you could see the outline of his figure still there, watching you in dread and anticipation for what you would do next. “The door… was open—I’m sorry, I overstepped.”

Alucard did not speak, for it seemed he was struck with a fear you had felt many times before. Only did you direct his attention to the book in your other hand, did he seem not to be so rigid.

Witches: The Natural Guide to Magic, Witchcraft and the Occult

His next act startles you when you feel the blade of his sword loosen just enough to allow you to breathe, and he stares between the book and yourself. “Why would a witch need a book like that?”

You stared at him as if you had been slapped across the face. It seemed only a coincidence you couldn’t cast spells, and him being part vampire would’ve noticed too if you had intent on attacking him.

He speaks again, eyes squinted on you. “You could’ve killed me at this point, a hundred times over.”

“I could’ve, but I didn’t… even with the generosity, you offered me refuge,” you calmed yourself enough to speak the truth. “No, I’ve simply lost my skills.”

Alucard stares at you sceptically, “You’re a witch who can’t do spells?” He motions to your hands, “What were those flames then? Some Parlor trick? An illusion?” Regardless of how for a moment ago, threatened you, his voice is sardonic and light.

You could only laugh bitterly, “You’ll think I’m mad.” But the look he gave you told you he already thought so. He was still hesitant of you, you could tell, from the way he stood, and that he was not afraid to use that longsword, always by his side. Whatever he had faced, he still had the mental scars he could not heal.

If I want to get into his good graces, I need to prove I’m not the crones he’s heard of.

You collected yourself, to tell somewhat of the truth. “The coven I was brought into, they were powerful sisters. They welcomed my mama when she was at her worst, and when she had me, they spoke of my destiny, my worth. I was young when they were all slaughtered—slaughtered by”

“Vampires,” Alucard concluded, and his face did not read with the content of knowing that you may have disdain for him.

“I lost my abilities, my skill to heal, to bring back something from death, that was all gone that day, the day I found my mama’s body, drained of all blood.”

“I do not expect you to like me,” Alucard began, and you noticed the way his sword retracted from your neck, floating by his side. “I have certain books that could help you, to help you when you leave. It is one thing I can offer, the books.”

You remembered his deal, to be here for a month before you were sent on your way: one month to gain as much knowledge as you could, as many things you could remember to do or be taught. It was a chance you could only have once, and you were not wishing to reject it when it was being presented to you on a silver platter.

“You would help me?” You questioned.

“My mother would’ve helped you gain your strength, your confidence once again. She was a healer after all, and helping was her job.” There was that softness you noticed he had when he spoke about his mother, and it ripped your heart in two to think of your own.

“You’re not so cruel as I thought The Alucard would be.” You quipped, gathering the books that had dropped to the ground as you began to help tidy. Unbeknownst to you, the smallest of smiles graced the dhampir’s lips, his eyes glowing with a warming amiability.

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