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totheblood · 6 months ago

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in between | s.r.

pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x best friend!reader

summary: things are different, spencer's different. but how he feels about you is the one thing that has never changed. the only problem is now you have a boyfriend.

warnings: smut ! 18+ mdni!! lowkey cheating (lol), cursing, problematic reader, angst.

a/n: i am never beating the star has a cheating kink allegations!! I DO NOT I PROMISE... but yeah... this got away from me, i am touch starved and ovulating. reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses.. PLEASE SEND SPENCER REQUESTS!!!

wc: 5.9k

"I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring."

Spencer was different after he got out.

It wasn’t like you could expect any less. Much less would change you for the worse and you knew that, but something about the way Spencer sat slumped over in his desk doing paperwork made your heart sink. He wasn’t as chatty as he used to be, he didn’t have that glimmer in his eyes, and his voice sounded hollow when he spoke. Under his eyes were permanent dark circles and his lips seemed to form a scorn whenever anyone wasn’t looking. Or when he thought no one was looking.

You sat at your desk, pink mug in your hands as you watched him. Watched his eyebrows crease, and watched him flip through the file in his hand as he pressed a free hand to his temple, rubbing it in small circles. Spencer was on edge all the time and he looked like it. You could tell he made an effort with you to be kinder, gentler, but it always came out sounding rehearsed, his face betraying him like it always did. Spencer Reid, your best friend, was now a completely changed person and it killed you that you couldn’t stop it.

Pushing yourself from your desk chair you approached him, a small smile on your voice as you gently spoke, “Hey.”

He tensed for a second. He still wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. He made a conscious effort to fix his face before turning to look up at you, his body relaxing upon seeing your face. Placing the file down on the desk, he leaned back in his chair returning your small smile as he spoke, “Hey,”

His voice was quiet as he spoke. He was tired and up close you could just see how much.

“You, um…” your voice trailed off making his eyebrows raise, “are you okay?” The question was stupid, you knew the answer but it never hurt to ask. Your fingernails gripped the mug handle as you swallowed down the nerves, “are you sleeping?”

Spencer thought of how to answer truthfully. If he was being honest, of course, he wasn’t okay, he hadn’t been okay for a while, but instead, he just gave you a slight nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice was a little raspy as he spoke, but he turned away from you and back to the file on his desk. He was lying and you both knew it, but you weren’t his therapist and he was not about to open that can of worms on a Thursday.

“Of course, yeah,” you awkwardly mumbled, “you know I’m still here, right? I’m still me, you know? You’re my best friend… and I, um, miss you.”

He turned back to you, his face visibly softening as you spoke. He knew you were there for him, you were the only person he would allow to be there for him. He just didn’t know how to open back up or ask for help. Instead, he nodded his head, “I know… and I miss you too.”

“Spence, I-” you spoke but were promptly cut off by none other than Luke Alvez placing a hand on the small of your back as he whispered to you, “We still on for tonight?”

It felt too intimate, too personal for Spencer to hear, but worst of all it made his stomach sink. He clenched his jaw tightly as he watched the interaction and took note of how you leaned into him. You were comfortable with him, comfortable enough that you should have told Spencer long before now.

“Yeah,” you whispered back as you smiled sheepishly at Luke, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Great,” he smiled, removing his hand as he nodded slightly at Spencer before making his way over to his own desk.

“You guys are going out?” He asked, his tone his own one-off attempt to keep his tone neutral and controlled, but came out more strained than usual.

“Yeah,” you replied like you were ashamed of it, “it just kind of happened when you were… gone,” you rubbed at the back of your neck nervously, “I was just a mess without you and he was… well, he was there. There for me, I mean.”

Spencer kept his expression neutral, but he felt like a part of him was being taken from him, “So you’re dating now?”

“Kinda,” you squinted your eyes, trying to think of the perfect way to word it, “I mean, yes, like we haven’t labeled it but I think we’re exclusive. I don’t know we haven’t really talked too much about it.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He said, his voice low and laced with bitterness. He had already felt like he missed out on so much and in a way became an outsider in a team he once called his family. But when it came to you, it struck a different chord.

“When would that come up, Spence?” you replied, giving half of a laugh to soften the blow, “I wasn’t going to tell you about who I was hooking up with while visiting you in prison. It just didn’t seem fair and then you came back and didn’t seem interested in what I had going on. I just didn’t think you cared to know that.”

“Not interested in what you had going on?” he repeated back, the words sour on his tongue, “You think I didn’t care to know? I was in prison, that didn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

“I know that, Sp-” he cut you off.

“I was in prison, stuck in a cell, for months thinking I was never going to get out and you were… dating,” he didn’t know why he said it, it just kind of spilled out. Like all the bitterness and resentment he had been feeling had finally reached the surface and was spilling over.

“What was I supposed to do?” you whisper-yelled, “Stop my life forever because you weren’t here? It was hard for me, Spence, and god I missed you more than anything but I needed the pain to stop and he… he stopped it.”

“Pain? You were in pain? Well, I spent 270 days in a 6 by 8 prison cell. I was the one in pain! You don’t know what it was like!” He knew he was wrong, but it was like all of his anger, pain, and frustration was coming out and he didn’t know how to stop it. He knew it wasn’t a big deal. Logically, he knew that. But right now, all he wanted to do was get it out.

You took a step back suddenly, forcing reality to wash over him as your eyes got slightly glossy, guilt painted all over your face, “I’m sorry… I thought you would be happy for me… I thought…”

You turned your head from him slightly, avoiding his gaze as you shook your head, “Nevermind, I’ll um, I’ll see you around.”

Spencer watched as you stepped back and saw the hurt look on your face. The anger and irritation faded almost immediately and in its place was guilt and remorse. He had hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt. He reached out a hand to try and stop you from leaving.

"Wait... please don't go," He spoke in a softer and more vulnerable tone.

Your own expression softened at this, like he was a child reaching out for you, scared there were monsters under his bed. His hand linked onto your fingers gently. You could pull away if you wanted to, but didn’t, “What?”

Spencer held onto your hand gently as he stood up from his chair and took a few steps closer to you. He looked at you anxiously, knowing that he needed to explain himself. He didn't want you to leave, especially not like this.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I just... I feel left out. I felt forgotten," he explained, trying to keep his voice soft, but there was a hint of worry and jealousy in his tone.

"I know, I know, I mean I'm sorry," you replied, shaking your head, "you're my best friend, I should have told you."

Spencer sighed and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm just... I'm on edge lately and I didn't mean to take it out on you. I shouldn't have acted like an ass to you."

He spoke in a sincere tone, his expression softening as he watched your face.

You let out a small giggle, taking your hand back from him but gently nudging his shoulder, "You've been through a lot. you deserve to be an ass sometimes," she teased.

Spencer let out a small breath of relief when he heard you laugh. It was like you were his again, and that part that had been missing found it’s way home. He managed a small smile at your words, feeling a little lighter.

"Maybe, but not to you. You're probably the only person who I shouldn't take my anger out on. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," you replied almost too quickly, "you won't lose me, I promise."

"You promise?" he asked quietly, his tone filled with vulnerability.

You lifted your pinky finger for him to take with his, "Pinky promise."

Spencer's lips curved into a small smile as he saw your pinky offered to him. He looked at it for a moment before linking his own pinky with yours and giving them a small squeeze.

"Pinky promise."

You smiled up at him, the bright smile you reserved especially for him as you clicked your teeth, “Well, I gotta… get back to paperwork, Spence, but I’m glad you’re back.”

Spencer smiled faintly at your bright smile, that only you seemed to bring out in him these days. "Yeah, I should get back to work, too. But, um..." He paused for a moment, his expression growing more anxious as he spoke, “Tonight, with Alvez… do you think you could cancel?”

"Why? What's wrong?" you asked, a worried expression clouding your face as you lightly gripped his forearm. It used to be a comforting touch but right now it felt foreign.

"I just-" He let out a slow breath and paused before continuing, "I just want to spend time with you, alone. I feel like we haven't really had time to connect since I got out, and I miss you."

He wanted to feel guilty, he really did but a part of him couldn’t. He did want to spend time with you, but he also just didn’t want your time to be taken up by Luke.

“Oh, Spence,” you cooed, voice soft as you took your hand back, “of course I can cancel. My place or yours?”

Spencer's expression softened and relief washed over him at your words. He couldn't help but smile faintly as you agreed, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He thought for a moment before replying, "Your place. I haven't been there in a while, and I need a change of scenery."

"My place it is," you smiled, "I'll go cancel with him right now,"

He watched as you walked over to Alvez and told him you were canceling, and then told him you were canceling for Spencer. Spencer couldn't hear the two of you but it looked like you were fighting. He was talking with his hands, rolling his eyes as you put up a defensive hand. It was clear he was upset and it ended with Alvez throwing down a file on his desk and storming away.

Spencer's expression grew a little more worried as he saw the interaction between you and Alvez. When he saw Alvez throw down the file on his desk and storm away, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew that you had canceled because of him, and it was causing problems between you and Alvez. He watched as Alvez walked away and he let out a slow, heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Later that night, you were in your living room, sprawled out on the couch watching tv as you heard the familiar knocks of Spencer on the door. Opening it up you gave him a bright smile, your PJs in full effect, "Good evening, Doctor," you smiled at him, taking a step to the side to let him in.

Spencer smiled faintly at the sight of you, dressed in your PJs. It was a comfortable and familiar sight to him, and it made him feel at ease. He chuckled softly at your greeting, "Good evening, SSA Y/L/N," he teased in return, his voice a little more relaxed than usual.

You giggled, letting him in, "On a last-name basis, huh?" you laughed again. "I say we watch Doctor Who Series Two, what do you think?"

Spencer chuckled as he walked inside and nodded in agreement. He closed the door behind him and made his way over to her couch, plopping himself down on one end, and resting his arm on the back of the couch. In a way, he hated how well you knew him. He hated how as long as he lived there would be one person in the world to know what he needed and that she would be putting on his favorite season of his favorite show and making it seem like it was her own idea. He hated that you existed and he couldn’t have you.

"Sounds perfect. Doctor Who marathon it is," he replied with a smile.

"Perfect," you smiled, plopping down on the other end, remote in hand as you moved to put on the show, Spence, who is your favorite companion," you asked absentmindedly as you flipped through the catalog.

Spencer chuckled at your question and thought for a moment before answering. He shifted around on the couch until he was facing you, his expression pondering.

"Hmm, that's a tough one," he started, his voice thoughtful as he considered the question, "I've always had a soft spot for Donna Noble. She was funny, and her chemistry with the Doctor was hilarious. But Ten and Rose... they'll always have a special place in my heart."

“Ten and Rose are..." you blushed to yourself, "They are endgame to me even though they clearly aren't endgame, but I don't care."

Spencer chuckled at your blushing as you spoke about Ten and Rose, and he nodded in agreement, "Right? They had such incredible chemistry. It's hard not to root for them. The way Ten always looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. It was like he saw the universe in her eyes," he agreed, his expression growing fond as he spoke.

"Yeah," you smiled, your smile fading as you clicked on the first episode of series two. Spencer noticed your smile fade and he furrowed his eyebrows in concern. He leaned a little closer to you, watching your expression.

"Hey, you okay?"

He spoke quietly, his voice filled with a hint of worry.

“Yeah, it's fine. I just... don't like being in a fight with Luke. it's like why can’t we be more like... Ten and Rose..." you shook your head, "It's stupid, whatever.”

Spencer's expression softened as he listened to you, understanding your frustration. He gave you a reassuring smile and spoke in a gentle tone, "It's not stupid, you're allowed to feel that way. Comparing what you have to some fictional characters... it's natural to yearn for that kind of connection,” He paused for a moment, studying your face, before continuing, "Why do you think you and Alvez can't be like Ten and Rose?"

"I don't know," you shook your head, "it's like I can't do anything right. He's- and I shouldn't be telling you this, but when you were away we would get into so many fights over you. He'd be mad if I went to visit you, or if I was too upset about missing you and he just always kept insinuating that I was like in love with you or something,”

Spencer's expression faltered as you spoke. He could already sense Alvez was jealous of your close friendship, but to hear he had been trying to discourage you from visiting him while he was away... it angered him. But it was the implication that you may have feelings for him that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. But he pushed that feeling down for the moment, trying to focus on what you were saying, "He said you were in love with me?"

"Yea," you whispered, "but I told him it wasn't like that. That we were just friends but he didn't believe it. He still doesn't."

"Why doesn't he believe you?" He asked softly, his eyes studying your face.

"I dont know," you groaned, "I mean we don't have a conventional friendship, me and you, but it was like a piece of me was locked up with you in that prison. I just wasn’t me without you and he saw that and took it as me being in love with you," you replied, ignoring the implications of what that meant.

Spencer couldn't help the pang of guilt that went through him at your words. He knew that being locked up had affected you just as much as it had affected him. He understood that without him, you had felt like a part of you was missing, but it still broke his heart to hear it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt, "I never wanted to make things difficult for you... or put you in a position like that."

"You didn't, Spence," you sat up quickly, putting your hand over his that was situated in his lap, "You didn't do anything okay, my... partner or whatever he is should be able to trust me."

Spencer's expression softened at your touch, and his heart skipped a beat as you covered his hand with yours. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, feeling a wave of emotions wash over him. Your words made him feel a little better, but he couldn't shake off the guilt entirely, "I know, but..." He trailed off for a moment before continuing in a softer tone, "I just wish I could make things right for you, y'know?"

"Not your job," you smiled in a desperate attempt to comfort him, "I'd rather have you in my life than some man who didn't believe me anyway."

Spencer sighed, feeling a mixture of comfort and guilt at your words. He knew that it wasn't his job to fix things between you and Luke, but he hated seeing you hurt or upset. He gave your hand a small, affectionate squeeze as he spoke, "I'm always going to be in your life, no matter what. You're stuck with me."

"Oh, kill me now," you joked, voice soft as you leaned your head on his shoulder, "Eternity with you though?" you whispered, "Not the worst thing in the world."

Spencer chuckled softly at your joke, and he couldn't help but smile as you rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you a little closer to him, "Eternity with me, huh?" He repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice, "You sure you could handle it?"

"You sure you could handle it?" you giggled, softly pushing him down on the couch causing him to topple over into the couch. If this was anyone else he would have pushed you back immediately, tell you to not push him like that, but it was you. And you could do whatever you wanted to him.

