#I was very shocked when the first murder happened
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So my friends are just starting to read Gideon the ninth( at my insistence. One sends me emails with their commentary and the other has read with me looking over their shoulder 100% of the time)
And they are both convinced that it’s gonna be a like a hunger games tournament?? They came to this conclusion separately??!
I’m just like guys why would you think this they want 8 lyctors it’s a numbers game. They say ‘then why do they have cavaliers then?’
Kahdjskahsia i mean I guess it’s fair on some level, sword people do indicate sword things will happen, and swords do stab people. So clearly the goal is they all fight each other and the last person standing gets to be a lyctor!
My poker face during these conversations is so funny I’m like ‘guys no one is supposed to die’.
I’m trying to be very careful with my language so they’ll be angry at me later :3
They are going to be very happy and very sad when the murders keep happening later :)
#I’m enjoying their reactions so much#but this is the funniest conclusion they’ve come#definitely picked up on the murderous vibes much faster than I did#I was very shocked when the first murder happened#interested to see whether they’ll be sad or vindicated#they’ll be sad eventually though!!!#the second best interaction is that one friend exclusively reads crux in a yass voice#yassified crux haunts me#Gideon the ninth#tlt#the locked tomb
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It's the lemon juice
“i’m a fearsome indestructible monster of lore whose one shocking weakness is fire” buddy everyone’s weakness is fire
#I read those books#they were great#not quite as good when I re-read them as an adult but still great#I wash shocked to find that the wizard who spoke in dense incomprehensible jargon was actually using regular adult words#I just didn't know them all before#and certain things that happened to a certain character in Book 3 had more of an impact when I was old enough to see myself in that role#but!#great books#I will forever love Kazul the (female) king of the dragons#and Cimorene the practical princess#and Trouble the talking cat#and Suz the lizard#but especially the talking donkey who used to be a rabbit and kept getting more enchantments stacked on him each chapter#fun stuff#oh and we can't forget the first time I read about string-based magic#which is very cool#anyways!#yes fun post; many tags#monsters#weaknesses#I know the answer to this trope is that the monsters are generally immune to all OTHER methods of murder#but: still funny
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minted: three (explicit) | myg
title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍
explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm
—
—
“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”
This is it.
The brink of no return.
Your soul dips into the dark.
“Please make me fucking forget.”
Did you go too far?
Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy?
When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand.
But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs.
This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table.
This man, though...
Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.
The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams?
The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,
“Was he your first.”
Fuck.
This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?
You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.
The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question,
“Do you remember yours?”
“Yes.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“No.”
Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea.
No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone.
He still remembers it, too.
But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room.
So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not?
Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.”
“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.”
Your eyes blink thrice.
Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know?
No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.”
“You woke me up.”
Ah. That’s fair.
“So tell me.”
Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.
Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.”
“You can.”
“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—”
Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—
“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?”
Damn it.
You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales.
But you do swallow.
Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch.
“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”
“No, I—”
“All that talk, and for what.”
Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—
Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice?
Why did you kinda like that—
“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..”
Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question.
“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over.
But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.”
This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.”
“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.
Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this.
Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in.
Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave—
“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.”
Oh, shit.
Oh, shit.
You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?”
Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space.
Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm.
Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?”
It takes you a second to process.
But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.
Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior.
But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close?
You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were.
Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?”
He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal.
A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.
When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying,
“You really wanna know?”
Looking up, you nod.
He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.”
“His.. What?”
Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this?
Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.”
The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to…
How naive.
“His plan could’ve been solid.”
“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone.
Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.”
Your eyes roll so far they strain.
But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself.
Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter.
Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.”
Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?”
“Someone he royally pissed off.”
“Mm.”
“You’re not gonna punish him?”
“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”
If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”
Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.”
This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore.
Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Great.
So much for being… Safe up… here…
You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again.
Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave?
Your knot starts to loosen.
His voice begins to flow.
“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.”
Wait.
No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed.
But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders,
“Can’t believe you used me.”
Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.”
Fucking hell, he’s right.
“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.”
You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.
It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.
“Come here.”
Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared.
His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall.
“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.”
Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not.
But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back.
Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe.
After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time.
“Tell me more. About grey zones.”
Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?”
“Yes.”
His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.
And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react.
A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets.
Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh.
“Final answer?”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely—
Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth.
But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.
A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs,
“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.”
Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.”
“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.”
“Bullshit.”
His level expression is enough to refute.
Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly.
Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing.
Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans.
But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze.
Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy.
But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”
Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.”
“Why only in certain ones?”
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.”
Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.”
At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.
But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain.
“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.”
Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.”
“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.”
It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place.
And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you.
Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along.
He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things.
Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.
A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle.
“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis.
Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment.
“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.”
You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.”
Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.”
He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer.
Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.
You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him,
“But it’s helping.”
Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold.
But yet.. Why do you also see…?
With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.”
There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.”
“I might.”
He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.”
When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?”
Yoongi turns to look at your lips.
You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say.
But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this.
“Then who do you want me to be.”
He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”
“I’m pretty good at pretending.”
“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.”
Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.”
All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.
Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing.
“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?”
When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance.
“You tell me.”
Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating.
You’ve never felt quite like this.
Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be.
Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.
And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.
So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before.
This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying.
This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over.
And yet.
Your nerves speak up at the worst time.
“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”
Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch.
He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum.
“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”
“You ever had sex before?”
The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”
“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”
His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him.
“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.”
When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,
“You can’t just say shit like that.”
“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”
You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness.
Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?
Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second?
“Since you what.”
“Since I don’t like you,” you snip.
Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.”
Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was.
Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes.
Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over.
What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute.
There was something you never circled back to.
And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered,
“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?”
“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.”
“Prove it.”
Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire.
Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets.
But because the motherfucker was right on the money.
How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know?
In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want.
How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning?
“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.”
Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?”
He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself.
And it’s perfect.
“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.”
“Keep it.”
What?
“It’s yours.”
There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence.
Who even is this man?
“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.”
“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”
Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.”
But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?
“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”
He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?”
“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.”
Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”
Oh. So he saw those, too.
“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.”
Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.”
Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.”
“But I want to.”
He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.”
You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod.
It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds.
Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started.
But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over.
Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city.
Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?”
“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”
“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.”
“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.”
Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.”
When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.”
You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else.
Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.”
Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.”
“You never bothered me.”
You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.”
Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?”
Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.”
“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.”
“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.”
“Where’s he at now?”
“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor.
“Yoongi?”
He turns.
“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”
Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer.
Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”
“You.”
His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest.
Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”
Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown.
“Not much to tell.”
Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”
He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”
You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in.
Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises.
“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips.
Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”
Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours.
You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—
A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—
Time stops.
Sounds muffle.
And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side.
Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door.
It’s a phone ringing.
A fucking. Telephone.
What have you done?
As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him.
But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved.
When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room.
Shit.
You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up.
You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off.
Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim.
Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt.
Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse?
The call doesn’t last long.
And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.”
“No one.”
“What’s gonna happen to me.”
“Nothing.”
Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”
Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—
Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade.
“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.”
He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger?
“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”
You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up.
But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns.
When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause.
It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid.
Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole.
His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.
Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat.
“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.”
“Yoongi—”
“Say it and it’s yours.”
“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.”
“How.”
Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.
The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.
Just say it. Just say it.
“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…”
Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking.
Tell him. Four words.
“Fuck me like it.”
A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.
All to let you know what you just got yourself into.
His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter.
“So sensitive..”
When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return.
“I don’t think you’re ready for this.”
“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”
His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?”
When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing?
You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss.
Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease.
“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”
“But what if someone—”
“They won’t.”
He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side.
And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick.
Your very, very wet slick.
Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices.
But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.”
Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth.
Sucking.
Licking.
And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars.
He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles.
It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want.
As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—
Oh. What.
Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two.
You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point.
“You good?”
You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.”
Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?”
“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.”
To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.”
Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by.
This is him. This is Yoongi with you now.
Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real?
You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?”
Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move.
“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!”
The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.
This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover.
Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck!
He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other.
A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.”
What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like.
And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him.
While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name.
Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze.
“Move your fucking hand.”
Your eyes fling wide.
“I wanna hear you.”
“No, I’m—there could be people—”
He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest.
And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes.
“You’re gonna scream for me.”
“Or else what.”
The dark rumble. The rolling thunder.
Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.”
“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes.
When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.
“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”
Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed.
Like a normal person.
Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms.
Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half.
You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent.
Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper,
“I wanna see you.”
It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor.
You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid.
All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.
“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent.
When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.”
“If only it was always that easy.”
“It is with me.”
Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.”
An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.”
…Huh?
What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—
“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.”
Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense.
“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”
“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.”
Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course.
“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.”
“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling.
Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else.
Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint.
When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you.
So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin.
Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.
You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward.
“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”
A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip.
“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.”
Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts.
Fucking hell, this feels good.
You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off.
His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right.
It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.
And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.”
“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next.
“What’s that, love?”
“Yoongi, please—”
“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.”