"Hey, hey, easy on the doctor!” Spencer protested jokingly as he fell backward into the couch. He looked up at you, a hint of playfulness in his eyes, as he sprawled out comfortably, "You're not getting rid of me that easy," he teased with a chuckle.

"Hey, hey, not easy on the doctor," you giggled again, leaning over on top of him, taking a pillow, and pretending to smother him as you climbed on top of him, straddling him.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat as you straddled him, and he couldn't help blushing slightly at the sudden closeness of your body on top of his. His breathing hitched a little, but he tried to keep his expression playful. He pretended to struggle against you as you leaned over him with the pillow, "Hey now, watch it!” he protested, though his voice was filled with amusement.

You giggled as she pressed the pillow further into his face, "'m putting you out of your misery Doctor,"

Spencer laughed even louder, feigning resistance as you pressed the pillow further into his face, "Mercy! Mercy! I surrender!" He jokingly spoke in a dramatic tone, his voice muffled by the pillow. He tried to pull the pillow away from his face to look up at you.

Pulling the pillow off of his face, you smiled down at him, the laugh slowly dying in your throat as you realized the compromised position, “Oh.”

Spencer was panting slightly from the fake struggle, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked up at you. His gaze met yours and he felt a wave of heat wash over him as he fully realized your position, with you straddling him on the couch, hips pressed slightly down into him. He couldn't help but take in the sight of you on top of him, his heart racing.

"I, um… didn't realize,” you spoke quickly, your own self out of breath, panting as you began to move to get off him, "I'm sorry, shit."

"No, no, wait., "Spencer's hand reached out quickly and gently grabbed your wrist as you tried to move off him. He swallowed, his heart racing a mile a minute. He couldn't deny the tension in the air or the way his body reacted to how close you were. This was straight out of a dream he knew he had, "Please... don't move," he whispered, his voice low.

Your breathing was heavy as you looked down at him, hair tousled and in your PJs, "Spence," you whispered, voice low.

Spencer looked up at you, feeling his body hum with desire as he took you in. Your tousled hair, the sight of you in your PJs, it was all so real and intimate. It was domestic in nature and it made his heart do a flip. He swallowed, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. At the sound of you whispering his name, his grip on your wrist tightened just a fraction, "Yeah?” He whispered back, his own voice thick and dry.

"Is that a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" you joked, the tension still thick and palatable as it sat it the pit of your stomach.

Spencer's breath hitched at your joke, with the way he was reacting it was clear he hadn’t been touched in months. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound sending shivers down his spine. He shifted beneath you, your body still straddling him, and he could feel the weight of your body against him, the tension between you palpable, "Maybe it's both," he whispered, his voice low and thick with desire.

You breathed out, a shaky breath but still a breath, as you rocked your hips a little bit against him, desperate for friction, "I'm not a cheater," you whispered.

Spencer's breath caught in his throat as you rocked your hips against him, and it took everything in him not to buck his hips in response. He tried to control his breathing, his body reacting to your touch almost involuntarily. He swallowed, his voice a little rougher than usual as he replied, "I know you're not. You've never been," He placed his hands on your hips, holding you in place lightly, his thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin of your waist under your shirt.

Your skin burned where his hands met your hips. It made you want to do more. It made you want to continue, a soft sigh that sounded like a moan falling from your lips, swallowing quickly as you stared down at him.

Spencer's heart raced as you let out that small sigh, a mix of a moan, and he couldn't deny the effect it had on him. He could feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room almost tangible, "You're driving me crazy," he breathed out, his thumbs continuing to stroke your skin, his touch growing a little firmer, more possessive. His pupils were blown out, soft brown eyes looking up at you like it was you who held the universe in your hands.

"I'm not-" you shook your head, "not doing anything," you whispered, hips grinding down slowly as you took another deep breath in. Your brain was telling you to quit while you were ahead, but every bone in your body seemed physically incapable of stopping.

Spencer's breath hitched at the feel of your hips grinding down against him, and he involuntarily tightened his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin. "Oh, you're doing plenty," he whispered back, his voice low and laced with barely suppressed need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?”

"No," you whispered, hands trailing up his chest as he held you, "explain it to me."

Spencer let out a ragged breath, trying to form coherent words, "You... you drive me crazy. You always have," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "The way you look at me, talk to me, touch me..." He paused, gathering himself, before continuing. "The way you're straddling me right now, your body pressed against mine, it's... it's like you were made for me."

You closed your eyes, grinding down harder involuntarily. It was okay to dry hump your best friend, right? That didn't count as cheating, right? Your mind tried to convince yourself this was okay, that you weren’t awful, but you were spurred on by his words, your panties dampening as he held you.

Spencer groaned as you ground down harder against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opened them again, his gaze filled with undisguised desire, "This... we shouldn't," he managed to say, even as his hands continued to grip your hips, pulling you closer to him, his body responding without even thinking, "You're with Luke... we can't... we can't do this," his words were a whisper, but even he could hear the lack of conviction behind them.

You ground down again, in tandem with him, "You're- you're right," you panted, "maybe we should stop," your own eyes fluttered closed.

Spencer groaned again, his grip on your hips tightening even more, his body moving in time with yours, almost involuntarily. His heart was racing, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he tried to slow himself down, to think clearly, "Yeah, we... we should stop," he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, but his body betrayed his words, still rocking against you, needing the friction, the closeness.

"Oh god, fuck," you groaned, eyes fluttering closed as you rocked harder, faster, "Yeah... yeah... should stop," you repeated.

"Fuck..." Spencer couldn't help but curse under his breath, his hips bucking up to meet yours with each movement, his body on fire with need. He was losing his mind, his last shred of control slipping away as he felt the heat between you growing more and more intense, "We... we need to stop... now..." he managed to breathe out, his voice barely above a whisper, his hands holding onto your hips like a lifeline, almost desperately.

"Mhm," you moaned in agreement but never stopped your movements. Instead, you continued to rock against him, ignoring how the spaghetti strap of your pajamas had started to fall off your shoulder, "So stop," you whispered, not stopping.

Spencer's eyes were fixed on the spaghetti strap that was falling off your shoulder, his brain nearly short-circuiting at the sight. He groaned, the sound almost guttural, as he tried to steady his breathing. "I'm- I'm trying, I'm trying..." He was trying, he really was, but with your body moving against him like that, your hips rocking in just the right way, he couldn't help but move with you, his body responding on autopilot.

"How hard?" you whispered, a giggle falling from your lips that turned quickly into a strangled moan, as his hands pushed your hips down into him. Spencer's grip on your hips tightened even more, his fingers digging into your skin, as he pushed you down into him. His breathing was ragged now, his body trembling with need, as he felt you against him.

"So goddamn hard," he groaned, his voice strained, as he tried to hold back. "You have no idea how hard you’re making this for me."

"I can," you panted out, "I can feel it… How hard it is for you," you giggled, eyes fluttering shut again as you gripped his shoulder. It was all him at this point, he was pulling you down into him, his hips bucking up. The friction all felt too good, too real, and you weren’t stopping. There was no way you could.

Spencer was losing himself completely in the feeling of you against him, the sound of your voice, the way your touch burned through him. His head was spinning, his body on fire with need and desire. He pulled you down harder against him, his hips bucking up involuntarily, the friction between you sending sparks through his body. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants, as he pulled you down closer to him, "God... you feel so good," he groaned, his lips brushing against your collarbone, his breath hitched and shallow.

When his lips touched you, you gasped, a loud moan coming from your lips that sounded too much like his name. You wanted this and you wanted it desperately. It was almost pathetic how much you wanted this.

The sound of your moan, his name on your lips, it was like a punch to the gut. Spencer's grip on your hips involuntarily tightened, his body reacting almost violently to the sound, the need in your voice. "Say it again," he groaned, his lips moving against your skin, leaving a trail of hot, hungry kisses along your collarbone. "Say my name again."

"Fuck," you hissed back a moan, "Spencer," you practically chanted, hand gripping the arm of the couch behind him as you ground together, "Spencer," you chanted again, a lot less coherent as she bit back a moan.

Each time you said his name, it sounded like a prayer, and Spencer felt like he was losing his mind. His hips bucked up against yours as he heard it again and again, the sound sending shockwaves through his body. He buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps as he fought to keep himself together, "God, say it again," he begged, his voice thick with need and hunger, "Please, say my name again, just like that."

"Spencer- ah, fuck," you cried out, whimpering pathetically as your body moved for you, "Spencer."

Spencer was drowning in you, in the sound of you saying his name. It was the only thing he could hear, the only thing he could focus on. He was coming undone under you, his body reacting involuntarily to your touch and your voice.

"That's it," he breathed against your skin, his lips on your neck, his body moving with yours. "Just like that, baby, just like that. Say my name, say it again."

"Spencer," you cried out as his movements picked up, as they became more aggressive. You just kept chanting it like it was the air you breathed, like it was the only word you knew. Spencer was wild with need, overwhelmed by the sound of his name falling from your lips, the feel of your body against his. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, as he pulled you down into him, moving against you with a desperate, frenzied rhythm.

"You're killing me," he groaned, his voice thick with desire and frustration. "God, you're going to kill me."

He buried his face in your neck, his lips moving against your skin, his breath hot and labored. He was losing himself completely in the moment, driven by pure need and desire, "I can't- I can't stop," he panted between kisses, his voice ragged and strained. "I need you, I need you so bad."

"Fuck, Spencer," you cried out, body almost shaking on top of him. If this was wrong, why did it feel so good?

Spencer was lost in you, undone by your words, your sounds, your touch. Your body shaking on top of him, the sound of his name falling from your lips was like a drug, addictive and potent. He clutched you tighter, his grip almost bruising, as he moved against you frantically, desperately, chasing the release that was building inside him, "That's it, that's it," he panted, his own body trembling, "Don't stop, baby, don't stop."

He felt the orgasm building inside him, a wave of pleasure and heat rolling through him, his body shaking as he pulled you down into him again and again, "Oh god, I'm- I'm gonna-"

The words were lost in a strangled moan, his body arching up off the couch as he found his release, his grip on you still tight.

“Oh god, I’m,” you panted, crying out his name like a hymn, “I’m cumming,” you breathed out. It was all too good, like he was made for you just in this moment.

Spencer's heart felt like it was going to burst as he heard you call his name, the sound like a prayer as your body trembled on top of him, "Yes, yes, yes," he whispered hoarsely, his arms holding you tightly against him, his own body still shaking with aftershocks from his orgasm, "That's it, baby, let go, let go for me."

Your body stopped moving, collapsing on top of him as you came undone, holding onto him like he might float away. He caught you against him as you collapsed on top of him, his body still throbbing with the aftershocks. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breathing ragged and labored. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your skin, as he tried to slow his racing heart.

"That was... incredible," he panted, his voice still hoarse.

"That was..." your voice trailed off as you sat up quickly, realizing you were still clothed as she stood up and off the couch pathetically, "that was cheating, oh god."

Your sudden movement jerked Spencer out of his blissful state, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, his mind still fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure, "Whoa, whoa, hey, calm down."

He sat up, his heart still racing as he reached for your hand, trying to steady you, "It's okay, it's okay, we're okay."

“No it’s not,” you whispered, pulling your hand back from him as he reached for you. It made his chest sting, but all he did was blink, “I think you should leave,”

“What?”

“You should go, Spence,” you reiterated, eyes looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“If that’s what you want me to do,” he spoke. His voice almost sounded broken and you didn’t like the feeling of being the one who caused it.

“It is,” you replied quickly, arms folded across your chest. You turned away from him completely, ignoring the sound of the door slamming closed as he stepped outside.

1K notes · View notes

inkedtae · 26 days ago

Text

xiii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter thirteen : the mysterious angel of seoul ⤑ ❝ the world is desperate to know who you are, but taehyung is the only voice that matters. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, orgasm control, dirty talk, dry humping, ab riding, begging, grinding, teasing, neck kisses/licking, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very huge, massive thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading late into the night for me and being so fucking patient! please send her all the love because she helps me make this so readable and clear for you and she is just over all the best human in the world 💕

Misty cobalt skies blanket the city. Rain falls steadily, blurring the city lights below. You love watching the droplets disrupt puddles and the sea of coloured umbrellas. While most are black or grey, a few pops of yellow, red, blue and pink still bob down the sidewalk. Perhaps your favourite thing about rainy days, however, is how the pavement darkens, glistening under the streetlights. Like how the vibrant green grass of the countryside invokes a reconnection with nature, the vivid black streets of the city draws you into a quiet, almost meditative stillness amid the chaos.

Flashes– white-hot and blinking.

You blink, disoriented from the all too bright lights on just a gloomy day. Glancing further down the window, you quietly groan at the growing crowd of reporters. A group of perhaps ten photographers and five journalists huddle near the front entrance, bombarding anyone who walks in or out of the building. Arms crossed, jaw tight, you step away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and make your way back to your desk.

You knew you left an impression on the press the night of the ballet performance. The following morning, you woke up with an ache between your legs and a series of reassuring text messages from Taehyung. He said he’d take care of it, but your face, slightly hidden behind your fur coat with loose strands of hair dancing in the wind, was the top story on every media outlet. Glittering makeup, furrowed brows, and annoyed confusion in your gaze– you cannot believe you’re staring at a photo of yourself. You thought they might have edited it, or adjusted the contrast settings to highlight the whiteness of your coat against the darkness in your eyes. But the same picture was posted thousands of times over.

When Taehyung told you that he couldn’t get the photo removed, you weren’t surprised. It had been circling around the web for the better part of the day and he would have to track down every device in the city to permanently erase it. However, he reassured you that the details of your personal life will remain hidden.

You hoped that would be enough. Eventually, Seoul would grow tired of looking at your face, you remember thinking. They will move on to the next spectacle and you’ll be able to go to work on Monday with little to no trouble.

So, you locked yourself in your apartment and decided to wait for this all to blow over. You made sure to stay off social media, as per Taehyung’s advice. He said it’s not healthy getting lost in threads and posts about yourself, having been a victim of his own curiosity once or twice before.

Instead, you watched a handful of movies, avoided Mrs Chu’s prying questions about Taehyung and applied to a few jobs. You baked cookies, brownies and a banana loaf. You reorganized your books, did some laundry, and lost a few board games against Mrs Chu…again. You texted Taehyung until he had a business call to hop on and then tried, with all your might, to finally go to bed. However, the curiosity of how much they knew had finally worn you down. You started with a single thread from a reputable news outlet. But soon, you scrolled too far into toxic netizen territory.

For hours, you skimmed articles and speculations about your identity. Some think you’re an escort, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but most think you’re some nepo-baby, deeming you too well dressed and poised for any other line of work– a sentiment that still makes your eyes roll. They also point out that The Geraldson Group is known for nepotism hires and so if you are anyone, it must be some rich man’s daughter.

And while a Daddy did happen to get you an interview, he wasn’t biologically yours.

This morning, you were sitting in the backseat of the car Taehyung contracted for you. Given your newfound fame, he thought it would be best to have a driver escort you to ensure your safety. While on your way to work, a series of new photos surfaced. You stiffened in your seat as you clicked on the link Taheyung sent you. He wanted to give you a heads-up about the new pictures and reassure you that he is doing his best to take care of it.

The photos, seemingly taken from a hidden angle, were from your day off a couple of weeks ago. You were on your way to the Bangtan Building, the same annoyed, distant look in your eyes. There are frames of you getting into the cab, sitting in traffic, and walking into the building with an air of defiance. You suddenly understood why Taehyung had been adamant on disciplining you then. You looked like a total brat.

The media, on the other hand, thinks you’re some sort of notable figure, absolutely in love with your fashion sense and cold demeanor. From recreating your make-up to your style, you start trending online. More than that, the topic of your identity has everyone hooked. People want to know who you are and why Taehyung won’t share you with them. They want to know where you came from, how you met, and if you are the love of his life.

[V] : I think you might be more famous than me.

[angelcake] : are we surprised?

[V] : Careful.

[V] : Don’t make me come down there and give everyone another reason to talk about us.

[angelcake] : me**

[V] : Behave or I will tear that little dress off.

You suppress a blush at the memory of the conversation.

Now, as you walk through the Research and Development floor, you tug at the long sleeves of your tight, ribbed cotton shirt. The high collar covers your neck from the cold and balances out the shortness of your strapless black dress. The smooth fabric clings to your frame, its tailored cut accentuating your curves. You can hear the soft brush of your sheer, black tights between your thick thighs with each high-heeled step down the hall. With your hair up in a high, sleek ponytail, your dangling silver earrings are on full display. Taehyung sent the delicate diamond set, with a matching necklace and bracelet, yesterday to cheer you up after you confessed you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of googling yourself. You opted for the earrings only today, saving the other pieces of jewellery for another time.

As you near the common area, where an array of desks are meticulously organised for optimal movement and focus, you begin to attract more stares. Some people smirk, others raise brows and the very few you might consider work-friends, draw heavy breaths as they meet your uncertain gaze.

Jackson leans against your desk, arms crossed, while Ethan stands beside him. They both give you tight smiles.

“Morning,” Ethan greets, taking a step back so you can walk around them to your desk.

“Good morning,” you reply with a polite smile, though your voice is shaky.

You look between the two, about to ask them what’s going on when you notice the magazine on your desk. There, on the front page of The Metropolitan, is your original viral photo. Your face dominates the entire cover. By the fur of your coat, covering your chin to the better part of your nose, is the title: The Mysterious Angel of Seoul.

Brows furrowed, you grab the magazine. Taehyung never mentioned anything about magazines, but you feel like you should have known. Your face is all anyone has been able to talk about all weekend. You can't even scroll through social media without someone mentioning you. Rolling up the magazine, you toss it into the trash bin behind your desk and take your seat.

“So–”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You don’t even spare Jackson a look as you log into your computer. You can feel them share a look before Jackson straightens up.

“It’s not about that,” he says, pausing to take a breath.

You chance a glance at the pair of them over your dual screens. They're still rigid, shifting their weight and sharing uncomfortable looks. You lean back in your seat to offer them your full attention, waiting for one of them to continue so you can get back to work.

“We’re actually not allowed to talk about… that,” Ethan clarifies, slightly nodding to the magazine. “Didn’t you get the email?”

Of course you did, and you’re certain it was Taehyung’s doing. But no email has ever stopped anyone from whispering about people before.

“That’s not the point,” Jackson cuts in before you can reply. “Um… Here’s the– So, the thing– uh…”

Face scrunched in confusion, you let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t have time for this. You have a million and one things to do and the last thing you need is Marina finding yet another reason to make your life miserable. You turn back to your computer and open the documents the marketing team had sent over a few minutes ago. With a few clicks, you send them over to the printer. Standing to gather your clipboard and pen, you turn to find Jackson and Ethan still stammering over their words.

“Look,” you cut in, “whatever it is, can it please wait until after the meeting?”

“It’s about the meeting,” Jackson tries again. “Lucas–”

“Yeah, where is he? I’m not prepping for this meeting by myself again,” you interject, already making your way to the copy room.

The two men follow behind you, trying to keep up with your fast strides. “He’s not an intern anymore,” Ethan informs.

You pause mid-step.

Jackson swallows thickly and Ethan rubs the back of his neck as you turn to face them.

“Did he quit?”

He must have quit. In fact– he better have quit. Because if he hadn’t, if he had been promoted to junior coordinator, you might break your stupid clipboard over his head and tear the conference room apart instead.

The guilty look on your friends’ faces confirms your suspicions. Ethan is the first to redirect his gaze to the floor. To his credit, he’s just some research assistant and doesn’t have much say in who gets promoted.

Jackson, however, is your supervisor. He’s well aware of the amount of work you put into every assigned task, no matter how meaningless it seems. He knows you’re the one that constantly picks up Lucas’s slack. You even correct his work. You don’t care much for Lucas’s success, but Marina tends to make his failures your own. So, you come in early to do your workload and half of his. You double check all his reports, emails and documents. You taste all the lattes he makes and often remake them yourself. He can barely pour a glass of water without it splashing all over the counters and floors. Jackson knows this, even witnessing it all himself. He could have stopped this, could have advocated for you.

He takes a step forward. You take one back, blinking back tears. You’re not upset– not sad, but rather angry.

Lucas should’ve used his fucking brain. Jackson should’ve used his fucking mouth. And Marina, with her imitating outfits and mocking tasks, should’ve used some fucking common sense.

“Our evaluation is not for another three months,” you mutter. It’s all you can professionally muster as your anger simmers deep in your chest. You bite back profanities, gritting your teeth to keep from screaming.

Jackson licks his lips. He meets your steel gaze with pity and replies, “I was informed about it this morning. I wanted to let you know before you read it in some email.”

So she’s here.

You look over Jackson’s shoulder to find Marina sitting in her office. You narrow your eyes at the striped black and silver blouse, and black pleated mini-skirt combo. She pairs it with charcoal grey, calf-high socks and velvet black heels. You internally roll your eyes at the replication of your outfit last week. She even has her blonde hair pulled back into a tight clipped bun. Her makeup is a complete copy of yours, from the soft smokiness of your eyes, the rosy highlight of your cheeks, to the pink gloss of your lips. She sits with one leg crossed over the other. Phone pressed to her ear, she stares at her screen.

She’s here, dressed just like you, and she was going to hide behind a fucking email. A good manager would call you into her office and inform you of the promotion herself. She would coach you and explain why the promised evaluation had been bypassed, why you did not receive the position. She would give you the space to ask questions, the resources to try and help you eventually work towards your own promotion.

However, Marina is as good a leader as she is a lover– bitter, vengeful and completely insecure.

It seems it is not bad enough that she has been feeding the press your personal information and embarrassing you in front of your colleagues. But now she’s hellbent on undermining you in front of the entire department. You know she wants to humiliate you, just like she did on your first day when she forced the entire floor to applaud you for the attention she thought you were seeking– over the colour of your outfit.

Her irrational, unprofessional and borderline psychotic behaviour stops now.

Handing the clipboard and pen to Jackson, you push between him and Ethan. They part their lips but you can’t hear anything. You are not interested in their pacifying words. You’ve heard it countless times before– Don’t test her. She’s not worth it. Just keep your head down. You’re tired of the same passive advice. It doesn’t make you feel any better, nor is it working. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you react to her abuse. Nothing will ever be enough for her.

You open the door without knocking.

She glances up at you, green eyes turning cold and uninviting.

Usually, you’d avert your gaze and yield to her superior position, respecting the hierarchy of your workplace. This time, you hold her glare and lock the door.

The tightness of her jaw wavers. She sits up in her seat, attempting to appear intimidating.

While she is around your height, she does not have your powerful frame. With narrow shoulders and hips, she barely makes a threatening impression. She lacks shape, not only your fullness. Perhaps, at one point in your life, that detail might have caused you to internally spiral, wondering if it was her smaller figure that drew Taehyung to her. However, you are thankfully not that person anymore. And the last thing you can ever imagine being, is jealous of Marina.

“Hang up.”

Marina raises a brow. Rolling her eyes, she laughs into her phone. “Yes, of course,” she says before shooing you away with a wave of her hand.

You reach her desk in two strides. Leaning over the cherry oak desktop, you press down on the switchhook, hanging up the call.

“What do you–”

“We need to talk.”

Your voice is tempered, but edged with bitterness. You suppress a smirk as she falls silent, her angry resolve wavering.

“You’re not promoting Lucas.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Bo-peep,” she spits. Her tone carries resentment, but voice ever so slightly trembles.

Tonguing your cheek, you refuse to be baited by the stupid name and continue, “No one is getting this promotion. You will wait until the evaluation in three months and make your decision based on merit and management recommendation, as per protocol.”

Marina sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She humorlessly laughs, the sound jagged and irritating– still, it lacks conviction. “Do you think you can just come into my office and order me around? You think because you made it on the cover of one stupid magazine that you’re untouchable? Let me remind you who is in charge here, sweetheart,” she seethes, leaning forward in an attempt to rob you of your space. "You are nothing but some slutty intern who got lucky. Don’t mistake that for power."

You smirk, shaking your head. “Do you think you can just continue to harass me and I won’t do anything about it? Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to the last couple of weeks with your meaningless tasks and constant manipulation? Three research assistants needed to reschedule follow-ups with their suppliers because you had me chasing an ex-employee all over the building the other day. And what did Lucas do, beside sit around and wait for me to hold his hand through a fucking photocopy?”

Marina swallows thickly. The vehemence in her green eyes falters. She shifts back into her seat, suddenly needing some distance.

“It’s one thing to release information about me, but another to completely fail to do your job as a manager out of pure spite. You have other members on this team that need your support and you’re here bitching because of a man. Get your priorities straight, sweetheart.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I was the one that told them you work here? Everyone knows you’ve been feeding them information yourself. You just love the attenti–”

“I can make one phone call,” you snap, cutting her off, “You’ll be fired within a minute and I’ll take your place within the next.”

The harshness of your tone silences her, but the possibility of your words rattles the mocking smile off her slim face. In reality, you are certain that one phone call to Taehyung won’t grant you her position, even if she did get fired. You would never attempt such a thing either. While you are bratty, you are not spoiled. You respect Taehyung enough not to put him in that position too. But, Marina doesn’t know that.

“You are only here because I am allowing it,” you continue. “So, here is what’s going to happen– You are not promoting Lucas, you will wait for the evaluation and you will base your final decision on professional merit. All that petty, personal bullshit ends now.”

Marina scowls but slowly nods.

You resist the urge to smirk. “Now,” you sigh, “Tell me to sit down.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Sit down.”

You take a seat, avoiding the stares of the entire department. You’ve felt their curious eyes on you the moment you stepped into her office. “Stand up and point your finger at me.”

Marina does so, still clueless as to what you are trying to do.

“Great. Now, tell me to go home.”

“Are you trying to weasel your way out of work again?”

Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you fight the urge to snap at her again. Through gritted teeth, you try to discreetly reply, “I am trying to help you save face. Now, get your head out of your ass and tell me to go home for the day.”

She tries and fails to hide the shock on her face. For a second, you think you catch the faintest glimpse of guilt in her eyes. But then she blinks and her usual annoyance overtakes her avian features.

“Go home,” she whispers. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

Pushing yourself up, you mutter, “You too.”

You avoid the cautious stares of your colleagues as you exit her office. Their eyes follow you, but you don’t acknowledge them as you head to your desk to gather your things. They whisper, scurrying around you, yet you remain unfazed. It seems your attempts at salvaging her reputation were successful if everyone’s content to talk about you, but not to you.

When the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor close behind you, you text your driver to meet you at the back exit—the same place he dropped you off earlier this morning. For the first time since you were hired, you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Mr Zhang stands by the black Rolls-Royce Ghost. An older man in his mid fifties, his posture is rigid and dependable. He carries a degree of composure that makes you want to stand straighter and be worthy of his presence. His silvery-blue eyes, the epitome of calm strength, shrink as he smiles at you. Dressed in a crisp black suit, matching long coat and a pair of shiny loafers, he walks towards you with an umbrella to shield you from the rain, even if you are merely three steps away from the car. You let him dote on you, knowing Taehyung must have ordered him to do so.

While he has only been chauffeuring you for a morning, you have learned that Mr Zhang has been driving Taehyung for about seven years. You were surprised to hear this, but as Mr Zhang explained how Taehyung would often spend his time working in the backseat, you assumed his need for a car service was probably required before he built his self-driving car.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as he opens the door for you.

“My pleasure, Miss ____,” he replies with a tender grin of his own.

You settle into the backseat with a gentle sigh. After buckling yourself up, you take in the interior all over again. You still cannot believe he accented the sleek black leather with gentle notions of pink. From the trimming of the seats, to the door pockets, to the seat belt button, Taehyug has customised the car to reflect your favourite colour. The ceiling is a beautiful replica of a starry night, only instead of silver, rose-white stars twinkle instead. Even the system lights are pink, the same shade EDEN switches to when she talks to you. And if he didn’t outdo himself already, he also made sure to stock the car with your favourite snacks and drinks. Mr Zhang encouraged you to take some with you before helping you out of the car earlier this morning.

“Where would you like to go, Miss___,” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Can you please take me to the Bangtan Building?”

He nods, flashing you a fond smile as he shifts the car into drive.

One of your favourite things about the car, besides the celestial ceiling, is the fact that all the windows are tinted. You sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment of peace without the fear of being photographed or talked about, even if it is for a fleeting five minutes.

When the car slows down, you blink your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the absence of the steady pitter-patter of the rain against the car, the soft beat ceasing as Mr Zhang pulls into a garage. You sit up, looking out the window to find a collection of luxury cars neatly parked in several rows. You recognise two of them: Taehyung’s personal, sleek black car and the black Jeep he used the weekend you went to meet his family.