And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning.
There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare.
Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton.
Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”
“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.”
“You don’t speak for me—”
He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat.
How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.
“So fucking—fuck.”
Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.
“Yoo—!”
His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall.
“What did I fucking say.”
“A lot.”
“I’m gonna hear you.”
“But—”
He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.”
You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out.
“That’s it. I know you can take it.”
“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”
His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?”
Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.”
Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.
And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with.
“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”
“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.”
Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.”
And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied.
Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.”
Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.”
“Two taps if you’re out, understand?”
“Yes.”
A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.”
“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.”
Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses.
Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.”
“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.”
“Good girl.”
Wait, did he say again?
As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—
Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.
The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move.
“Take it.”
“Hmm?”
“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”
Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.
You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.
But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs.
“Like you fucking mean it.”
Fuck.
Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.
Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.
“Guess you can listen after all.”
“Fuck you.”
Another hard yank.
Your laugh only spurns him on.
Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.
But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes.
When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go.
You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.
Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed.
Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.
“Cute.”
“You asshole.”
Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged.
It’s salacious.
He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”
“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.”
Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat.
You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward.
“Just felt like calling you that.”
Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.”
Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it.
So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.”
Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.”
His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!”
He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest.
“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.”
He can’t say stuff like that.
You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest.
After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”
So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling.
A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock.
“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck.
“Maybe I’ve just practiced.”
“Show me more then.”
Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.
You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours.
“Just like that. There you go.”
You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.
Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.
It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—
“Yoongi, I’m close—”
He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.
Holy shit, the screams. Is that you?
The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”
You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad.
But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.
“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.”
“I can’t—”
“Liar.”
His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home.
All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise.
When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears.
“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.”
No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell.
“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”
Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives.
Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.
Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good?
Both of you may feel the same.
Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.
You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.
Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you.
It’s done.
Thoroughly spent.
All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller.
Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom.
Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.
With Yoongi.
There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever.
As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder.
Was it all worth it?
Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have?
A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.
Bliss.
Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for.
“What do you want,” he whispers.
“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp.
Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum.
“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.”
“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.”
“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”
Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself?
“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion.
“What?”
“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.”
His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?”
“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.”
His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt.
When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily.
And both of you groan so full.
“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.”
“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”
“Shit—”
It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry.
Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again?
Holy fuck, again?
As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside.
Was it all worth it?
You’ve never been more achingly sure.
It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case.
But it’s okay.
This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for.
As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling.
You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away.
When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper,
“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.”
The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer,
“S’ok.”
All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin.
“Just stay on your side.”
Ah.
Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night.
“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals.
“Mm.”
Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows.
Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference.
Don’t think too much about it. Do not.
“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...”
Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts.
And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact.
“You’ll always hate me.”
When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in.
Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs.
Did last night really happen?
The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so.
Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is.
Only to find out that you’re talking to no one.
Shit.
Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home?
Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean.
Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over.
Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes.
Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.
Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..”
The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants.
Yoongi isn’t here.
You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts.
But if he’s not here…
Who do you start to hear outside the door?
You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths.
It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds?
Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder.
Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do.
Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture.
What the hell is going on?
You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall.
And his hair is strikingly…
Orange?
As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!”
Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question,
“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?”
“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?”
Your answer is immediate.
“I’d rather die.”
-
-
⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist
a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist
#FINALLY FINALLY#5000 words in two days just wanted to say i love y'all#bts fic#bts imagines#bts reactions#yoongi fic#yoongi angst#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#yoongi smut#bts fanfic#bts smut#ryenwrites#minted#minted3#*ryenfictalk#*latest
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The Proposal
This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.
Original post
Word count: 2718
Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.
Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?
He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.
There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.
There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.
“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.
He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.
He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.
“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”
It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.
Why was he doing that?
The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.
Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.
Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.
And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.
Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.
Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…
Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.
He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)
It could end now.
The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -
He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.
“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?
The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.
“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.
Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.
This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.
“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.
Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–
“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.
His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.
“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.
He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.
“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.
He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.
Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.
He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.
Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.
He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.
Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.
…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.
It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.
Why did he know this shitty recipe.
Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.
These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?
The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.
“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”
It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.
Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.
This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.
Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–
“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.
What the fuck? What the fuck!
He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-
“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.
Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.
He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.
Casserole. The answer was a casserole.
Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-
“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.
He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.
He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?
Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.
Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”
He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”
“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.
Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”
“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”
Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”
A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.
Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.
He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.
“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.
Wow, weird.
“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.
Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.
Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.
Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”
Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??
Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”
Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.
“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”
Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.
“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.
Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.
Fenton looked at him.
Jason looked back.
“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”
“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”
“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”
Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.
Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.
Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”
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i see you | ln x she.
Pairing: lando x she.
Summary: a new voice appears on the radio to get lando through the end of the hungary race. part 2 here.
Word Count: 1.3k
Warning: we've taken some liberties on whose allowed on the team radio ok? i'm in mourning. this is also my first time writing for f1 or lando so >.>
-------------------------------
the small crackle in his ear was a sure sign that someone was about to patronise him again. for years, for years he had bled for mclaren. he'd turned down calls from horner and the men in red, he'd turned his nose to them every single time and now he finally had a chance to put a closer dent in his gap on the world championship and they just wanted him to give it up. it wasn't fair, oscar couldn't even keep up he was the fastes-
"lan?" the quiet voice that appeared in his ear shocked him, his frown forming in his helmet.
"love? now they're using you to get to me?" he scoffed at the thought, his foot on the throttle a little harder as he made his way around turn 11. fuck the team orders, they couldn't do this to him.
for her part, his girl could feel the guilt eating at her chest. "i think so." she'd wanted to smack will when he had looked at her pleadingly from the garage. "but you tell me right now, if you want this win and i'll fight will for the radio for the rest of the race, i'll be out of here so quick and i'll cut them off, give you the time you need." she offered and lando knew she meant it. his girl was quiet, preferred to stay out of the lime light and would always pick his jolly over the flash cars he had, but when it came down to it she was scrappy.
a small smile appeared on the racers face as he thought about the sight, honestly he hoped she managed to trip will and cause some momentary damage. noting he had gone quiet she let her head drop a little, eyes closing as she tried to imagine was going through his head. "my love...can you look at him in the morning if you don't let him past now?" she asked quietly, ignoring the glares that were surrounding her in the pit wall.
"it's a win baby, i need to prove that i can win on my own after miami and i need...i need those points for the championship."
"so drive, put your throttle down lan, drive and don't stop till the flag if you can live with being that man, but i know you and i love you and i'll love you regardless of what you chose right now but i also know you and this won't be winning on your own merit, this will haunt you my love and he'd do it for you, you know he'd do it for you."
lando paused again, swallowing as he rounded the corner. "you'd love me even if i took the win?"
"even then." and now she was pretty sure will was going to murder her if she ever surrendered this radio, at the very least, andreas was never letting her back in the garage.
"you'll love me more if i give osc the spot back?" he hated how unsure his voice sounded as he asked the question and her heart broke for him over how much she knew he would tare into himself later.
"no lando, my love for you isn't based on what you do in that car, not ever, its the man that comes home to me i care about." chewing on her lip she let her gaze flicker to the monitors. "the pit lane straight is coming up..." the comment hung in the air between them and she watched as it happened, 6 seconds, 5.3 seconds, 4 seconds - lando was letting him past.
"you're my winner lando." she whispered softly into the radio, silently wiping the tear that fell at his act. the look of relief around the pit wall was enough to make her guilt grow even more, at what they had cost lando today, what they had made her do. if they could just get their damn strategies right he wouldn't have been put in this position in the first place, he'd had been free to race as he came out behind oscar but instead she would piece together the pieces they threatened to break again as she took care of him tonight.