You wonder if this is possibly the sub-level of the Bangtan Building when Mr Zhang parks the car in front of an elevator. He circles around the back of the car to open your door for you. You tried to open it for yourself this morning when he dropped you off at work and received a gentle scolding.

“Thank you,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he helps you out.

Mr Zhang replies with a polite nod. He shuts the door and asks, “Would you like me to wait?”

“Um,” you hesitate, looking at the elevator as if it holds the answer. If Taehyung is free, Mr Zhang has no reason to stay and wait for you. But if not, then it would be best if he hung around for a few minutes, right?

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here. You can’t go back to work, you don’t want to spend another second locked in your apartment and it’s not like you can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or at a bookstore. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile until this chaos about your identity gets buried by the next news spectacle.

The Bangtan Building feels like your only opinion.

“How about this,” Mr Zhang suggests, noticing your hesitation. “I will stay for ten minutes. But, if in eleven minutes you change your mind and decide to leave, I am a text message away.”

You let a small smile spread on your pink-glossed lips. Nodding, you thank him again and head towards the elevator. The car door opens and shuts as you look for the buttons only to realise it requires a keycard instead.

Digging through your purse for the pink pass Taehyung gifted you, you wonder if it will work here. It is an all-access authorization card, however this level of the building seems more personal than professional. Twirling the card between your fingers, you wonder if he will be upset that you’re trying to use it to access this elevator.

Maybe I should text him, you think, pulling out your phone by the pink and white charm that dangles from its matching case. You unlock it and stare at his name, wondering what you should even say. You know that if you ask him if he’s busy, he’ll tell you he’s not and demand to know what’s on your mind. He might be able to manage a few minutes away from his work to promptly answer a text. However, you doubt he has enough time to entertain you.

You sigh heavily, growing tired of the overthinking. You just want to see him, to be in his presence and let his musky, intoxicating cologne soothe your erratic heart. You want to hug him, to be engulfed in his warmth and feel his muscles flex under his clothes as he tightens his grip around you.

So, without a second thought, you toss your phone back into your purse and scan your card.

DING!

The elevator chimes, doors opening.

“Good morning, Angel,” EDEN greets.

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voice. “EDEN,” you reply through a breathy chuckle as you step in.

“Mr Kim is currently on the fitness and wellness floor. Would you like me to guide you there?”

You smile fondly at the speaker. “Yes please,” you nod before adding, “I’ve really missed you.”

“Should I send you a reminder of my capabilities, or would you prefer a more heartfelt digital hug instead?”

You laugh as the doors shut, the elevator whirling as it moves upwards. If you didn’t know she was created by Taehyung, that comment alone would have given it away.

Tone slightly teasing, you reply, “I suppose I can use a hug?”

“I sense you are mocking me,” EDEN responds. “Mr Kim says you enjoy teasing. As always, he is correct.”

You freeze.

“Taehyung talks about me?”

“Mr Kim often talks about you. He worries about you when you are at work. He says he cannot stand that you are miserable there.”

You know you shouldn’t ask, but your curiosity is louder than your conscience. Biting your lip, you twist your fingers nervously and whisper, “What else does he say about me?”

“He says you’re beautiful, Angel. More than that, though… he believes you’re precious—something to be protected.”

Swallowing thickly, you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself. A shaky exhale escapes as you ask, “He said that?”

“You sound confused. Would you like me to relay Mr Kim’s exact words?”

“Yes.”

“On numerous occasions, Mr Kim stated: Angel is beautiful, EDEN. She’s delicate and thoughtful, even after everything she has been through. She’s strong. She has a nasty attitude, but I like that she doesn’t yield to just anyone. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Taehyung doesn’t just talk about you, he dwells on you. He didn’t just tell her all this at once, but rather on numerous occasions. He went on and on about you to his AI system, telling her what he liked about you and how you’re one of a kind. There is a certain degree of reverence in his words, even when reiterated through EDEN. It’s as though he is revelling in your existence.

Your heart pounds so fast in your chest, you can feel the heavy beats in your throat. Gulping, you try to settle your nerves at the new revelation. He really does like you– or at least enjoys your company. All those times you thought you were bothering him, or worried he was obligated to reply based on the origins of your relationship were ignorant and short-sighted. You should have believed him when he told you that you could never annoy him with your messages.

“Would you like to hear more?”

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

You’ve invaded his privacy enough. In fact, you should probably try to erase this from EDEN’s history. If he finds out you’ve been snooping, he might not find you so charming and endearing anymore.

“Is there a way to delete this conversation?”

“Yes.”

You wait, hoping she will give you options. When she doesn’t, you ask, “Can you delete it then?”

“Unfortunately, only Mr Kim is authorised for this action. Would you like me to request his approval?”

Panic surges through you. “No!” you shout, worried that if you take too long to answer, she might ask him anyway. “Can you just not tell him about this conversation?”

“You are not authorised to lock information. However, it sounds like you would like me to omit this conversion from my communications with Mr Kim. Is this correct?”

You raise a brow at her words. Is she… finding you a loophole?

“Yes, that’s correct,” you confirm.

“Understood. The previous conversation will be omitted from future communications with Mr Kim.”

Fighting off a smile, you look up and tease,“EDEN, if I could kiss you right now, I would.”

“While I am flattered, Angel, I do value my job.”

You’re about to ask what she means, when the elevator dings again.

“I’ll leave you to your visit. Let me know if you require further assistance,” EDEN says.

The doors open to reveal an expansive gym. You step out of the elevator after thanking EDEN, heels softly clicking against polished concrete floors. To your right is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an impressive view of the city below. It’s not as breathtaking as the view from Taehyung’s office, but still looks beautiful. You imagine the sun flooding the space with light, wondering how peaceful it would be to come up here every morning and stretch under its golden warmth.

The sound of a distant, deep laugh draws your attention to the main section of the room. You cast your gaze over the row of state-of-the-art equipment–treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights all set up to accommodate any fitness routine– and catch a glimpse of three dark-haired heads by bench-presses. You immediately register one of them as Taehyung, his soft mullet easy to spot even from a distance.

The little smile playing on your pink glossed lips flatters at the sight of his board bare shoulder. He looks so strong and big. You suddenly miss being in his arms, whether you are being hugged or disciplined, you just want to be held against his strong frame and feel safe.

“So, who is she?” an unfamiliar asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Save your breath, Guk. I already tried.”

You tiptoe down the pathway, between treadmills and stationary bikes, straining your ears to catch Taehyung’s reply. A pang of guilt engulfs your conscience at your sneaky behaviour. You’ve already extracted more than enough information from EDEN. You don’t need to eavesdrop on his private conversations with his friends either.

But Taehyung is so… reserved. He doesn’t share his thoughts unless you bear your own to him first and you’re tired of the emotional drain of doing so. You just want to hear what he thinks of you, without the pressure of trying to comfort your insecurities or fulfil your desires. And talking about you to his AI is one thing, but talking to his friends….

That must mean something, right?

“Why are you being so secretive?” Guk presses, despite Taehyung’s silence. “I promise I won’t try to take her from you.”

“One more word, Jungkook, and I’ll make you lift this last set on your own,” Taehyung threatens.

His friends laugh, loud and giddy. You can imagine Taehyung’s small smile as he tries to maintain an annoyed look, but cannot resist the teasing comradery around him.

“Apparently, she’s precious,” the second voice chimes in again.

“I told you that in confidence.”

Taehyung’s voice is rough and deep, resonating within your bones even from a distance. You catch the slight notions of betrayal. The twinge of hurt in his tone triggers your guilt. It gnaws at you all over again. You shouldn’t have hidden your presence or attempted to violate more of his privacy. It’s bad enough you didn’t tell him you were coming over but you’ve also overheard more of his private conversations than he’d probably want you to.

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks.

“For like a second— she was sleeping in the back of the limo. Which reminds me,” the second voice says, a hint of conviction in his tone, “Are you ever going to tell me why I had to fire the driver?”

“Are we going to work out or continue to ask stupid questions?” Taehyung snaps.

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet Jungkook manages to find some. “That sounds like a stupid question,” he jokes.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing along with his friends. Rolling your shoulders back, you try to regain your composure. Perhaps this is a good place in their conversation to subtly announce your presence. Jungkook’s joke has diffused the tension enough to build your confidence and finally silence your conscience.

With a deep breath, you put one foot before the other and allow the rhythmic click-clack of your heels to echo in the now quieting room.

Taehyung peeks his head down the pathway, brown eyes distant and cold until they meet yours. A soft glow of recognition softens his gaze. Then it darkens, trailing up and down your voluptuous frame, taking in every curve, every roll. You notice his attention lingering around your swaying hips. A small smile tugs on his lips.

His gaze alone is often enough to rattle your senses, sending shivers down your spine. One look, and the world fades–every thought quiets, every doubt diminishes and you’re left with only his name burning on the tip of your tongue. However, when that intense gaze is paired with his bare, toned chest, you cannot breathe. Your steps falter as he makes his way towards you, black basketball shorts sitting low enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes slowly fall down from his broad shoulders, to his buff pecs– where that celestial tattoo is inked, then drop to his taut abs.

Heat creeps up your neck and spreads across your cheeks as a wicked thought whispers– what would it be like to grind on them?

“Hey,” Taehyung greets, smile widening as he nears.

You blink out of your thoughts as he pulls you into a hug. His usual clean scent, a soothing blend of sage and crisp white tea leaves, is muskier from this sweat. His soft skin feels damp too, but you embrace him tightly all the same, letting his warmth and strength ground you. For the first time since your photo has gone viral, you release a heavy breath.

Sensing the tension in your posture, Taehyung holds you tighter. His fingers brush up and down your spine, relieving the tension from each vertebrate until you are a puddle in his arms. Then, after a few more seconds of peace and security, he slowly untangles himself from you.

Taehyung lowers himself a bit to properly meet your gaze. A teasing smile plays on his lips as he quietly asks, “Playing hooky again, sweetheart?”

The gentle tone of his velvety voice lights your nerves with giddiness. Your body buzzes with desire, and you can’t help giggling–especially when he calls you such intimate terms of endearment.

“Not exactly.”

Hope twinkles in his eyes. He raises a brow, standing back to his full height. “God, Angel, please tell me you quit,” he says.

You bite your lip, a guilty look settling upon your features.

Before you can properly explain, Jungkook’s loud voice carries in the empty gym.

“Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s hot.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hearing such a shameless declaration from his friends startling you. While you don’t think you’re unappealing, you wouldn’t necessarily define yourself as ‘hot.’ You’re not sure what you were expecting from his friends but you can confidently say you didn’t anticipate them to be so… open. Taehyung often maintains a tough exterior and doesn’t let it soften for just anyone. His friends, who flash goofy smiles asTaehyung turns to glare at them, seem more comfortable speaking their minds, even when most are better left unsaid.

You look over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at them. You do not recognise the taller one. In a tight, black tank top and shorts, he stands with most of his weight resting on his right side. His toned arms are covered in colourful tattoos. He winks at you, though his long hair slightly obscures his gaze. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, turning your attention to the slightly shorter one.

He’s a bit thinner, but still just as ripped. Also shirtless, with the word nevermind inked across the right side of his body, he gracefully stands with his weight evenly distributed and hands in his pockets. You recognise his prominent, full lips and soft brown eyes from the ballet you attended a coupe of days ago. His earlier comment about the limousine driver suddenly starts to make sense.

Upon meeting your curious gaze, he offers a sweet smile and nods as a way of greeting.

“Can you give us a moment?” Taehyung asks.

The taller one, who you realise is Jungkook based on the sound of his voice, smiles, seemingly complacent before replying, “No.”

Without missing a beat, the shorter one adds, “So, you must be the girl Tae won’t shut up about.”

You raise a brow, feigning your surprise. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but you try to fight it off. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. He studies your reaction for a moment too long then finally turns back to his friends.

“Why does he always tell you– Why do you never tell me anything?” Jungkook complains. He furrows his brows and returns Taehyung’s half-hearted glare. “I’m always the last to know.”

“That’s cause I’m his favourite,” the shorter one teases.

You tilt your head up at Taehyung, whispering, “I thought Wooyoung was your favourite.”

Within seconds, Taehyung’s glare softens, twinkling with amusement as he looks down at you. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and you’re close enough to watch a droplet of sweat slide down his temple. Without thinking, you reach up, wiping it away with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his throat bobbing. You bite your lip, about to avert your gaze to the floor when he parts his lips to say something. You lean in, eager to hear the vibrations of his deep voice resonate down to your core.

“You met Wooyoung?”

Jungkook’s voice shatters your fragile bubble of closeness.

Blinking yourself back into reality, you take a small step away from Taehyung and turn to face his friends. “Um–” you start, cutting yourself off when you notice a shift in their demeanour.

Once foolish, their attitudes become serious, rooted in confusion or perhaps concern. You don’t have much time to decipher it before they share a look and, soon, knowing smiles.

“It’s not–” Taehyung starts only for Jungkook to fearlessly cut him off.

“You’re his girlfriend,” he states through a chuckle.

You stiffen at his emphasis on the label. “We’re just friends,” you correct, ignoring the sting of that truth all over again. Keen on changing the subject, you step forward with an outstretched hand and introduce yourself.

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Taehyung quickly says, pointing to each one as they shake your hand. “And they were just leaving.”

“No–”

“Yes.” Taehyung hisses, silencing Jungkook.

His friends share an annoyed look, attention flickering back at you for a moment. Jimin sucks in his cheeks while Jungkook’s tongues his and scratches the back of his neck.

You awkwardly shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest. Regret twists in your gut and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come. You should have told him you wanted to see him before showing up here. Instead, you let your fear of rejection overrule your mind. You bite your lip as shame heats your face. He just wanted to hang out with his friends– they were having such a great time before you arrived. And now a blanket of thick tension settles over the room as they try and fail to silently convey their disagreement with not only Taehyung’s decision, but his tone.

“Fine,” Jungkook finally sighs. As he grabs his water bottle and walks by Taehyung, he adds,“I want details later.”

Jimin pushes Jungkook along, with a chuckle. “Don’t be gross,” he half-heartedly chastises.

You stifle your own laughter with a bite of your lip, earning an amused look from Taehyung. He pulls you towards his chest as the elevator dings and his friends' voices eventually fade.

Once he is sure they are gone, he dips his head into the crook of your neck and presses soft, wet kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Finally,” he groans against your throat, then drags his tongue up to your jaw.

You lean your head back. A breathless gasp escapes you when he kisses his way back down your neck to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You clutch onto his strong biceps, feeling them flex under your touch. With a quiet moan, you arch your back and push your full chest against his.

Taehyung groans in reply. His hands slide down from your waist to your rear. He grabs handfuls of your cheeks, kneading your supple fat like a stress ball. His nose nestles up into the space between your jaw and ear, then he whispers, “You like it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You know you should tell him to stop. You should explain what happened at work, what you have been seeing online and how suffocating it feels to be locked in your apartment all weekend. Instead, all you can manage is an eager nod and a strained whine as he smacks one of your cheeks and nibbles on your earlobe.

Trembling, your knees almost give out. Taehyung holds you tighter to keep you from losing your balance. It seems to pull him out of whatever feral state he was previously in. The tenderness in his eyes is so overwhelming, it stirs a quiet ache deep within you. Fraught and breathless, a fragile moan falls from your pouty lips.

“Trying to spoil me,” he teases, rubbing your back.

Your brows furrow, pout prominent as you peer up at him in confusion.

His smile widens. Nudging your nose with his own, he asks,“What did I do to deserve your company this morning, Angel?”

Your face is so hot, you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. You try to fight off a smile, but he holds you tighter and you can’t deny your heart the satisfaction of giving into him. “Things got complicated at work, but I worked it out and gave myself the day off,” you explain in the steadiest voice you can muster. Running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, you continue, “I didn’t want to go home yet though. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, princess,” he reassures. “You’re welcome whenever, you know that.”

He has told you that countless times over text, but you always thought he was just being polite. You’re starting to realise that you should’ve known better. Taehyung never says anything he doesn’t mean– especially not for the sake of being polite.

As his words settle in, your hands instinctively slide up and down his biceps. They’re so big, barely fitting in your grip. The solid strength beneath your fingers draws your attention, and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze. He flexes in response, and you gasp.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You playfully glare up at him. He never misses an opportunity to tease you, deep voice dripping in condescension. The urge to tease him back is strong, and you find yourself having to bite your tongue to keep from spewing your most disrespectful remarks– like how he pushed his friends out as quickly as possible to get a chance to touch you. It would be so easy to rile him up, to trigger his unyielding dominance. Instead, you opt for a tamer response. Or, you at least try to, unable to completely subdue your snarky tone.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” you ask, echoing his words. You squeeze his arms again, cinching a moan in the base of your throat.

Taehyung leans his head back to get a better look at you. His eyes darken, mischief shifting to authority. With a lick of his lips, he adjusts his grip to your hips and holds you steady.

“I think you like touching me like this.”

“Way to answer the question, genius.”

“Is this you flirting?” he smirks. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and resonates deep in your core.

You press your legs, clenching your jaw as your face flushes. “Do you ever get tired of mocking me?” you ask, slightly raising your voice.

Taehyung tongues his cheek. A hint of quiet challenge flashes in his gaze, but he stifles it, likely giving you a chance to correct your attitude on your own. You swallow thickly and resist the urge to sink into his hold all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of drooling over me?” he questions.

You’re about to tell him not to flatter himself, surely earning a swift spank but he caresses your chin. Using his thumb, he gently wipes the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. He then brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean.

You gape up at him, lips quivering.

He fiercely maintains your gaze, holding your chin again, and leans forward. “How come every bit of you always tastes like desperation?” he whispers, feigning curiosity. When you don’t answer, voice shackled in awe and submission, he tightens his grip and hisses, “Do you want daddy’s help?”

“Yes, daddy,” you immediately murmur, nails digging into his muscular biceps.

“Beg for it,” he orders. “Tell me what you want.”

His voice is so husky and raw, you can’t help the roll of your eyes as it vibrates through your body. Your arousal pools between your thighs, panties clinging to your folds as you squirm and whine. Your attention drifts down to his broad chest, lingering on the intricate tattoo, before settling on his tight abs. Your shaky hands follow the heated trail of your gaze, moving up from his biceps to his shoulders, down his pecs and finally finding their place on his stomach.

“I–” you start only to cut yourself off.

Just like when you asked to ride his thigh, your body burns with desire, but you can’t find the words to voice your fantasy. You can see the image so clearly in your mind– he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling his waist. Hands steady on his chest, you drag your wet folds against his abs. But to vocalise it, all needy and weak, feels somewhat embarrassing. Is this normal? Is this something people do– rub themselves against someone’s stomach?

Taehyung tilts your head by the grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “What do you want?” he asks, gentler this time.

“I don’t know how–”

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Furrowing your brows, you internally groan. While a part of you is glad he’s not willing to let this go, you’re still worried you might sound stupid. What if he gets turned off by your request, or worse– what if he thinks less of you?

You part your lips, about to tell him you just want his fingers when you notice the intensity of his gaze. He stares at you with such deep certainty, like you are the only thing grounding him to this moment. Your doubts diminish under their sincerity.

“I want to grind on your abs,” you confess before you can second guess yourself again.

A throaty, rough groan sounds in response. Your knees buckle and Taehyung pulls you closer by the arm wrapped around your waist.

He… likes that?

“Say please,” he orders.

And now he wants you to beg for it. Your breath hitches and you search his eyes for a hint of mockery or mischief, but only seem to find desire.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, shifting your grip from his waist to his shoulders. Your long, blush pink nails dig into his soft skin as he backpedals towards the bench-press. “Please let me ride your abs. I’ve been trying to be good.” Your voice wavers with desperation, much to his amusement.

“I know you have, princess,” he mutters, pecking the tip of your nose. Slowly detaching himself from you, he nods towards your hips and orders, “Take those off.”

You step out of your heels immediately. Hiking up the tight skirt of your dress, you hook your thumbs in the waistbands of your tights and thong, then tug them down your legs. You quietly gasp at the brush of friction it causes, biting your lip.

From his place by the weighted bar, Taehyung snaps his attention back at you. He watches your garments roll into each other as he lifts the heavy bar resting over the bench. You pause with your tights off one leg, gawking at the flex of his biceps, the veins that protrude along his forearms. His gaze meets yours and he winks, like he isn’t carrying a massive amount of weight in his hands.

Your core clenches, clit throbs reminding you of your desire. Swallowing thickly, you hastily return to your task and yank the remainder of your tangled tights off.

Taehyung sets the bar down with practised ease, thumbing his nose with a little sniffle.

You nervously clutch the hem of your short dress, thick thighs tightly pressed together to relieve the tension between them.

He smiles at your shy posture, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. “Come here,” he softly beckons with a nod.

You obey, reaching him in no more than two steps.

A teasing smile plays on his lips. Stationing his hands on your hips, he maintains your gaze and presses a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach. “You’re so cute when you’re shy,” he whispers, then kisses your hands on the hem of your dress.

You tremble under his delicate touch.

His attention snaps up to your face again and his gaze is a dark abyss of feral desire. Licking his lips, he looks ready to devour you.

You open your mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he lies back against the bench, gesturing you to mount his waist with a causal wave of two fingers.

You don’t need to be told twice, eagerly straddling him. Needy tears prick your eyes as you press your slick folds against the ridges of his stomach. A strangled whine tears through your throat, and you attempt to steady yourself by pressing your hands against his chest. Your clit is aching for stimulation, but you hesitate to put all your weight on him.

Taehyung gently soothes you with soft shushes, gripping onto your hips. “Take a seat, Angel,” he encourages.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sit.”

You seat yourself on him without another word.

His back slightly arches, as if responding to your full weight with a desire for more.

You tremble at the pressure, sinking your nails into his strong pecs. Your hips start to move on their own, slow and unsure. You assumed it would feel good, your heat, all wet and sticky, gliding against his soft skin. But the lines of his abs, sturdy and tight, add a layer of texture that causes your toes to curl and eyes to roll.

“Oh, god,” you cry as your thrusts gain some confidence. “D-daddy!”

Taehyung groans beneath you, his stomach rising and falling against your fervent hips. He shifts your dress even higher to watch your pussy move.

“That’s it, baby, just like that…” he whispers, trailing off with a quiet hiss under his breath.

Your vision blurs with desperation. You’ve never been this needy for him before, your walls clenching, longing for the familiar stretch of his fingers. It’s just the act of claiming his body this way, sitting on such an unconventional part of him, a part you’re sure none of the others have sat on, and using it–using him–to get yourself off.

And he encourages you to do so, helping you with your thrusts and guiding you towards a faster pace by the rough hold on your hips. His jaw is clenched tight, attention captivated by the slick sounds of your wetness rubbing against him.

“You feel so g-good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you scratch his nipple.

Your eyes round at the slight tremor in his voice. Hips still grinding steadily under his guidance, you thumb his right nipple and watch him bite his lip. He meets your gaze and you expect to receive a silent warning. Instead, he gazes up at you with… adoration?

“I can’t take this,” he growls, shoving your hips down to his crotch.

You’re about to whine, furrowing your brows and nudging his shoulder in protest at the lack of contact, when his clothed cock presses between your folds.

Taehyung sits up and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist and you cannot sit still another moment longer. Your hips shift forward and back, slow and hesitant. You don’t want to receive a scolding for not asking for permission, but holy fuck you need to do something, anything.

“Keep going,” he whispers against your jaw. “Faster, Angel.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. Running your hands through his hair, you gently tug at the ends to ground yourself against his hard, throbbing cock. Your legs are already shaking, entire body quaking in his arms as you snap your hips as fast as you can against him. You know you are no match for his speed but the friction stimulates your clit all the same. You can already feel your gut tighten and knot, orgasm building from the impression of his thickness.

You didn’t come here for this. You didn’t plan to get lost in his touch, or be on the verge of crying for his attention. You just wanted a new place to escape and recharge. You wanted his comfort, sure– but his cock was not the goal.

So, why the fuck are you salivating at its thickness, at the fact that it barely fits between your folds? Why are you scratching at his back, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to let you feel it against you, unclothed and raw? Why are you on the brink of shattering at the mere thought of it?

You promised yourself you’d set more boundaries and you really do have every intention of doing so. But… Taehyung is just so magnetic, so alluring. You cannot stop yourself from craving him. And what were you supposed to do when you walked out of that elevator and saw him shirtless? How could you really expect yourself not to get distracted?

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Quick study, huh?”

You cannot hold back a giggle at his teasing tone. Pride blooms in your chest at his words and you find yourself putting a bit more force into your thrusts in response. “I learned from the best,” you moan.

Taehyung chuckles darkly in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of shivers right down to your core. Your smile falters and you tighten your core to keep from releasing, a loud moan tearing from your throat. The rippling vibrations of his laughter almost put you over the edge, but you know if you cum now without his permission, you will receive a harsh punishment– the denial of a future orgasm.

“I need to cum,” you whimper.

“So?”

Your eyes roll from the coldness of his tone, and for a second you think you might just let go, but you hold onto your release even tighter, tensing up in his arms.

Taehyung is relentless. Noticing the hesitance of your hips, he grinds up into you, faster than you have ever been able to move. He’s testing you, pushing you further towards the edge.

“Please,” you cry, tears finally splitting, rushing down your face. “I-I can– Daddy, please! Please!”

“Please what?” he coos, the mocking tone not doing you any favours.

You part your lips to give him what he wants, to scream for his permission but you cannot hold back any longer. Your orgasm ripples through your shaking body. You throw your head back, almost falling off his lap as you squeal and gush all over his shorts. Eyes rolling, jaw slack, you can feel yourself drooling, but cannot be bothered to care when he’s still thrusting.

While your mind feels foggy, blood rushing to your head and muffling your ears, you still catch his whispered profanities. Suddenly, his hips jut forward with renewed force before tensing. You feel a bout of warmth between your folds as he growls your name.

A shuddering sigh falls from your gloss-smeared lips as you lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder, limp and exhausted as your pussy still clenches sporadically. You should feel ashamed for abandoning your decision to keep things professional, but all that fills your thoughts is the aftershock of his touch, the overwhelming ache of your body still quivering from the intensity of a delayed orgasm. His name lingers on your tongue and you cannot deny how sweet it tastes. Even as you try to gather yourself, willing some semblance of strength back to your legs, your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth.

You want to apologise for losing control, but the words don’t come, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re too far gone or because deep down, you don’t want to. Because right now, it’s just you and Taehyung, panting and clinging onto each other.

Because right now, you feel whole.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #bts v #v smut #v x reader #bts smut #bts x reader #taecember 2024

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 2 years ago

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"W...W-Why are you doing this...?!" Sun blinked and cocked his head, feigning the look of an innocent child. "Huh? Ohhh!" He rested an elbow in one hand, using the other to draw a circle in the air referencing the man's predicament before walking around his chair. "You mean the whole 'tying you up and torturing you' thing! Well, it's quite obvious, isn't it~?"

Sun stopped directly behind him, bending low to speak directly into the man's ear.

"For Calvin, Mr. Grisham. For Eloise. And for every child in this town who has had to suffer, because of monsters like you."

Mr. Grisham trembled in his restraints, the sweet-sounding voice of Sun now laced with sinister and utter darkness. "Please, I-"

"Did you know-!" Sun halted him, continuing his walk around the chair. He waved an arm in Moon's direction, who fluidly twirled his knife, watching the man's blood still caked on it flick about the room. "My brother and I used to take care of children? You remember the pizzeria in the big city, don't you? Well, just because we are no longer daycare attendants, that doesn't mean our roles have changed. No no no~ Our roles have simply-"

Sun stopped back in front of Mr. Grisham's chair, getting into the man's face once more. His hands, once folded behind his back now gripping the arm rests. The wood creaked and nearly gave way from his grip alone. Sun's colored irises had shrunken down to slits, rattling with a craziness just waiting to bust free. His grin nearly stretched off of the edges of his face plate. A thin, black line formed between his teeth, and grew as his seemingly permanent-closed mouth, opened.

"Evolved," he finished, the word rattling in his robotic throat and chest.

Mr. Grisham whimpered, leaning back as much as he could from the looming animatronic. He squeezed his eyes and turned his head away. "S-Stop that-!"

Two hands grabbed at his head, turning it to face forward again. Two thumbs pulled his eyelids up, forcing him to look.

"What's wrong, Mr. Grisham~? Do I frighten you~?" Sun mockingly cooed. He leaned in closer, his nose pressed against Mr. Grisham's. "Good. Take a good, long, look, Mr. Grisham. I want you feel afraid. But this fear, is NOTHING compared to the fear you have inflicted upon your own children."