"i love you so much." lando urged as he watched oscar fly past him, his heart stopping for a moment before his foot found the throttle again. he didn't want to hear wills voice again, not right now and they could make it through two more laps without his help anyway. "will you stay with me for the rest of the race?" he asked because wins and races could come and go so long as he had her.
her eyes flickered to andreas on the wall from where she knew he was listening, watching as he nodded. "confirmed norris, i'm with you till the end." they didn't say much as he finished his race but she kept the line open with him. if the rest of the world would have something to say about the lovers simply existing together for the next two minutes then let them, she was the only one who saw him sometimes she was sure, the only one who knew what he had just done would be doing to him inside.
the chequered flag came and she checked the screens once more before making the call. "that's p2 baby, p2, you know what to do from here." sliding from her chair she didn't bother to take the head set off as she made her way through the garage and out through the pit lane to where she knew lando would soon be parking. she was easy to spot with the bright yellow merch she wore, forever a lando girl over mclaren and her eyes shiny as she watched her man move to congratulate oscar. it left a bitter taste in her mouth, that the win would be tainted by shitty team orders but she'd get to celebrating with oscar later once she knew her driver was ok.
she continued to chew at her lip as lando removed his helmet, the green eyes she knew so well looking around for her and she let her smile return at the way his shoulder visibly relaxed at the sight of her. lando was slow to move, not wanting to risk any more hate that he already knew he was going to get but there was only one thing he wanted right now. the hands he felt cupping his face, an instant sanctuary for the male. "i see you lan." the soft words that meant more to him than even love would.
leaning forward lando let the gap between them close, his lips find hers softly for a moment. normally she would pull away and scald him, knowing just how many cameras were in this pit lane to capture the moment but he needed her more now than she needed to shrink into the shadows. "i'm so damn proud of you." she whispered against his lips, fingers finding the damp curls at the back of his head and her chest settling now that she could hold him once more.
he'd never been as good with words as she had, always seemingly saying the same thing but he wanted to try, for her. "you mean more to me than all this you know?" he could already hear the people calling his name for media duties and as tempting as it was to just face the fines, grab his girl and vanish, lando knew that it would be better for the team if he saved them face. all the blood he'd lost for them still had to count for something right? taking a final second to lock in her face, lando lent forward for a final singular kiss. "i'll see you in my drivers room." he promised before he stepped away.
with a small nod she moved back, eyes filled with tears once more as he stepped up to take the mike from nico and he demonstrated once more why he was the man she adored. racing could continue to test him all it wanted, but she would be the anchor whilst he weathered any storm for as long as he needed her.
#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#f1 x reader#lando x reader
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P.O.V 2025 ver
Yandere!mafia boss x reader x mafia!boss enemy
Summary: To get Silas to keep his end of an agreement, a hostage is taken, someone known to be very dear to him.
Warnings: kidnapping, blood, nsfw mentions, torture, blowing people up, murder, guns, gore, blackmailing, darling breaking, self guilt, angst, humiliation, and probably more along those lines!
Word count: 5.6k
“Let me go!” you scream as you struggle, for nothing, against the rugged men pulling you left and right.
“Be silent”, one of them replies in a sharp, rude tone, “or I'll cut your tongue.”
You're pushed down on your knees on a polished, wood floor that seem to be out of place. You run your eyes around the room, scanning anything and everything. The room is dim, with a big desk, armchairs and a decorative carpet. Your heart hammers in your chest, to the point of nausea. Just an hour ago you were in the backseat of Silas’s ar, waiting for him to be done with a mission. You had been left alone with two trusted drivers. They had been shot, quick and easy, as if someone had rehearsed it. And you had been snatched by the two men holding you.
A man sits in the big chair behind the desk. He smirks at you. Hes about Silas’s age with dark hair, dimples and piercing, blue eyes that shrinks you.
“So this is Silas’s little playmate”, he says, voice full of amusement, and leans forward in his chair to get a better look at you.
He stands up and walks around the desk, walks over to you and crouches down. He takes a grip on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your neck strains painfully. The man snickers and touches your lip with his thumb, as if wanting to open your mouth—which you refuse. If he forces his thump past your lips, you're going to bite him. Hard.
“You're a pretty, little thing, aren't you?” the man mumbles and caresses your cheek.
You swallow. You remember how scared you had been the first time you met Silas, how you barely dared dared to move, but that wasn't nothing compared to this. You knew more about this world by now, know just what kind of things that could be done to people. But you also know what happens if you don't do anything—you get married to a mob boss. You slap the man's hand away. He raises his eyebrows in shock, and amusement.
“Feisty too?” he asks and tilts his head. “You'll regret that.”
“What do you want?” you spit. “I haven't done anything!”
The man laughs, a genuine one that doesn't sound taunting. You caught him by surprise.
“You're cute”, he says. “‘You'? What the fuck could someone like you do to me? This is about Silas, your husband.”
“Then get him, what the fuck am i doing here?!” you screech.
“It's simple. You're here as a trading prop.”
“What?”
“Me and Silas had an agreement and your husband hasn't fulfilled his part. I, personally, have much patience, but even i get tired of waiting. You are here in hopes of making him fulfill his part.”
“That’s not fair …”
“That’s how this world works, didn't you know?”
You glare at him.
“You don't know?” he asks, his small smile growing. “If I want something from him, I have to take something he holds dearly to get what I want, because that son of a bitch is as slippery as an eel.”
You glare at him. The man graces your cheek, staring into your eyes. You take a deep breath and keep it in your throat. You just have to keep out until Silas comes and gets you. Everything will be okay.
“And I know for a fact that Silas holds you very dearly”, he says. “The fact that I even have you here is a miracle. There are some who don’t even believe that you exist because of how protective Silas is of you. He is skilled at keeping you hidden.”
“He will kill you for this …”, you mumble and avoid eye contact.
He’s killed people for less when it comes to you.
“I’m going to get those papers if it’s the last thing I do”, the man mutters and stands up. “And if I have to do something like this to get them, I will. I’m tired of Silas seeing me as a joke. I’m in the mood to … kid around, a little.” He looks down at you and then at one of his men. “Send him one of his little playmate’s fingers.”
You gasp, letting out the breath kept in your throat. Before you’ve realized it, you’ve stumbled up from the floor and thrown yourself towards the double doors, in hopes of saving yourself of losing limbs, but they’re faster. They grab your arms and drag you back to the spot you left. You scream, kick and fight. When they let you go, the force makes you fly into the opposite wall, hitting your elbow and head in the process. A sharp, colorful pain fills your body. A faint ringing noise in your ear. You ignore it as you crawl together, hugging your trembling body and wishing nothing more than to become one with the wall.
The man snickers and watches you from afar.
“I thought you’d be more brave”, he admits and strolls over to you. “Aren’t you married to a mob boss? Haven’t you already seen all the horrible stuff he does? Hasn’t he done them to you? Or is he the type of man to hide it all from his sweet, little innocent darling? Just like he hides you from us?”
You don’t answer. Silas has put you through stuff, you can’t deny that. He’s been mean and scary, been your worst nightmare. But he’s always made sure that you were aware that he could be much, much worse.
“Answer.”
“He doesn’t show”, you whisper and swallow air.
“Well, I am going to. I am going to ruin you for him. If he wants you all innocent and pure, I’m going to make sure he gets a tainted wife/husband back. He won’t even be able to recognise you. That will make him second guess trying to trick me in the future.”
You’re sure that your heart has stopped and sunk down to your stomach. If there's something you could have Silas to thank for, it’s the fact that he’s shielded you from all the morbid things he does.
“Don’t look so scared”, the man smiles. “I’m not going to kill you. You will go back to Silas—you have my word. I’m just going to … roughen you up a little. Show you a different side of the world you live in.”
You try not to show how scared you really are, but you’re sure that you’re as open as a book. The man walks back to his desk and sits down.
“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay there”, he says. “Like a passed out alcoholic.”
The men who had kidnapped you leave the room, leaving you alone with the man who’s going to destroy you. You look around, searching for something to help you, but remain still. You have to get out somehow, have to escape!
Time seem to have stopped, but when the man looks up from the computer, your legs have gone numb.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “Silas is a clever bastard, hiding your identity. Don’t even bother with any type of lying, I will know.”
You don’t answer.
“Give me your name or I will rip your fingernails one by one”, he says threateningly and crouches down in front of you. “Do you get that?”
“Yes …”, you gulp.
“What is your name?”
“Y/N.”
He looks at you, studies your face for traces of lies, until he nods and stands up again. What would you have done if he hadn’t believed you?
“Y/N Achilleos”, he says, tasting your name on his tongue. “Interesting. Nice ring you have there, by the way, must have cost a ton.”
“Why do you want to know my name?” you ask.
“No reason, really. Just curious. I know so little about you. You’re interesting, whether one likes you or not.”
“What’s your name?”
He stays silent for a few seconds. “You can call me Tony. You weren’t involved in this world before, were you?”
“How could you tell?”
The man scoffs with a smile. “I get what Silas sees in you.”
He stands up and walks over to you, pulling you up and dragging your numb legs over to the desk. He sits you down on his chair, in front of the computer. He stands behind you, holding his muscular arms on either side of you, trapping you. You glance towards the video on his computer. The thumbnail is enough to make you sick. You can’t tell what it is, exactly, but there’s enough blood for you to question if it’s real or not. Someone’s tied to a chair.
“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head. “I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to watch every single video I show you, is that clear?” Tony hisses in your ear. “Or else I’m really going to cut one of your fingers and send it to Silas. I’m not kidding.”
He reaches for the mouse.
“Please, don’t”, you beg.
“Why? Are you afraid to see the truth of what your boyfriend is doing?”
You grow cold and turn your eyes back to the thumbnail.
“I-Is it Silas in the video?” you stutter.
“No. He’s not dumb enough to film his things, but I know for a fact that he does this kind of stuff too. Watch now, or else I’ll bring out the knife.”
He grabs the mouse and moves the pointer to the play button. The first you hear are echoes of sobs and painful moans. The entire screen is filled by a man with missing limbs. Two masked men are torturing him beyond what a human body should be able to handle. You clench your eyes shut and feel how Yony grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. your neck cracks.
“I told you to watch”, he hisses. “So watch.”
He throws your head back. Whiplash is hitting you in the tightest places of your neck and you hold a hand over your throat. You continue to watch the video with tears running down your cheeks, and the man hovering above you. You can feel how the image in front of you burns into your brain and you know that it’ll never go away.
“I must say, watching a video isn’t the same as actually experiencing it, don’t you think?” the man smirks once the video is over.
You feel sick.
“Just get Silas!” you almost shout. “Get him so I can leave! I watched your fucking video!”
“Did you think that we were done?” Tony asks. “No, not yet, dear. I’m not done. I’m going to taint you like you’ve never been tainted before. Better yet, I think I’ll break you.”
All his words makes you want to cry, throw up and melt into a puddle. All at the same time. Tony grabs your arm and pulls you up from the chair. He drags you out of the room, through a pair of dimly lit corridors and down a flight of stairs. You stumble in his harsh grip, still on uneasy feet. The room you stumble into reminds you of the worst of Silas’s basement, mixed with that video you just saw. The large room is divided into different parts woty invisible walls. Casino tables, machines made for pleasure you never want to experience, a bar and blood—a lot of it. A hedonistic paradise. The air is thick, hard to breathe, and smells of sex, drugs and blood.
“Trust me, spend ten minutes down here and you will be a new person”, Tony laughs.
You don't look at him. Your eyes are fixated down on the floor, which is the only place where you don't see anything you don't want to. You can't remember the last time you've been this scared. Your body has stopped reacting to the trial your brain is sending.
Silas, please. Help me. I will never take you for granted again, just please save me.
You’ve never wanted Silas to find you as badly as you want now. It’s ironic, in a morbid way, because usually you want him far away as possible.
“Let's go make some introductions”, Tony says and pulls you with him to one of the bar tables.
You stumble in front of a group of people sitting with drinks in front of them. You hit your knees on the stone floor, which sends lighting of pain up your thighs.
“Oh my, look at this little thing”, a seductive, slurred woman’s voice coos. “What a cutie, already on their hands and knees for us. Way too easy.”
You’re quick to sit back down and glare at the woman. She’s dolled up in old, torn clothing that once must have cost a fortune.
“Look at that innocent sparkle in their teary eyes”, another woman says, smiling. “It’s not often you get to see that here.”
You feel a hand on your shoulder, weighing you down like a stone.
“This is Silas Achilleos’s husband/wife”, you hear the man above you smirk.
The group of drunk people raise their eyebrows and lean forward to get a better look at you.
“Silas, hm?” a man asks and get oss his bar stool. “This is a bit too perfect, Tony.”
“He must be pissed that you took them”, the first woman laughs. “I’d pay to watch his face right now.”
You look around to see something else than their mocking, dissecting looks. Instead, you’re forced to watch all kinds of horrors. It all belongs in a nightmare. One you wish you could wake up from.
Silas, please … oh, God.
You feel how sobs build up in your chest and pushes up your throat. Your eyes fill with blurry tears. Oh, how badly you want to wake up.
“Yes, that’s it”, Tonny coos. “Cry for us.”
He pulls out his phone and films you. You try to hide your face in your hands. The woman who had taunted you crawl over and put their sticky hands on you, trying to pry them off.
“Let me go!” you scream and fight them off, voice breaking. “Don’t touch me!”
“See something you recognize, Silas?” you hear Tony murmur. “Y/N, turn around and tell your dear husband how badly you want him to save you.”
You feel sick to your stomach. There’s no way you’ll willingly give in to the man’s humiliating request. You have never been less dignified in your life, and never been this terrified. The women grab your face, their long nails poking into your skin, and forcefully turn your head towards the phone’s camera.
“Come on, Y/N”, one of them whispers in your ear, a sugar sweet slurring that makes you want to throw up. “Do it. Show him.”
You shake your head vigorously. They tug at your arms with their gnarly hands, twisting and pulling on you. Their nails sink painfully into your skin, drawing blood.
“Stop it!” you scream in agony.
“Beg your husband to save you”, Tony grins. “Let him know how scared you are.”
I hope Silas kills you.
“Silas, please”, you choke out and avoid looking into the camera. “Please help me. Please.”
You hear them chuckle around you. Tony cuts off the video and fiddles with his phone, most likely sending it to Silas. The woman let you go and you curl up, hugging yourself tightly.
Just a few minutes later, the same phone that recorded you rings. Tony smirks and presses ‘accept’, putting it on speaker.
“Only the Gods know what the fuck I’m going to do to you for this!” you hear Silas scream on the other side of the line, even before Tony has had time to say something. “And you better fucking pray that your mother will recognise your sorry ass after I’m done with you!”
Tony chuckles.
“I wouldn’t have to do this if you had fulfilled your end of the agreement, Silas”, he says, calmly. “I want my papers, and you’re going to give them to me if you want Y/N back.”
“Fine, you can have your papers, you disgusting filth! Tell me when and where and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Oh, no, not now. I’m too busy. How about tomorrow at five pm?”
“No, now!”
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible. I’m not done with your darling yet. I have so much more to show them.”
Silas’s voice is venomous. “Show what? What are you doing to them?”
“If you’re going to bring Y/N into this world, why be so stupid to not show them what you’ve forced them into?”
A few seconds of silence pass. You can see in front of you how Silas exchanges a look with his second in command, both of them trying to see if the other one knows what’s going on.
“You can’t!” Silas shouts. “You have no fucking right!”
“Stop me then, but I have to let you know that I’ve already started here.”
“If you touch a single hair on my wife’s/husband’s head, I’m going to cut off your cock and make you eat it. Believe me!”
You have never heard Silas this mad before. He really does care for you.
“I’m not going to hurt them, Silas”, Tony says. “That isn’t why I’ve taken them. Hurting them doesn’t help me in the slightest. I’m just letting them see the truth that you hide from them. The lies you tell. Meet me at the old warehouse by the highway tomorrow at five pm. Bring only two men and I will do the same. No weapons, no tricks.”
“I don’t need weapons to kill you. You’ll pay for this.”
Tony smirks and hangs up. He turns to you and pulls you up from the floor.
“Tomorrow at five you’ll be free”, he says and drags you out of the basement.
He says it in a way that makes it sounds like a promise, but to you it is nothing more than a reminder of the time he has left to taint you.
It’s the third man he’s beaten to death this evening. Silas hands are throbbing in pain and he’s not sure if the blood he’s drenched in is his own or theirs—probably both. But he’s not done yet. His body is trembling with anger. He sees red. Silas is sure that even the devil would be afraid of him if he saw him now.
“Silas”, SIC breathes out behind him, letting his eyes wander over Silas with sadness.
“Not a word”, Silas hisses, holding his hand back to silence him. “I’ll kill you too And I know I’ll regret that, so stay quiet.”
SIC licks his lips nervously and looks down at his hands, staying silent. Silas breathes out heavily and lets his shoulders slump. He wants to scream, but his voice has gotten stuck in his throat.
“Do you want to know the worst thing?” he asks without turning around to look at SIC.
“What?” he wonders.
“The worst thing isn’t that they’re gone from me. Y/N’s escaped before and I always manage to find them. I know how they behave once I get them back. No, the worst thing is that, this time, i can’t do anything to help them. I have no other choice but to wait for Tony to give them back to me. And until he does, he can do whatever he wants to them.”
SIC lowers his eyes.
“And I’m scared what state they’ll be in once I do get them back”, Silas says quietly. “I’ve done my best—I’ve worked my ass off, day and night—to make sure that Y/N doesn’t know what’s going on around me. I know that they shouldn’t be in this world and that it’s my fucking fault for dragging them in … but I’ve done everything in my power to make the best of the situation. All of this hard work, for nothing.”
“He could be lying”, SIC says. “Maybe he just said that to scare you.”
“No. I know him. He has shown Y/N filthy stuff. Worse than what they saw on that USB that brought us together. That’s the worst thing.”
SIC swallowed. Silas turns around and looks at him. His black eyes were red around the corners, tears in the bottom.
“I’d rather have my brother take them again”, he hisses. “Because I know Ares. I grew up with him. I know exactly how he thinks and how he acts. But I don’t know Tony, not like that. I don’t know how far he’s willing to go … no, that might be the worst thing, actually. Fuck!”
He screams out in pure anger and SIC flinches. Silas stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall, where he sinks down on the floor with his sweaty head in his bloody hands. Every ell in his body has lost adrenaline, leaving him aching and hurting in a way he’s never felt before. He can feel his heart breaking into pieces, feel it leaking blood into his lungs. SIC walks over to the wall and sits down in front of him.
“Y/N’s stronger than you think”, he says softly. “They’ve survived your basement more times than any of your enemies.”