Sun's grip tightened. How easily he could pop this man's head like a grape. How badly he wanted to, how eagerly he wanted this maggot dead. But no. He had to suffer first. He had to pay. Sun relished in the man's whimpering as he trembled in his hands. Hot steam puffed from Sun's ajar mouth, ghosting the man's face.

"I wonder..." he thought aloud, his mouth a dangerous number of inches from the shivering man's head, "if I can scalp you with my own teeth~"

"Sun."

The animatronic paused, his eyes flicking to his left, towards Moon. The lunar animatronic stopped twirling his knife and simply stood there, giving his twin a known look between them with a raise brow.

Quickly--too quickly--Sun composed himself and stepped away, arms and hands open in surrender. "Ahaha! Apologies, brother! I got a little carried away there, didn't I?"

A small smile etched across Moon's face as he stepped forward. He couldn't fault Sun for his...eagerness. He placed a gloved hand on his twin's shoulder. "Go sanitize your gloves and face. Remove any traces of oil and skin."

Sun playfully saluted. "On it! I'll leave you to do the honors~" He then skipped away to do as instructed.

Mr. Grisham watched him go, bewildered and outright frightened by the swift changes in personality. Suddenly, something cold and sharp under his chin directed him to look forward, and he met Moon's hooded gaze, his face illuminated by narrow blue and red pupils. His own grin had widened and opened. Mr. Grisham whimpered as the tip of the knife pressed into his chin.

"Now that Sun's had his turn...looks like it's mine again~ Try to stay awake, Mr. Grisham. It's more fun that way~"

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:3c

@moonlit-dreamers

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hanahaki-disease · 5 months ago

Text

Beyond the Farthest Reaches

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/Dc crossover

“She is Mother”

Summary:

Everyone needs a mother, why shouldn’t Percy?

Notes:

Set after “Talking with Razors on Your Tongue”

(A far into the future upload that can still be enjoyed without spoilers)

**********************************************

“Habibi,” Talia reached forwards, her hands cupping either side of Damian’s face as she brought him closer to place a chaste kiss on his head. Something must’ve gone well if his mother was showing affection this openly. Not even while they were in Nanda Parbat where the soldier obeyed her every command did she display her love for him with such ease. “You have grown since last I saw you.”

“Yes,” he stood straighter. “Todd confirmed my height to be five centimeters taller.”

“Wonderful,” She turned her head to the other two in the room with them.

Dick wasn’t going to let Damian see his mother alone, their animosity kept them from seeing eye to eye with each other since he was Robin all those years ago. Damian doesn’t quite understand why, but he hopes that he will get over it. If this meeting goes well, Damian will have two brothers, officially. “Jason, it is nice to see you again. How has your mission progressed? Still vying to remove the clown permanently?”

“B has him behind bars right now,” Jason grumbled. “But I know some his men that could help…move things along.”

His mother hummed in satisfaction. Damian knew that Jason was more than capable of infiltrating the asylum and disposing of the Joker, having done so on missions while under his mother’s care. But it seemed that his want of acceptance from their father, who was not present at the moment, was keeping him from completing his task. Had Jason begun his objective now, with father gone and Grayson as Batman, Damian had no doubt in his mind that the clown would have perished the first night Jason returned to Gotham.

“Who is this you have brought with you?” Talia’s green eyes shift from Jason over to Perseus, analyzing from the furthest most hair on his head to the beaten up Reeboks on his feet. How embarrassing. Damian remembers telling him to wear his Converse before they left the penthouse, at lease those were clean and the seams weren’t falling off. “He looks much like you, Jason.”

“This is Perseus, my little brother,” Jason clapped hand on his back, pushing him forward and into the scrutinizing gaze of Damian’s mother. “Biological.”

“Clearly.” Jason steps back even further as Talia circles him like prey. Her hand catches his wrist and brings his right hand forwards. “Callouses. From swords. You can fight?”

“He is exceptional, mother.” Damian walks up to her, ignoring the pointed stare Perseus sends his way. “I had challenged him to a duel upon his arrival at fathers, he was able to best me in less than two minutes with a different blade than he is accustomed too.”

She grasped his chin, turning his head in her hands to view all his features. There was a certain look in his mother’s eyes when she saw the way the light caught Perseus’s own green ones, and if Damian had not been standing beside his mother when she did it twice, Damian would have missed it.

Briefly, impercieveably so, there was a glow that lit up his irises. A soft green, like that of the glow in the dark stars Perseus placed in his room. How had Damian not noticed it before? Was it because he had grown accustomed to glowing eyes? His grandfather’s eyes glowed when he was particularly enraged, shining the exact shade of toxicity as the pits. Jason’s glowed the same color only when pit-rage consumed his mind, and his mother’s gave a soft luminescence in the dark. Enough to notice they were there, but not enough to clearly see it.

But Perseus’s were quick flashes, gone as soon as they appeared in a color he had never seen before? He can’t recall his eyes glowing before his disappearance, so maybe this was something of a recent development.

“What is your blade of choice?” Talia released his chin and walked back to her seat.

“Greek Xiphos,” Perseus answered.

“Rather strange choice, not many exist in the world outside the realm of the Amazonians, no? I can’t recall a location or organization that uses those as it’s primary weapon,” Talia pointed out. “No matter. I shall test your abilities. See if they are as…exceptional, as my son says.”

“Woah, wait, I didn’t sign up for this,” Perseus argues as Jason hooks his arms around the older boy’s neck. “Jay! Jay! Let go.”

“Can’t, jellyfish, better to just do as she says now and ask questions later,” Jason laughs before dropping him on one of the training mats in the adjoining room. “And besides, you gonna pass up an opportunity to fight me?”

“No.” Perseus stole the wakizashi from Jason’s hand and discarded his sweater, tossing it onto the floor behind him. “How hard to do I go?” He looked to where Damian and Talia stood at the edge of the mat, their arms crossed over their chest like a mirror. His reflexes were quick to block the downwards attack Jason had begun with.

“Full send!” Jason yelled as he charged his younger brother.

Damian had to contain the giddiness building inside him as he watch the two spar. The clashing of their swords ringing like bell tolls in the quiet of the room. He had never seen the two of them fight before, Jason either went against father or Grayson and Perseus against Cassandra or Drake. Keeping to their weight-classes it seemed., but the spar before him was nothing short of legendary.

Jason was akin to a bull. Heavy attacks and devastating blows that on a lesser opponent would render them wounded, unarmed, or even dead. His feet were light despite his size, following the paths and placements that every assassins in the league had been taught and memorized. His left heel sliding back into sixth position to keep his balance with attack pattern twenty-three, the weight distributed on the balls of his right foot but not enough to hinder a quick change of position or dodge.

His brother, however, was that of a snake, which, Damian hoped, his mother approved of. Slashes instead of stabs, his grip on the blade one-handed but no less weak as he stood strong with the shorter blade. Normally, people choose the longer weapons, using the extra length to aid in keeping their attacks swift and straight, as well as keeping a good distance from one’s attacker.

Perseus did not keep a good distance.

He kept himself as close as he could with the wakizashi, performing techniques Damian had never seen nor heard of before. And neither had his mother if her slitted eyes were anything to go by. His foot falls were light, his stance low, and his weight balanced between both feet as he moved wildly around his older brother. Damian tried to predict Perseus’s next moves based on what he has done already, but no matter how he believes the boy will go, he always does something completely different.

For instance, Perseus had two opportunities to knock Jason down. Once when his right flank was left unguarded and he could have placed a swift kick to bring him to his knees, instead he ducked below the horizontal slash of Jason’s katana and butted the handle into his sternum. The other was when Jason switched his hold on the blade from a two-handed, blade-forward position to a left-handed, blade-backwards hold to forced a more hand-to-hand combat approach. Even then, Perseus kept himself close and threaded his sword in the gap between Jason’s sword and his arm, twisting it out of his grasp.

It was useless and Jason simply reached for it with his right hand and continued to fight, but it was the fact that Damian had never known of a maneuver like that. It was surely taught to him by the demigod camp, the Greek style of fighting, while disciplined like the Leagues, was more open to improvisation and prioritized fluidity between attacks. He wondered if Perseus could take him to the camp to train him, after all, Damian can see through the mist. It is only fair.

“What are your intentions on bringing Perseus to my attention, Damian?” His mother sat on the provided seat, legs crossed beneath her, heels above the floor to preserve the blade on the inside. “I can’t imagine it is to merely show off one of your father’s many strays.”

He turned to face his mother, hand in fists as his sides, attention shifting from the spar. “Perseus has no mother. She died early in his childhood, and seeing as how you consider Jason as a son, I thought you might consider Perseus as well.”

“You think me your father? Collecting children into my care?” Talia hummed.

Damian bowed his head, eyes wide and slightly fearful. “Apologies, mother, I did not mean to insinu—”

“I would say that…if I was not impressed with Perseus,” She cut him off and lifted Damian’s chin so that he would look at her. “You are correct, his abilities are something I have not yet seen before. Parts of it he has gotten from your father and are hard to break, see how Jason’s right foot swivels before he lunges? Both he and Perseus does it, as does Timothy, Richard, and your father. But there are maneuvers not even I have seen, and I have seen much.”

“So you will take Perseus into deliberation as your son?” Damian asked. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the way his mother was studying the spar wasn’t helping the fluttering of his heart in his chest.

She didn’t respond, only stood up from her seat and waltzed into the fray and ended it. Jason, stayed on the ground, sweat dripping from his brow and his chest heaving for breath. The katana fell to the floor, as did Jason, along with a string of out of breath curses. It had been a while since Damian had seen Jason extorted from training. Which was never. Yes, he developed a sweat and his breathing grew labored, but never to this extent. Perhaps it was like this when he trained under Ducra? The woman was mad and like to push people to their limits.

Perseus wasn’t fairing much better, it seemed, but his composure was kept under his mother’s stare. She once more ran her eyes over him, stopping at his beaded necklace. Talia took hold of the first bead in her fingers, lifting it off his shirt to inspect it before continuing to his face. The sweat didn’t deter her in pushing back the bangs that clung to his skin or from placing her hand against his cheek, thumbing over the small slice from Jason’s blade on his cheek.

It was a gesture Damian knew was her preferred way to show affection to him and Jason, a motherly caress of the cheek to wipe away any tears, blood, or just because. Damian allowed himself to smile from where he stood, but never to walk over. Not until his mother allowed him.

“You cater to my appearance more than your brother does,” Talia said as her thumb did one last wipe over his cheek. “Perhaps we could convince that reporter of the Gazette that you are of my blood as well. What do you think, Jason?”

“You—” Jason gulped the air like a fish from where he collapsed. “You lost the custody battle for us…gave up rights for Damian. Wanted to visit.”

“Must you be so dramatic for a ruse?” Talia crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s my job.”

Turning back to Perseus, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards. Not a full smile as Damian’s mother only did so when under cover, but enough to show that she had come to a conclusion. “You will address me as ‘mother’ from now on, Perseus. Damian is now your brother in addition to Jason, train him and protect him as you would have if he was blood.

“You are one of mine, now.” She linked a little charm onto the necklace he wore from the bracelet she never removed. It was hard to tell which one it was but Damian was certain it showed that he was an al Ghul in all but blood, just the same as Jason was. (Jason had an earring with the al Ghul crest on it, but he hardly wore it. Not want it to be lost or stolen, but he did wear an emerald stud on certain days.) “Should you be in need of aid, shelter, or men to follow your lead, I will provide. If you should forsake Bruce and the path he wishes to lead you on, I will be there to offer others. You are an al Ghul now, a grandson of the demon head, a spare in line for the throne, a prince of the League of Assassins.”

She placed her hands beside on his cheeks like she had done for Damian when they first arrive. “You are my son, and I will always cherish my children.”

**********************************************

Thank you so much to @keitria for inspiring this little installment!!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

#percy jackon and the olympians #dc comics #pjo x dc #batman #percy jackson #batman fanfiction #percy jackson fanfiction #jason todd #damian wayne #talia al ghul

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kittenfangirl20 · 6 months ago

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*it all started when one of the children of Heaven had asked Adam to remove his helmet, he knelt down and removed the helmet which caused the child to smile, at the same time one of the angels who insisted Adam always wear the helmet walked by, he looked at the first human in disgust and dragged him from the child and threw him into one of the rooms*

The Angel: What was that for, I told you to keep the helmet on at all times.

Adam: Why? The child just wanted to see what I looked like.

*the angel grabbed Adam hard enough to make him cry out in pain and threw him in front of a mirror forcing Adam to look at his face, he didn’t look like how a resident of Heaven was supposed to look with multiple piercings and dark circles under his eyes, God indulged the first man saying that he had a right to express himself, but the angel was horrified that the first man would taint his body like this, he even once heard that Adam wanted to try out makeup before he put a stop to it*

The Angel: Repeat after me “You are deformed.”

*Adam broke down sobbing at his reflection*

Adam: I am deformed.

The Angel: “And you are ugly.”

Adam: And I am ugly.

The Angel: No one in Heaven wants to look at your vile visage, Heaven is paradise and looking at you makes people sick. Now put that helmet back on and never remove it ever again.

*Adam sobbed as he picked up the helmet and put it on again even though they could no longer see the tears falling from Adam’s eyes both could still hear him sobbing, after that moment only Eve could get him to remove his helmet was when they were alone in their home, after that the helmet was permanently removed from Adam’s face in public when Lucifer punched him in the fight, the angel who insulted Adam received a note from a mystery angel asking him to meet him in the same room where he forced Adam to wear the helmet at all times, but when he opened the door a pair black hands with claws grabbed the wrists of the angel and dragged him into the room, the angel was now face to face with Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell*

Lucifer: The only deformed and ugly being I see here is you.

*the only reason why Lucifer would be here was if God allowed him to come to Heaven, the screams of the angel then filled the room, later Sera was called to the room long after Lucifer had left, the room was smeared in gold blood, guts, and other limbs, at the same time Lucifer was returning to Hell and he walked over to Adam who was sleeping, he pulled Adam into his arms and let him sleep with his head on his chest, Lucifer saw the memory of that disgusting angel who hurt Adam and he knew that he had to kill him*

#hazbin hotel #adam #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #angst #hurt/comfort

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ohmyronpa-imagines · 1 year ago

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The last anon read my mind lol. Is it alright if I request the same thing with Fuyuhiko, where reader is trying to escape someone killing them and he saves them?

Man, y'all sure do love your near-death experiences. Nothing wrong with that though, I like writing them! Thank you for the request, Anon! - Mod Hajime

Fuyuhiko Saving You From A Murder Attempt

There was no reason for you to even be outside at a time like this.