“That’s because I go easy on them.” Silas’s voice has lost any power it had and is now nothing more than a whisper. “I know where their breaking point is and I don’t go further than that. Tony won’t go easy on them. Won’t care about them … even if they scream, or cry, or beg.” He leans his head back against the wall. “I should never have left Y/N in the car. I shouldn’t have brought them at all.
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have foreseen it. I knew I had fucked up once I saw the dead drivers. But it was already too late. How could I let someone take them?”
“You tried to shield them by letting them stay in the car. Otherwise they’d seen you kill someone.”
Silas rolls his eyes tiredly. “Seems like they’ll have to watch that anyway.”
SIC sighs.
“I’m going to kill that pathetic little insect”, Silas growls. I’m going to make sure his mother doesn’t recognise his disgusting corpse.”
“I’ll help you”, SIC says.
Silas looks at him.
“I will do whatever you want me to do”, SIC says. “Just say what, and I will do it. I will always stand behind you.”
Silas nods and hugs him. SIC hugs him back, petting his back.
“Let’s give that motherfucker butterflies in his stomach”, he says.
The night seems to never end. The hours have dragged by. You’ve seen more than you ever could have anticipated. Video after video. It never seemed to end. Tony has made sure that you have seen everything possible before five pm. You’re exhausted. The person you were yesterday seem to be so distant, so … different.
“Very well”, you hear him, “time to wrap up our little visit and send you back to your husband.”
“What if he doesn’t come?” you whisper, mortified by your own words.
What if Silas doesn’t want you anymore now that you’re not the person he wants you to be?
“If he doesn’t come to pick you up, I’ll keep you”, Tony replies. “You’ll be my own little guinea pig. I’ll force you to watch everything until your fragile brain breaks. Get up now, we have to leave.”
You stand up, slowly, to not activate the nauseating volcano in your stomach. The images of the night’s horror videos still visible in front of your eyes. They never had to touch you, never had to harm a hair on your head. They could break you, anyway.
You’re forced out of the building, feet dragged behind you. Placed in the backseat of a gray car, pressed between two men— “Bring only two men and I will do the same”. You keep your head down, eyes in your lap, for the entirety of the bumpy ride. You’re exhausted, hungry and broken. Even if Silas comes to get you, he’ll be too late.
When the car stops, you’re forced out and into an old warehouse. The cold, damp air is hard to breathe. Tony’s grip on your arm is bruising, painful.
“Now, let’s wait”, he says in a cocky tone. “Silas will be here soon enough.”
Not even five minutes later, you can hear the screeching of a car’s breaks. Your heart stops. Despite wanting nothing more than for Silas to come save you, you’re ashamed to let him see who you’ve allowed yourself to become.
The sight of him storming into the warehouse with SIC and another of his men makes your heart ache and your eyes to tear up. You’re so relieved to see that he came to get you, and so ashamed. You’ve never seen him this mad before. His black eyes seem to burn, his body language animalistic. His jaw is tightly clenched. He’s wearing his long, dark coat, his hands buried in his pockets. SIC holds a yellow paper file in his hands. Silas gives you a quick look, and all you can see is fury.
“One word out of you and I’m going to rip your eyes out”, he says coldly and takes the paper file out of SIC’s hands. “Give me what’s mine.”
“The papers first”, Tony replies and shakes you, “and then I’ll return your toy.”
Silas’s reply is short. “Don’t call them that.”
“They’re in my hands. I get to call them what I want.”
Silas eyes are enough to murder.
“The papers”, Tony says, raising his eyebrows.
Silas throws the paper file on the dirty, stone floor. One of Tony’s men walks over and picks it up. It takes everything in Silas’s power to not throw himself over him. As soon as the man has returned to Tony, you’re let go. For a second you look around, trying to confirm if you’re really free or if it’s just a test.
“Little thing, come”, Silas says and gesticulates for you to come.
You don’t need more convincing. Your legs move and before you have the time to register it, you’ve reached Silas’s open arms, a man you didn’t want anything to do with twenty four hours earlier. You’ve never been so happy to see him. You crash into his firm body and feel how he wraps his arms around you. He holds you tight, hiding your face into his shoulder.
“It’s okay”, he whispers. “It’s okay, little thing, you’re safe now.”
You break out in heavy tears, causing his heart to bleed thickly. You breathe in Silas’s familiar scent, happy to smell something else than the metallic scent of blood. He holds you firmly, mortified of having you slip away from him again. He searches for something to say to comfort you, tries his best to find the right words, but there’s nothing he can say to erase whatever happened to you. Silas glances towards Tony who is busy looking through the file. He wants to do something, something much worse than what that man did to you, but he won’t let you see anymore horrors.
“What did he do to you?” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me.”
“He forced me to watch videos of people … o-of people …”
You can’t repeat it, but you don’t have to. Silas understands.
“Did he touch you?” he whispers, trying his best to stay calm.
You shake your head without lifting your head out of his chest. He breathes out in relief.
“SIC”, he says over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Bring Y/N out to the car. I don’t want them to see what I am going to do.”
SIC nodded and took you out of Silas’s arms. His grip on you is softer than you’ve ever felt him be before. SIC walks out to the black car with you.
“Are you hungry?” he asks and sits you don in the backseat.
“More nauseous”, you admit quietly.
“Perfect, then you can drink some juice.”
He opens a bottle of sugary apple juice and gives it to you. You hold it in your hands, contemplating.
“I’m bruised”, you mumble. “What will Silas say?”
“I thought that you said that they didn’t hurt you?” SIC asks. “Did you lie to him?”
“I fought back when they dragged me around. Silas won’t like it.”
“He’s not mad at you, Y/N. He’s pissed at himself. I will cover all the mirrors for you, if you prefer that.”
“Thank you.”
“Now sit here and wait for Silas to come back. Drink your juice.”
Silas pulls up a gun from his pocket.
“We said no weapons!” Tony reminds him.
“You broke the rules by taking my husband/wife”, Silas smiles. “I’m just making it even.”
He’s quick to shoot the two men he had brought with him. They fall down dead beside him, their bodies leaking blood onto the stone floor. Tony’s terrified. Silas drinks it in. He gives the gun to his remaining man.
“I’m not going to shoot you”, he says and removes his coat, rolling up his sleeves. “I want to feel you die under my hands.”
He runs forward and throws himself over him. Tony’s knocked to the ground. He tries fighting back, but Silas’s anger makes him quicker, stronger. He sees your distraught face in front of him for every punch and wishes that he could kill him over and over again. How could he hurt you? An angel? Silas grabs his head in his hands and slams it into the stone floor, over and over again, until the man’s head shatters.
“Done”, he breathes out and stumbles away from them.
He grabs the yellow file and walks out to the car, wiping his hands with his handkerchief on the way. SIC looks at him, eyes asking if it’s time. Silas nods. SIC switches places with Silas and hurries into the warehouse.
“Hi, baby”, Silas smiles and hugs you. “How are you feeling? Did he make you drink some juice?”
“I’m not feeling like drinking juice”, you say. “But I appreciate it … i’m sorry, Silas.”
His eyes glow with worry. “Why are you sorry?”
“I should have been stronger.”
“You are so incredibly strong, my darling, don’t say that!”
“I tried to fight back.”
“I’m so proud of you. You’re safe now. I’m here now and you don’t have to fight anymore. I have already done that for you.”
“Is he dead?”
“Like a mammoth.”
Silas cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead softly.
“This is my fault”, he says. “And I will do everything to make things better. I shouldn’t have left you in the car. I shouldn’t have brought you at all. The car has been upgraded, no one will ever manage to break in again. Not that I will ever leave you alone in it again, but …”
He takes your hand in his and lifts it to his lips, kissing desperately. He’s never felt a guilt this strong before. It’s a piercing feeling cutting through his heart. You have a long road to go to feel better, and he will stay with you every step of the way.
“I hate to see you upset … tell me what I can do to make you feel better”, he pleads and hugs your hand. “I will give you anything you want. Nothing is too much. I will buy you anything. I will take you wherever you want to go. Do you want to meet your parents? We can go there, I’m serious.”
“I just want to sleep”, you sob and shake your head. “I can’t think …”
You want to escape this living nightmare in hopes of finding it easier in dreamland. Silas nodded and scooched in beside you, hugging you to his body.
“Just sleep”, he says softly. “Sleep on my shoulder. I’m right beside you.”
“I’m safe with you … aren’t I?”
“As safe as you can be.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. Just rest. I love you. I’m so sorry for this. I will take care of you, whatever you need, I’ll get you.”
You lean your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes slowly. He holds his muscular arm around your shoulders to keep you close and wraps his coat around the two of you. His lips never leaves your face as he fights back tears. It grows like a bowling ball in his throat, but he refuses to cry. you are safe and that filth is dead, he tells himself. It’s all over, but his rage is still ravenous.