But it was so hard to believe you had been trapped on a remote island and were now part of a killing game. Didn’t that sort of stuff only happen in fiction?

Still, despite Monokuma telling you all that your cabins were safe, you didn’t trust them.

You especially didn’t trust yours, if the broken lock was anything to go off.

Thinking ahead into the future, you didn’t tell anyone your door was busted. That would’ve made it too easy.

Though, being outside made you easy prey as well. There wasn’t a motive to kill yet, but wasn’t being trapped on an island a good enough reason?

Suddenly feeling nervous, you stood up. Long gone was the desire for peace within Jabberwock Park.

Without missing a beat, you ran back to your cabin, your adrenaline making it easier to handle running for such a long distance.

You opened your door and shut it behind you, letting out a long sigh. Nothing had happened today, not even a little spat between your classmates had occurred. So that meant there was peace, right?

You shuffled to the bathroom and stared at yourself in the mirror. Dark circles were forming under your eyes and your expression had turned into a permanent frown. Well, that was to be expected, considering you hadn’t slept properly in days.

The silence in your cabin was interrupted by the sound of your doorknob jiggling. Your useless lock audibly popped and the door creaked open.

If you shut your bathroom door now, you’d be discovered for sure. You tucked yourself into the corner, hoping the lack of light would you from the intruder’s vision.

Unfortunately, your efforts didn’t work. The intruder’s hand shot out and grabbed your arm, yanking you out of your hiding spot.

A shout ripped from you when you felt a sharp pain in your side. You looked down to see the handle of an ice pick sticking out of you.

With adrenaline pumping through you, you delivered a strong punch to your attacker, knocking them into your dresser. A little Monokuma plush hit the floor from the impact, bouncing against their leg.

Suddenly, you were very aware of the metal in your abdomen. You caught yourself on your dresser and staggered towards the door.

Blood roared in your ears when you heard the attacker getting up. You had to get out of there immediately.

The door slammed behind you and you stumbled across the docks, unsure of where you were. Everything was spinning and you felt like your dinner was about to make a second debut.

Your head knocked against a solid piece of wood. It cleared the heat in your ears so you did it again. You continued for an unknown amount of time, barely aware of an obscure figure walking towards you.

Without warning, the cool wood was removed from your head, sending you to the floor and the mystery person fleeing.

“What the fuck?” You heard someone talking. The voice was familiar, but your head was too full of melted butter to process it. Instead, you responded with a groan.

Trying to remember how to stand, you held your hands out to push yourself up, but the ice pick was making it hard to move. You struggled to find the pick and gripped it, ready to pull it out.

“Don’t do that, you dumbass!” A soft hand smacked yours away and you were quickly pulled into a bright, much warmer room.

A pretty face was in front of you and the person waved their hand in front of you. “Hey! Look at me! Don’t you dare die right now!” You squinted.

Pink cheeks, freckles, long eyelashes, and a mean snarl.

“Fuyuhiko?” You mumbled, struggling to pick an eye to look at.

He huffed, “Yeah, it’s me. What the hell happened to you?”

“Stabbed? I think.” You looked down at the ice pick and reached for it again, only to be stopped by Fuyuhiko again.

He held your hands down and ordered you to stay still and lay on the ground. The yakuza disappeared for a moment until he returned with a pair of scissors, a rag, bandages, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Gonna take it out?” You whispered, focusing on his face, specifically a freckle on his cheek.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he cut the fabric around the knife and pulled your shirt up, opening the rubbing alcohol. He was looking for something, but you didn’t know what.

You groaned when a stinging sensation erupted on your sternum. “Don’t move, you have a cut here.”

“What about the other one?” You asked, pointing at your plugged stab wound.

“If I pull it out you’ll bleed out. Can you shut the fuck up now?” He grumbled and wrapped your cut in the bandages.

Fuyuhiko sighed and dragged you over to his bed. When he realized he couldn’t carry you, he threw his pillows and blanket on the floor. He laid down next to you, quiet, but watching you.

Each rise and fall of your chest could be the last, and he didn’t want someone dead in his room.

He didn’t want to see anyone die for that matter.

You were one lucky bastard. Knocking on his door after getting attacked wasn’t easy, to add to that, you had an ice pick completely lodged in your body. He wanted to ignore it, but hearing the knocks get progressively slower made the pit in his stomach grow.

When he opened the door he was expecting something worse, but having you fall at his feet was worse. Not to mention the suspicious shadow that crept away when he opened his door. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t opened the door?

Did you even realize you were dying?

He looked over at you to check and let out a sigh of relief, seeing you still breathing. He just had to wait for the sun to rise then he could grab Mikan to get the ice pick out of you.

Hopefully you could make it for two more hours. He glanced at the clock, reading 5:00. “You really are a lucky motherfucker.” He let out a half chuckle.

He reached his hand to hold onto yours and squeezed it.

He was just checking your pulse, that was all.

#mod hajime #x reader #danganronpa 2 #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #imagine

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valiantthearts · 11 days ago

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@arcanacontained - About six months after the Piltover-Zaun war, Jayce had recovered in his physical body again. Though no matter what he and Viktor attempted with the arcane, he had a permanent limp from his time in the future - noticeable when someone is in close proximity. The gates across which created a physical border and check points between Piltover and Zaun pulled down, removed and now seemed to be unguarded.

Almost twilight, Jayce walked along the Bridge of Synergy, his head kept down dressed in common Zaunite clothing – dark grey leathers and cloth, including his gloves. Only a small gold clasp around the waist, buckled at the right hip was the same as many others at Viktor’s commune wore was the only colour in his outfit. He had the urge to visit Caitlyn since he regained his physical consciousness, much to Viktor’s discomfort and guilt. A fall from grace, Jayce knew in his gut this he had lost his status as a Helical, and was perceived as a Hyploid if he hadn’t been declared deceased.

Eyes flickered as he walked up to the side of the Kiramman residence, pressed against the stone; the large floor to ceiling window of Caitlyn’s study had it’s green curtains drawn, the fire was out and gloom hung overcast. Talis frowned, tapping the bottom corner of the window – a stone wiggled loose and slipped out the lower pane of glass.

Breath held, he squeezed through the narrow gap, pushing the curtain aside and into the study. Swallow breaths through his nose, he carefully replaced the glass and put the curtain back into place. Feet shuffled, he sat on the bench across from the fire, eyes on the spiral staircase. Brow furrowed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and his focus turned to the pinboard on the under the stairs – a list of names down the far side.

The first seven names at the top the list, including Sevika. With “Council” in red ink scrawled in Caitlyn’s handwriting down the side. Near the bottom “Viktor” in the same red ink and circled with a question mark next to it, along with his own, written over twice or thrice probably as the ink ran low. What did all of this mean?

Strode across the room, a finger traced the other papers tacked to the board. The word enforcers struck out on one page with “WARDENS” written in block capitals and notes on how to ease the dismantling of the caste system. His eyes narrowed at a newspaper article attached to the lower edge of the board – a declaration of the new Council members and new structures of order.

‘Hmm.’ He mused, absent-minded fingers fidgeted with the buckle at his hip.

It had taken Caitlyn a long time to heal. Her left eye was severely injured, causing her to lose her sight completely. She stood there in her room, staring at the mirror, but only one good eye. Her other eye was devoid of the black iris, now just blue and slightly milky all over, and a giant scar across the eye itself. It also extended from her eyebrow, along with her upper eyelid and down her lower eyelid. There was a hint of amusement in some ways that Caitlyn had a match eyebrow scar to offset Vi’s; despite that, she struggled with the fact she had blind spots now.

A breath left her lips as she dropped the eyepatch onto the table, not needing it at home. Her fingers brushed over the gold and white cane she had been using, though she hadn’t needed it for the last month now. Still, her leg would ache from it, taking so long to heal. An external stabilizing fixator fitted around her leg, which aided her ability to walk and no longer needing the cane, and it was the last path for her leg to fully heal. Ambessa had shattered her leg. That it took months to heal and ensure the bones would be in the right place.

Vi had left for dinner, picking up some of their favorite food at the restaurant down the street and picking up some chai teas as well. Caitlyn had offered for the chef to make something, but Vi wanted to treat them instead. Naturally, Caitlyn just laughed at the thought and had given her a kiss goodbye til she got back.

A click from the far room caused Caitlyn’s head to swivel sharply and her eyes narrowed. She parted her mouth slightly, taking in a deep scent. The smell came from the underground, dirt mixed with sweat. Zaunite perhaps? Immediately, Caitlyn grabbed her hextech rifle from the corner of her room and slotted a bullet into the chamber and traveled quietly down the hall. With her hearing affected by the explosions and tinnitus, she narrowed her blue eye in disdain for the blind spot, choosing to focus more on listening.

Her paw pad palm slowly pushed open the door to her study, the door silent as she slipped inside. Her eyes fell upon the long dark brown hair, a man leaning over her board and looking over everything she had been working on. Bare feet silently moved against the ground, thanks to the paw pads on her feet that made her a deadly silent predator. Her blue hair had been up in a ponytail as she lifted her rifle up against her shoulder and ready position. The material he wore looked ratty and old, again something similar she saw in the lower cities of Piltover or the sumps of Zaun. Yet the golden touches did not match the ratty leather and cloth.

Immediately, she presses the muzzle of the rifle up against the back of the man’s head. The snow leopard fur on her shoulders bristled as she hissed in warning. “One false move, and I will blow your head clean off. You should know better than to enter the Prince of Kiramman’s house,” Caitlyn threatened, using a title Piltover had given her (even though she didn’t want it). However, there was merit and power in the title and enough to draw fear in her enemies.

“Slowly turn around and face me. Who the bloody hell are you and why did you break into my house?” Caitlyn demanded as she held her finger against the trigger ready to reach in a second.

#arcanacontained #[ caitlyn interactions ] — the answer is here staring me in the face .#[ caitlyn post canon verse ] — a maverick detective .#[ panda speaks ] — tracker .#thread: a long awaited meeting

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fandomworldofdreams · 1 month ago

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Hospital For Souls

"Conclusions manifest. Your first impressions got to be your very best. I see you're full of shit and that's alright, that's how you play, I guess you get through every night. Well, now that's over."

-Trapt Previous: Prologue, CHP1, CHP2, CHP3, CHP4, CHP5, CHP6, CHP7, CHP8, CHP9, CHP10, CHP11, CHP12

Chapter XIII: Headstrong

The secure wing of Arkham was void of any type of comfort or humanity. The new and improved cell came with a bulletproof PERSPEX clear door, more secure than Valeria's previous bars.

The days passed by like trying to watch paint dry. All Valeria could do was sleep and eat the slop they gave her, which she did grudgingly and not well. She had lost some weight and dark circles had made permanent residence under her eyes. Her only solace was when Hannibal would visit her throughout the days, sometimes bringing food or a book. But mainly, bringing company.

He would visit even when they did not have a session. Sometimes they would sit and read together or just talk. It was the only human comfort she had, considering she wasn't allowed out of her cell for rec anymore.

Her neighboring cell mate was more of an annoyance than company, always asking her riddles that made her wanna reach over and slap the shit out of him.

She found herself longing for Hannibal's presence, his energy brought her a sense of protection and safety that she had never felt.

"I brought you some food," Hannibal's voice carried through the small cell.

He sat beside her on her bed, two containers of food in his hand.

"Rabbit, again?" She joked.

"Fish." She nodded, taking the container and opening it. It looked too intriquite to even describe. A mixture of smells and sauces that looked like it belonged in a fancy restaurant.

It was sushi. Her stomach immediately grumbled. "I love sushi," she said excitedly. He smiled at her, handing her a pair of chopsticks.

The first time he had brought food during her time in this cell he had brought lamb, making her shudder.

"I employ an ethical butcher," he had said, taking note of her hesitance.

"Just because he pets them before he slaughters them doesn't bring me comfort." She still took a bite of the food and savored how good it tasted. "Still, you're a damn good cook."

She took a piece of sushi in her mouth and did a happy dance.

"I'm glad you like it," he chuckled at her, taking a bite himself.

"The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?" Valeria groaned at the voice that shouted from the adjacent cell.

"Do I look like fucking Google to you, Ed?"

"You barely have the mental capacity to solve a children's riddle! How could you even hope to have all that knowledge that Google does?"

"Do you know the answer to it?" Valeria whispered, attention on Hannibal.

"Footsteps," Hannibal matched her pitch.

"I know the stupid answer, I'm just tired of you asking me every five minutes!" She called to Edward Nygma.

"Then what's the answer?" He replied arrogantly.

"Footsteps." There was a long silence. Valeria smiled in triumph, turning her gaze back to Hannibal.

Her wounds had time to heal since the incident. Her eye was now a faded green and the bandages around her wrists had been removed by Hannibal. There were two red scars left that indicated what she had done.

It was a hard reminder for Valeria to see them on display.

"In a few days you're going to be transferred back to your old cell," Hannibal said. "Further investigation found that the same masked assailant that attacked Ms. Lockwood also killed the nurse. You were cleared of suspicion. It'll just take some time to clean the cell out."

"How did they figure that out?" she asked, tone full of mockery.

"Security cameras." She nodded, wondering why it took them so long to look at the cameras.

She had figured Dr. Crane was the one who killed Nurse Rosie, especially since he had been the one to bring her to that room and trap her. The little bits and pieces she could remember filled her with anxiety, especially since she had not seen Crane since. She had left that part out to Hannibal. Opting to tell him she was wandering and got locked in.

She hadn't had the chance to speak to Teddy since he saved her. He did not work the secure wing. She just hoped Jane and Sebastian were okay.

She finished her food and thanked him, bringing her knees to her chest.

"My memory has never been this bad," she confided. "I always prided myself in remembering small details, but now it's all just one big dark void of nothing."

"Most assume that when people go through something that increases their adrenaline, such as rape or being held at gunpoint, the memory records everything and the sense becomes aware. But as we've discussed, that is not true at all. Too much or too little arousal can impair memory retaining, there has to be that middle ground."

"Thank you for coming to visit me, I mean, you know, outside of our sessions. I know you're very busy."

"I enjoy your company."

She blushed, smiling at him.

"Dr. Lecter," a guard was at the door, her blonde hair pulled back into a bun. "There is a visitor here to see the patient, won't take no for an answer."

"Where are they right now?" She shifted, uncomfortably.

"Currently in Dr. Crane's office, shouting at him." Valeria's eyes widened and then her eyebrows furrowed. Had her father come to visit her? Had he grown a backbone?