SIC walks into the warehouse and takes a quick look at the three dead bodies on the floor, in pools of their own blood. He walks over to the most gruesome one, not needing to see his clothes to know that it’s Tony. His broken skull is enough. SIC takes out a cylinder out of his blazer, a stick of dynamite he’s been waiting for years to use. He lights it and places it in Tony’s mouth before hurrying out of the warehouse. He hears the explosion behind him and smiles.
“Is it done?” Silas asks as he returns.
“Let’s say that he’s a hard puzzle now”, SIC laughs. “A thousand pieces isn’t enough to describe how many pieces I blew him into.”
“Thank you, SIC.”
“Of course. The one that messes with Y/N messes with you, and in turn with me. I told you that I would do whatever you wanted.”
“Thank you.”
“Take care of Y/N now. I will clean up.”
Silas nods and hugs you closer. You cling onto him.
“Thank you”, you whisper and meet SIC’s eyes.
“Of course”, he replies and closes the car door.
Silas hugs you and kisses your forehead. He has only two people in this world he cares about, and he will kill anyone that dares to come close to either of them.
#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere drabbles#yandere oc x you#yandere mafia#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#yandere oneshot
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I wanted to share something personal because I don't think a lot of you understand the influence of the West and its atrocities on an Arab child's upbringing. English is not my first language; I learnt it initially due to my interest in the language and Western cultures. However, seeing the true face of the West motivated me to continue learning the language to dismantle the false image of Arabs and Muslims which was portrayed by the West. I also talk about how this impacted my standing with the Palestinian cause. Bear with me as this post is long and a little messy, but I need to try and give everyone a clear and full image as much as I can.
I grew up consuming Western media due to my fascination with the English language. However I noticed the lack of Muslim and Arab representation.
When I started seeing representation later on, it was mostly Arabs and Muslims being depicted as 'terrorists' and 'barbarics'.
When a Muslim woman is depicted, she is depicted as 'oppressed' and in need of 'saving'.
I was on social media starting from a very young age. Seeing people online describe my people as 'terrorists' was not only scary, but also confusing. Why am I as an Arab Muslim child -who's living a normal childhood as everyone else- being labelled as a 'terrorist' by the West? Why are people claiming all Arab and Muslim children are trained to use guns by ISIS or/and Hamas? I remember asking my parents as a kid "Is this a real gun with the police officer?" Because I only saw weapons in movies.
I asked questions such as "Why do they think Arabs = Muslims?" The lack of acknowledgment of Christian and Jewish Arabs and non-Arab Muslims confused me.
Why were Muslim women always 'oppressed' in these movies and TV shows I saw? This is not as common as they make it seem. Why are they using the struggle of some Muslim women to demonize an entire religion? Why are they pretending to be saviours when they're actually contributing to further oppression of Muslim women? Why are they weaponizing the awful struggle of some Muslim women against the vast majority of Muslim women? (White feminism is not saving us. It's actually a form of oppression of Muslim women)
Misrepresentation bothered me and made me angry and disappointed. I couldn't finish watching a movie or an episode of a TV show if I saw any mentions of Muslims or/and Arabs, because I knew what would happen next.
When it comes to the Palestinian cause, every Arab grew up watching endless footage of Palestinians being brutally murdered LIVE. Everything and all the footage all of you are surprised to see during this genocide, were a part of our upbringing.
When I was a kid I stumbled upon a newspaper in the house with a headline about a Palestinian father who returned to his house and found all his children shot. And I remember the image very well. The father was holding a prayer mat with people holding him as he broke down on his knees. His dead children were on the floor next to each other. Seeing this image of children my age murdered by the Israeli occupation shocked me. I remember my parents having to hide the newspaper from me because of the impact this image had on me.
I had to start reading into politics at a young age, and I realized that everything that Western media was trying to portray about the West being 'civilized' was a lie. How can you be civilized if you're a murderer or/and contribute to the murder of the innocent?
When I learnt about the history of imperialism, colonialism, slavery,...etc. growing up, I recognized the pattern that colonialists use and I saw that the colonizers of yesterday, are the same as today, except Western media is doing a great job covering for them nowadays, and a lot of people only started noticing that recently.
The West seemed fascinating to me as a child, but after seeing the horrendous false images that're being portrayed of my people in the West, all of my fascination turned into anger and motivation to fight against it.
The real terrorists in the world are not the brown and bearded men, veiled women, or the innocent children. The real terrorists are the ones who set the stage for the murder of innocent people, the exploitation of their resources, using propaganda and painting an image of the innocent that cannot be more false and racist, and the fascists that put on a 'civilized' mask.
I will forever stand with my Palestinian brothers and sisters. I will forever defend my Arab and Muslim brothers and sisters, and I won't give room to any misrepresentation. Enough is enough.
Edit: I wanted to add that growing up, I was scared of telling people about where I'm from, my religion, and what language I speak due to the microaggression and discrimination I was subjected to. Not to mention the amount of times I saw on the news Arabs or/and Muslims getting killed in Western countries (aka hate crimes).
#free palestine#palestine#gaza#from the river to the sea palestine will be free#signal boost#social justice#palestine resources#colonialism#imperialism#jerusalem#the west bank#Arabs#Arabian#Muslim#Islam#tel aviv#yemen#hamas#us politics#apartheid
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what if reader had k*lled someone before and the batfam (yandere) dis not know like «I dont need your damn protection» reader said to the batfam «but the world is so dangerous out there and your just a baby» the batfam said to reader « B!TCH I have k*lled someone the f you mean im a baby?!?» the batfam with horrified expresion «WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!»
That last little part is a funny little over dramatic way it might go.
Oh, you are COOKED. (Do pardon my use of brainrot language...)
CW: mentions of murder...obviously
The first thing they do is isolate you in a room and keep you there for a while until they figure out what to do with you (and so you can think about what you've done).
What happens next? Therapy sessions, which they all agreed on.
Don't worry, you will tell them everything, specifically Bruce, since he's the one carrying out the therapy sessions.
"Why did you kill that person?"
"How do you feel about it now?"
"Do you regret it?"
"How do you feel after our conversation?"
He pities the person you ended up killing and feels a little disappointed. A life was taken by you, an innocent person's life. He didn't raise you like this, did he...?
However, he also pities you. Unless you are trained to kill someone, it breaks you. He's seen it so many times, people commiting murders and then panicking, breaking down, because they couldn't live with the consequences of their actions.
You're a mere civilian, how could you ever have been exposed to that kind of environment? How could he let this happen? No, it is his fault for waiting so long before saving you from the world. He will teach you why it's wrong. He will make sure you heal and never take another life again. After all, it is his job as your father to guide you in life.
That's right, the only reason you could've done it is because you didn't know any better. You are a mere child in this old, cruel world, after all.
In the end, he holds himself accountable. He should've done better. He should've protected you better from the cruel world you live in.
Dick would be shocked. His little birdie, his angel, killed someone? Impossible. You're so innocent, like a baby, so how could this be true? He would take some time off to come to terms with the fact that you're not the kind of person he expected. When he comes back, after a week, he seems slightly distant.
With time, following your therapy sessions, he will return to his normal, clingy, annoying self. However, you can't help but wonder why he was acting so weird that one week.
Despite the fact that he also kills people, Jason is incredibly suprised and disappointed after hearing that you killed someone. Unlike everyone else, he feels anger. You're so young, so innocent, you grew up in a place where murdering someone was not necessary, so why would you do it? He doesn't kill people because he wants to, he only does it because he needs to. But you didn't need to do it.
That's what upsets him most. You chose to do it. You willingly took a life.
Despite being so hurt, so broken, he still feels an ounce hesitation when killing people, so how come you, someone who didn't go through what he did, could kill someone in a situation that wasn't even self-defense? Nothing could possibly justify it! And here you are, proudly announcing it to them. You should be ashamed.
He kills murderers, so what should he do with you? Does that make you as bad as the criminals he kills? God, he doesn't even want to think about it.
Jason won't get over it for at least a month. He'll be very distant around you and won't be seen smiling for a long time. Towards you exclusively, his behaviour becomes incredibly bitter. In fact, he's the one who most strongly encourages Bruce to carry out the long, grueling therapy sessions. He really thinks it'll do you good...
Tim's reaction would be more mild than expected. He would certainly feel uncomfortable with the fact that you seemingly feel not an ounce of guilt or regret. However, he wouldn't change his behaviour too much for too long.
During the first week, he'd be a bit more careful with his affection towards you. No, it's not because he's scared. He simply wants to observe you and see how effective the therapy sessions are. If he feels that your attitude towards murder hasn't changed, he would encourage Bruce to be more intense during the therapy sessions.
He would be more careful with the activities he offers you, since Bruce called a meeting with everyone to establish more rules, those being directed at Tim mostly. Tim's "cool, lenient older brother"-act needs to change.
From now on, no crime films or shows (especially not any violent ones), no crime documentaries, no crime or detective books, no vular language, no threats towards anyone or anything and for at least 14 months, no leaving the manor.
This change will probably be permanent.
#woah this was longer than planned#ahhh lmk if you want the other family members' reactions too but im too busy to do more now#yes “he didnt raise you to do this” even though he didnt know you (in person)...#or at least you didnt know him...#rorii talks#dc comics#x reader#platonic yandere#platonic batfam#yandere batfam#batfam#tim drake#jason todd#dick grayson#yandere tim drake#yandere jason todd#yandere dick grayson#yandere bruce wayne#bruce wayne#yandere x reader#yandere#batfam x batsis#batfamily x reader#batfam x reader#batfamily#batfam x male reader#batfam x female reader#batfam x batbro
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👑 .𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍
ft. crown prince!itoshi sae x commoner!femreader x second prince!itoshi rin (only bc you are rin's fiancée)
🗡 synopsis. you were chosen to be the second prince’s fiancée for rin’s convenience, but fate had different plans when you fell for his older brother, the crown prince, instead. as you start hearing strange voices during your engagement ball, sae falls victim to alexis’ curse, which only your love can break. what happens when news spread of the crown prince's revival and rin finds out?
⛓ content warning. 13.3k (yikes)ノ royal au ノ classism ノ cheating themes & pdaノ⚠ rin is rude, offensive, & insulting ノ your parents & sis for plot are assholes ノ semi-arranged marriage (?) ノ reader is illiterate ノ narration heavy ノ reader gets called whore once ノ implied death & gorish description ノ implied stranglingノ animal murder ノ minimal implication of shorter readerノthe relationship with sae is highkey rushed now that i reread it.
notes. this took me two weeks+ to finish ahhh. i thank my past self for being obsessed with manhwas so muchh, and ty to rhymezone for saving my ass w/ the ancient poem. first time using capital letters when writing fanfics, only bc it's really long though, eeee.
In the Twilight of the Eclipsing Red Moon,
When Stars Align and Shadows Loom,
The Great’s Fate is Sealed in the Veil of Night,
By the Hand of One from Mystic Light.
But From the Dust of Forgotten Lands,
Shall Rise a Heart with Common Hands,
With Lips of Rose and Spirit Warm,
To Bring the Order, End the Storm.
A Crown of Old Shall Find its Grace,
In the Embrace of a Simple Face.
But Do not be Fooled, One Shall Not Bloom,
For This, Will Lead to One’s Gentle Doom.
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” your father stammered, “M-My eldest daughter has fallen gravely ill, and I fear she physically cannot journey to the Grand Empire of Aquaria tomorrow!”
The king’s eyes flared open in shock as the words reached his ears. His grip on the plush armrest of his throne tightened, the baroque carvings digging into his palm.
“What?!” He yelled, dismissing the fan bearer with a sharp glare before rising from his throne and taking two steps forward. His shadow covered large over your father’s trembling figure.
“She chooses now, of all times, to be stricken with sickness? At a crucial time for our kingdom? Such insolence!” He descended three more steps and glared down at him. “Did you forget that His Imperial Highness has specifically requested a lady from your clan?”
“I—”
The king struck his scepter harshly against the floor, silencing the man. “All the other houses of your garbage clan bore only sons,” he spat, “She will go, and that is final!”
“Actually…” the commoner’s lips pointed upwards in a well-rehearsed smile as he placed a hand over his heart in false politeness. “I have another daughter. She’s eager— eager to fulfill her duty. She is twenty, two years younger than the prince, but still of age.”
King Orion arched an eyebrow and his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Very well,” he replied, waving his hand in disinterest as he returned to his throne. “Summon her.”
In truth, the king’s concern wasn’t with Aria, your older sister. He cared little for which daughter was offered up to Aquaria’s second prince. It was a political necessity, nothing more— a favour to His Imperial Highness, Prince Rin. Or more like a fulfillment of Rin’s rather odd request that came with a threat. As long as someone from your clan was presented, it mattered not to him whether it was your sister or some other sacrificial lamb for the slaughter.
At the call of your name, the guards creaked open the heavy doors, and you entered the throne chamber slowly. When you reached the foot of the throne, you lowered your body in a curtsey bow, your gaze fixed on the scarlet carpet that stretched beneath you.
“It is my greatest honour to stand before you, Your Majesty,” you said, though your indifferent tone made it clear to anyone listening that you longed for nothing more than to be anywhere but here.
But you knew the truth behind this charade. Aria wasn’t ill. She was the jewel of your parents’ eye, their pride and joy, shielded from the Empire’s gaze like a pirate’s precious treasure. You, on the other hand, were the forgotten one– the daughter they kept hidden, a mere shadow in their halls, easily discarded when it was convenient. To your father, you were a little more than a weight around his neck, an extra mouth to feed, a burden he was eager to rid himself of.
The king’s eyes scanned you up and down, his expression visibly souring as he took in the sight of your tattered ankle-high, brown dress and scuffed boots. Disgusting.
“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath, leaning on one elbow as he sneered at you. “She’ll do, I suppose. Pretty enough for their tastes.” He turned to his chancellor with a condescending wave. “Have the maids find something more… suitable for this one.”
The chancellor bowed deeply, “At once, Your Majesty.”
“Alright, you’ve packed everything, haven’t you?” your mother asked as she rubbed Aria’s shoulder comfortingly.
Your gaze drifted to the battered briefcase lying at your feet. You had stumbled upon it by accident, shoved into a forgotten corner of the dirty attic, coated in layers of dust and practically falling apart at the seams. With a sigh, you bent down to pick it up, nodding as it threatened to collapse.
“Yes,” you murmured, a bitter smile tugging at your lips, “There was hardly anything to pack, anyway.”
Your father scoffed, rolling his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Aria, who had begun to shed what you knew to be crocodile tears. The act was almost laughable. She suddenly broke free from their grasp and rushed over to you, flinging her arms around your waist with a dramatic sob.
“Y/N!” she cried, “Please take care of yourself– hic– I’m going to miss you so much!”
You hesitated for a moment before stiffly returning her hug. She was a liar, through and through, and you both knew it.
Before the act could continue, the distant sound of hooves clattering against cobblestone paths captured your attention. Gently, you pried yourself away from her clutches, turning toward the approaching sound.
Your breath hitched. The Empire’s Royal Carriage was quickly nearing, and it was no exaggeration to say that its massive size dwarfed everything coming its way. It was magnificent, its gleaming white exterior and elegant navy blue designs that were above the huge clattering wheels. Silken curtains furnished the windows, embroidered with golden threads that caught the eyes of your greedy family. But what truly stole your attention was the shining silver crown perched atop the carriage, with Aquaria’s Royal Crest.
“Listen–” your father’s obnoxious voice cut through your admiration. He leaned close, his voice coming out in a hiss, “You better behave yourself, got it? If you mess this up, it’s not just you– it’s all of us. Understand?”
You shrugged off his threat with a nonchalant nod, “I’ll do my best.”
The sounds of the porcelain horses neighing were suddenly right behind you. They looked so soft, so immaculate, that you had to resist the urge to reach out and glide your fingers through their carefully groomed manes. But you knew better. This was no place for such frivolities.
The royal coachman descended from his designated seat and approached you. His right hand gracefully flew to his heart and he bowed slightly, his eyes closing for a brief moment.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said, straightening himself elegantly as his brown eyes met yours. He took your worn briefcase from your hand and placed it gently in the carriage’s wide storage compartment in the back. Then, he slid aside the long curtains and extended his hand toward you.
This was it. The moment you stepped into that carriage, you would leave this wretched life behind forever. No more grime, no more being hidden away like some shameful secret. You would be free– or at least you clung to the hope of freedom.
Taking the coachman’s hand, you felt the fine material of your simple sage gown– one begrudgingly gifted by King Orion– brush against the spotless steps of the carriage. You could hardly believe you, of all people, had the privilege of entering something so grand, so expensive.
For one last time, you glanced back at your so-called family. They stood there, masks with feigned expressions of sorrow worn over their faces. But you weren’t fooled, and you certainly weren’t going to indulge them. Instead, a slow grin crept across your face and you mouthed a few words that served as a final act of defiance.
“Shitty lives for shitty people, I guess.”
“.... lady,”
“My….”
“My lady!”
“Hm…” You muttered drowsily, your eyelids slowly fluttering open to the sight of the coachman and several other servants peering in at you with concerned expressions. Startled, you shot upright, your hands grasping the seat beneath you. “Y-Yes!”
So far, you were off to a great start.
But now, as you finally stepped out of the carriage and beheld the regal palace before you, every bit of exhaustion from the long ride seemed to dissolve. The sight of it stole your breath and you tried to conjure up a word to describe it, but words escaped you. Beautiful, perhaps, though even that felt insufficient. Magnificent, maybe.