Hannibal's face was calculated, eyes sliding to her as if contemplating something.

"Alright, Valeria, would you like to come? If they wish to see you, I will not decline." Valeria hesitantly nodded. She did not want to see her father again, but she would take any excuse to get out of this cell.

"Sir, is that a smart idea?" The guard asked, casting a mistrusting look to Valeria, who in response smiled.

"Of course it is. Valeria's as harmless as a lamb." He placed his hand on the top of her head, almost patting it.

Valeria felt offended, the guard looked unconvinced. They made their way to Dr. Crane's office.

"Do you know who would come to visit you?" Hannibal asked casually. Valeria shook her head.

"No idea."

Valeria's stomach dropped as they got closer to his office. A deep feeling of despair that washed over her and drained any color from her face.

She heard the muffled voices behind the door, she strained her ear trying to listen in. Hannibal knocked on the door causing all noise to cease. The door swung open, Dr. Crane stood there looking very irritated. His eyes slid from Hannibal to Valeria.

"Perfect timing." He said, with a tight-lipped smile. He stepped aside allowing Valeria to see the person who was at his desk.

Her mouth went dry.

"Val, thank God."

Valeria stepped past Dr. Crane and was tackled in a hug by Emily.

"What are you doing here?" Valeria hissed in her friend's ear. Nothing scared her more than the fact that Crane was now aware of her friends existence.

"You have been here for almost a month, this was supposed to be a seventy-two-hour watch. She looks much worse than she did before she came here,' she snapped to Crane who gave her a cruel smile.

"Is that so? I thought being on the brink of death was much worse, but that's my opinion."

"Brink of deaths wasn't what you told me at the hospital." There was a fire in Emily's eyes and Hannibal stepped forward.

"My deepest apologies, I do not believe we've been introduced," Hannibal held out his hand. "I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

Emily looked him up and down, her face shone with distrust as she shook his hand. "Emily."

"Just Emily?"

"Hart. Emily Hart."

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Hart."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same under these circumstances, Dr. Lecter. As I was saying, a patient goes missing for four days and nobody fucking bats an eye?"

"How did you find this out, exactly?" Hannibal asked, closing the door. He fixed her with a stare that was meant to pierce through her. Emily was not intimidated, nor did she back down.

"When I called one of the receptionists informed me of the situation."

"What was their name?" Dr. Crane asked in an accusatory tone.

"Gregory Jones." She was quick, almost too quick, like it was a planned response.

Valeria had yet to see someone go toe-to-toe with Hannibal and Dr. Crane, it scared her. She was known to get under Crane's skin, perhaps even Hannibal's, but never at the same time.

"Well, as you can see before you," Dr. Crane interjected, motioning to Valeria. "She is perfectly fine."

Emily laughed in disbelief. "Fine, sure. I want to speak to Valeria alone."

"I'm afraid that can not be done at the time. She is in a more secure wing of the asylum because of the investigation of a murder. To leave her unsupervised would be-"

"Murder? I'm sure the local news stations would love to get their hands on that kind of information. Was the GCPD brought in on this investigation? Has it been solved or the asylum shut down?" Valeria had seen Emily be strong, it was one of the things she admired about her. But she had never seen her this ready to fight. This was a new kind of protective strength that warmed her heart.

But it also terrified her because Emily did not know Crane like she did.

Crane's lips pressed into a thin line. "It would be wise of you not to threaten me, Ms. Hart."

Emily stepped closer. "That wasn't a threat," she smiled. 'It was a promise."

"Emily." Valeria warned, moving closer.

"Perhaps permitting them ten minutes to talk may be beneficial to all involved," Hannibal said, stepping between the two. "Emotions are high, she is simply worried about her friend, as I'm sure Valeria could use the support. I believe it in our best interest." There was a look shared between Dr. Crane and Dr. Lecter that Valeria could not exactly pin.

Dr. Crane's cold stare did not falter, but he gave a curt nod. "Just remove her from my presence."

"I'm so offended," Emily said dryly.

"If you will follow me, Ms. Hart, I will show you to my office. You two may use that space as privacy."

Hannibal opened the door and guided Emily out. Valeria went to follow when Crane lunged, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her back against the doorframe.

"If you say a single word to her," his tone was so full venom, yet so calm. With each enunciation, his grip grew tighter and it became harder for her to breathe, her nails dug into his wrists. "I will slit her fucking throat. Do we understand one another?"

Valeria tried to nod, "Y-y-yes"

"Good." He released her and she gasped for air, hurrying to get as far away from him and catch up with Emily and Hannibal.

Emily immediately glanced back to check on her, casting a glare back at Dr. Crane's office. "You must forgive Dr. Crane, his years of teaching college students and running an asylum have done no positive diligence to his social behaviors," Hannibal joked.

The look Emily gave Hannibal made Valeria nervous. Emily was known for liking just about everyone. But that look meant Emily saw something wrong with him. She had learned to trust her friends intuition, but would have to argue with her on this one.

When they reached Hannibal's office he opened the door, gesturing them in.

"I'm going to run some paperwork down to Dr. Garcia, if you two need anything there is a guard just down the hall."

With that he left, shutting the door behind him.

"I told you not to come visit," Valeria hissed. Emily rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you did. I did not listen."

"Do you have any kind of idea the danger you have put yourself in?"

"All I know is I'm trying to save my friend!"

"That murder was most likely done by Dr. Crane," her voice was hushed, a feeling of fear that he was somehow listening in. "You don't know what he's capable of, especially when crossed."

"Valeria Minerva Gray," Emily growled. Valeria immediately flinched at hearing her full name. "I'm sick and tired of this protecting everyone but you bullshit. We went through this about your suicide attempt. So stop acting like your life is any less significant or that you can control what I do. I can look out for myself, you have limited control and resources."

Valeria felt like a child being scolded, though a part of her knew she needed the reality check.

"Now listen, Teddy and I have been working tirelessly studying a map of the asylum and following Crane-"

"You've been stalking him?" Valeria asked, incredulous.

"-the basements have tunnels that lead to the sewers throughout the city. We just have to wait until they move you back to lower security and pick a day."

"I can't," Valeria said softly.

"Why?"

"If I escape then there's a chance he may kill Jane."

"Jane and Sebastian are coming with us," Emily said, as if it were obvious. Valeria looked at her confused.

"Does Teddy just tell you everything?" A light blush swept over Emily's cheeks and Valeria paused.

"Are you two . . .?"

"He's very kind and charming," it was Emily's turn to be flustered and nervous. "But whenever I try to make a move he pulls away."

Valeria automatically felt guilt along with a mix of betrayal. That quickly disappeared when she realized why Teddy wasn't returning Emily's advanced.

"He will, he's probably just nervous," she said comfortingly. "Now how do you plan to break out three patients out of Arkham and be unseen?"

"We have the perfect plan." As Emily quickly went over the plan in as fast of detail as she could, Valeria was overcome with a feeling of strength. Her friend was willing to risk all of this just to help her. Perhaps she didn't need inner strength, her love for her friends was what would push her and there was no problem with that.

Even if Jane, Sebastian, or Teddy never talked to her once they returned to the outside. Knowing they had gotten out would be closure enough.

"Are you paying attention?" Emily asked with a huff.

"Yes," Valeria felt the tears coming. She stood and fell in front of Emily, buring her head in her friends lap.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for being selfish, for not thinking of you or realizing how much you cared. You are my best friend and I couldn't even begin to make up for all that you have done for me."

"You've been there just as much, don't get all weird," Emily chuckled, placing her hand on Valeria's arm. "We're best friends for life, the universe deemed it. It's what we gotta do. I may need you to bail me out of jail one day." They both laughed at the thought of her getting in trouble.

"Though, I do want to say," Emily looked nervous. "Be cautious with Dr. Lecter, I get real dark vibes off of him. I know you're the aura seer and all, but he's hiding something."

"He's a good man, he's proven to be there for me multiple times." Emily nodded, not fully content.

"Valeria, I know you'll make the right decision, just watch out, please. All I ask is try and fully see him."

"Okay, I will."

When Hannibal returned he seemed to be more cheerful, offering them both tea, which they both declined.

"I hope that was an adequate amount of time to catch up?" They both nodded. Hannibal smiled, eyes focused on Valeria.

"May I show you out, Ms. Hart"

Emily gave him a tight-lipped smile. "No, thank you. I'm sure I can manage."

Hannibal tilted his head at her curiously. "By all means. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, take care of my friend." Emily turned and gave Valeria a tight hug before walking over to the door Hannibal held open for her.

"I am doing my best to make sure she is taken care of, but she is a stubborn one." Emily snorted, glancing back at Valeria and throwing her a wink. He watched their interaction closely.

"Yes, she is."

Hannibal watched Emily exit, observing for a while before stepping into the office and closing the door.

"She seems to have a very good memory, being able to navigate Arkham so quickly. It makes me wonder if she's been here before."

He shot her a questioning look. She shrugged.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"How was seeing your old friend?"

old , she wasn't sure why, but the way he said it sounded wrong.

"It was good. Apparently she was the one who found me when I was bleeding out. She called the ambulance and saved my life. At the hospital, I guess Dr. Crane told her I was dead." She told him the events Emily had revealed at their previous reunion.

"Hm," he took a seat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. She walked over and sat next to him, growing increasingly more nervous.

He placed his hand on her knee as he seemed to often do. His thumb rubbing along her knee.

"Why do you think he did that?" She asked.

"There are different forms of protective actions psychologists have to practice when a patient comes into our care. With victims of suicide it tends to be a factor laced with the environment. So we try to split the two for the time being while growing an understanding of why they tried to take their life."

"You're saying Dr. Crane was trying to help me?" He must have seen the doubt in her expression. He chuckled, his hand inched a bit up her thigh going unnoticed.

"What I am saying is that he may have felt he was doing the correct thing. I do not speak for Dr. Crane's conscious, I can only offer my professional opinion."

She was growing irritated, with everything that was happening she wanted him to be more on her side. He seemed to walk the line.

She looked away from him, pushing herself up and creating distance.

"I would like to return to my cell, please."

"Why is that?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you regressing in how far you've come with therapy?" She shook her head at him.

"No, I'm simply drained and honestly wish to be alone."

She did not miss the way Dr. Lecter's eyes squinted and lips thinned.

"As you wish. But before I bring you back, Dr. Crane wants to see you for a few minutes to settle some things."

Valeria's mouth went dry.

Dr. Lecter walked over to his cabinet that sat in the corner and opened it, pulling out a bottle of bourbon.

"Are you okay?" Valeria asked, voice softer. She had never seen him drink.

He poured himself a glass and sat back on the couch.

"I worry that the progress we have made together is being interfered with." She stared at the alcohol in his hands, the pull to drink was there. She tried her best to ignore it.

"What do you mean interfered with?"

" Dr. Crane's actions seem to always leave you in a more traumatized state and when you see visitors it brings you emotional distress and feelings of anger. I'm worried I'm not doing well as your psychiatrist." His eyes met hers as he brought the cup to his lips, taking a long sip.

Her mouth salivated as she sat on the other end of the couch, a cushion between them.

"Emily is not what made me irritated . . . you did." He gazed at her questioningly. "I realize you are my therapist, but you are someone I consider very close. So I feel a need to seek your approval, or at least see you take my side. Dr. Crane may be a great person to you, but he isn't to me." She was laying bare before him now, feelings on display. But his break in character had caused her to falter. Perhaps a lapse in judgement, but she couldn't help it.

He was still her friend.

"Perception is a tool that's pointed on both ends," he confided. She understood that all too well.

"I'm sorry if I made you upset," she said softly. He held out his hand for her. She slowly took it, scooting closer to him.

"I accept your apology."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Her head spun at the contact and the lingering smell of bourbon on his lips. She leaned into him, savoring the feeling. When he pulled back they both looked into each other's eyes, he gripped her face and began to lean closer.

"Be cautious with Dr. Lecter, I get real dark vibes off of him."

She froze before beginning to pull away. But his hand wrapped around her wrist and she stopped. He tugged her closer and their lips met.

The taste of him felt familiar, the way his hand trailed up her arm. All too familiar, too much fear ran through her veins. The way his tongue entered her mouth made her feel sick. She thought the feeling of him would be a comfort, but her instincts were screaming at her. Yet, her body reacted differently, she squeezed her thighs together instinctively trying to relieve the pressure. Her body craved his touch, but her mind was pushing her to stop.

Finally mustering up enough strength, she pulled away. His hand dropped from her face but still gripped her wrist.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to do that, it was out of line, my emotions are high. You are a respectable psychiatrist, I shouldn't have done that." She wasn't entirely sure why she was apologizing when he had been the one to make the move, not her. But she felt increasing guilt. Guilt for pulling away, guilt for falling for him, guilt for not liking it and liking it at the same time, and guilt for not listening to Emily.

"It's okay, I completely understand. Let's get you over to Dr. Crane and then back to bed."

Bed, as if it weren't a cell.

Valeria nodded numbly, flustered and not wanting to face Dr. Crane in a state of arousal.

"Would you like some to help you calm?" He held out the bourbon and she looked at him with suspicion.

"I thought I shouldn't have that?"

"Unsupervised, no, You'd drink the whole bottle. But I am monitoring you and in control, you are not going to get drunk off of some bourbon. Perhaps you may even find yourself more open with Dr. Crane. He could use a scolding if you will. Alcohol can sometimes show people's true nature." She gulped, taking the glass from his hands, watching the liquid swirl.

"Or it makes us the worst versions of ourselves," she murmered.

She brought it to her lips, taking a couple large gulps that burned her throat. She took another few sips and before she knew it, the glass was empty.

But she didn't think it had been overly full to begin with. He took the glass from her hand, setting it back on the table. He brought that same hand back to her face, using his thumb to wipe any remaining alcohol off her lips, she found herself parting her lips for him to get better access.

His lips opened with hers, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, She wanted more of him. He brought his thumb to his own lips to get a taste of the liquor and a chill went down her body into her core.

She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably.

"I suppose Dr. Crane wouldn't take kindly to a rain check?"

He chuckled, looking at her with that face that knew exactly what she meant, almost reading her mind.

"I'm afraid not." He leaned closer, whispering in her ear. The feeling of his breath on her face had her closing her eyes and shuddering. "Do try and behave around him, I'd hate to have to keep you in the secure wing. Will you be good?"

She nodded, wanting him to approve."I can try my best."

"Wonderful, I'll bring you over to him."

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