There were towering stone sculptures and a large marble fountain in the center, its water elegantly cascading down like it was raining crystals. The front lawn was meticulously trimmed and maintained till perfection. The walls of the palace shined, built from pale limestone that you recognized from years of working with fire and sedimentary rocks. And at the peak of the palace dome, a lone flag fluttered in the breeze, proudly displaying the Royal Crest of Aquaria.
Your home now.
Yet, no lines of maids awaited your arrival at the main entrance, as you’d always imagined from reading those fairytale books you’d find tucked away in your attic. And there was certainly no sign of your supposed fiancé— His Imperial Highness, Itoshi Rin, the Second Prince of the Empire.
But then again, it made sense. You were just a humble village girl, after all— hardly worth the attention of someone as important as him.
The sudden neighing of a horse behind you jolted you from your thoughts, and you spun around. There, your gaze locked with the prettiest set of eyes you had ever seen— legendary teal irises framed by lashes so thick they casted a shadow on his cheekbones.
If the palace was magnificent, then he was simply breathtaking.
Your heart stuttered in your chest as you instinctively took a step forward toward him, prepared to pinch fistfuls of your dress and bow down to him.
He must be your fiancé, you thought. How could he not be? Those eyes were a symbol of royalty. His dark, reddish hair swayed with every blow of the wind, and the way an exquisite sapphire brooch shone against his royal attire screamed authority.
What did they call this phenomenon? Love at first sight? But then—
“Welcome back, Your Imperial Highness the Crown Prince!” a unified set of voices suddenly echoed from behind you in greeting, and you whipped your head back to see every servant and the carriage driver on their knees, their heads bowed low, and their hands clutched to their chests.
Crown Prince? Your breath caught in your throat. The Crown Prince? In other words, the future Emperor of Aquaria?
His gaze left yours to briefly sweep over the kneeling palace workers, before he waved his hand dismissively. “Rise.” he ordered. His deep voice made you feel a sudden tightening in your throat, and you had the urge to obey though you weren’t even on your knees.
When his eyes returned to you, you flinched, every nerve of your body feeling on edge. You drew in a sufficient amount of fresh air and held onto bunches of your gown, bowing respectfully.
“G-Greetings, Your Imperial Highness,” you stuttered.
Sae guided his horse to a halt and swung his leg over the saddle, dismounting and landing on the grass smoothly. He gave the mare a gentle pat, and you suddenly felt conscious as he approached you in long strides.
He stopped just in front of you, eyes seemingly studying you. “You are?”
You swallowed nervously, daring to meet his aquamarine gaze. “Y/N,” you said softly, “The Second Imperial Prince’s fiancée.”
His eyes narrowed and he closed them fleetingly before opening them again. “I see… That foolish younger brother of mine.”
You remained silent, unsure of how to respond. Your sparkling eyes flickered to his mare standing patiently beside him for a moment too long. Her coat was as white as fresh snow, and it almost hurt your eyes the way the sunlight reflected off her.
He noticed. “Oh, her?” He nodded toward the horse, gesturing for you to come closer. “Go on. You can touch her if you wish.”
Your eyes widened in disbelief, trodding towards him in excitement. “May I, really?”
“Sure, whatever,” he muttered nonchalantly, though his gaze softened slightly. He was more focused on observing the horse’s reaction to you.
With careful hands, you reached out and gently raked your fingers through her silky mane. A delighted giggle escaped your lips as the fauna neighed softly and nudged your hand for more of your kind attention.
“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, and he hummed in interest. You paused for a moment, glancing at the prince curiously. “What’s her name?”
“Celestia,” he replied, pulling on the horse’s rein before folding his arms over his chest. He watched you interact with the animal. “She rarely warms up to anyone, but it seems as if she likes you.”
Your eyes lit up with surprise and you smiled, your fingers still tangled in the horse’s mane. “Celestia is a beautiful name… It suits her. She’s as white as the moon.”
For a brief moment, the prince turned his head to the side, as if he was hiding something from your view. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d trust anyone his beautiful horse liked. His fingers slipped through his tousled red hair, and though his voice slightly carried a tone of arrogance, it was also laced with something else. “Tch. Thanks. I named her myself.”
You laughed lightly, “How old is she?”
“Turning nine soon,” he answered, giving her a pat. “She’s the mother of a black stallion.”
Your eyes twinkled in awe, fists clenched in front of you as you beamed up at him. “She’s a mother?!”
Sae raised a brow, leaning back slightly. “You’re standing too close.”
“A-Ah, my apologies, Your Highness,” You stuttered, retreating several steps just in case. “I… I seem to have forgotten my place,”
“No, it’s quite alr—” He started, lifting a hand as if to stop you from backing away, but was interrupted by one of the pesky servants from Rin’s wing of the palace. “...”
“I-I apologize for interrupting y-your conversation, Your Imperial Highness,” She panted, bowing low, “But The Second Prince has requested his fiancée’s presence for a private audience.”
Sae clicked his tongue in annoyance, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he mounted Celestia. “I guess it cannot be helped. Fine, whatever.”
Your heart sank slightly, a wave of disappointment looming over your ethereal features. Your pretty eyes downcast and fists clenched lightly by your sides. You had hoped to stay just a little longer, either with the man you had mistaken for your fiancé or perhaps with the beautiful horse. You weren’t sure which had captured your fascination more.
You thought that, perhaps, if Rin was not unlike his brother, then marrying him probably wouldn’t be so bad.
Still, with a deep breath, you held onto your skirt and followed the maid. But just before you left, you glanced back over your shoulder at the First Prince with a smile so pretty it could coax the sun out of the sky and make even the stars envious.
“See you around, Your Highness!” You called out, waving your arm before turning around to trail after the servant woman.
Sae stood frozen for a heartbeat, his thoughts clouded by the ghost of that smile. Something stirred in his chest, something unfamiliar and probably unwelcome. He huffed quietly, silking his hand through his hair before muttering under his breath.
“Yeah… see you.”
Your heart raced as you stood before the polished double doors of Rin’s chamber. You swallowed hard in an attempt to calm your nerves. Your breaths came in shallow, like there was some sort of invisible weight pressed against your chest.
Your hand hesitantly hovered mere inches from the door. You hadn’t even met the man and yet the tension was thicker than when you had personally greeted the crown prince.
The maid beside you fidgeted, clearly just as anxious. She stammered softly, “My lady… j-just knock and wait for his word. I-I’ll take my leave now.”
You nodded, watching her scurry away so quickly as if she couldn’t wait to be out of the prince’s domain. You blinked in thought— if the servants in this wing were this jumpy around him, it didn’t bode well.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your trembling fingers. After whispering a few reassurances to yourself, you finally raised your knuckles and knocked gently on the door.
No answer.
A few more seconds passed before you tried again, but this time you heard a deep, irritated voice call out.
“Enter.”
You gulped and planted your hands on the heavy door, pushing it open. The moment you stepped in, you held in your breath. The interior was extravagant beyond words– a room fit for royalty, as expected.
Your enlarged eyes scanned the deluxe chamber, mouth unintentionally falling agape at all it held. But the awe immediately vanished as your gaze landed on Rin. The prince stood by a grand archtop window with his back to you, gazing down at the Aquaria Royal Gardens— which, to compare in size, were bigger than your whole village fit together.
He turned at the sound of your entrance, his sharp eyes immediately narrowing with a look of disdain. His voice was flat, yet annoyed. “Quit ogling and close the door behind you.”
It was an order, and you felt your body immediately move on its own. Your hands fumbled as you quickly shut the door, unable to keep the heat of embarrassment from rising to your cheeks. You lowered your gaze, focusing on the rosa aurora marble floor beneath you.
Rin’s eyes raked over you, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. His eyes were just as icy as his brother’s, but where Sae had a certain aloofness, Rin’s coldness felt like a blade to the throat. He eventually crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you condescendingly, “No proper greeting?”
Your mind scrambled. “Ah..!” Your fingers gripped onto the fabric of your dress tightly as you bowed stiffly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y-Your Imperial Highness,”
He let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if the very sight of you was an inconvenience. “Horrible posture,” he muttered. “Your etiquette needs a lot of work.”
Your heart sank further, and humiliation washed over your whole face. You straightened up and pursed your lips together tightly, the words sticking to your throat like superglue, afraid that whatever you’d say next would only make matters worse.
He remained quiet and turned around, walking to the large seating area in the corner of his chamber. You hesitantly followed after him, taking a seat right beside him on the burgundy plush.
He eyed you sideways, clearly displeased. “...Really?”
“Um…” You shuffled your feet awkwardly, the fabric swishing against your ankles. “Sitting in front of you would be presumptuous of me… How dare I make eye contact with someone as great as you, given my position?”
He rolled his eyes at your words. “How audacious.”
“Oh— Your Highness, you’ve got an eyelash on your cheek,” You started, instinctively reaching out to brush it away. But before your fingers could make contact, his hand snapped out, roughly swatting yours away.
“Don’t fucking touch me, commoner scum.” He hissed.
You immediately withdrew, rubbing your stinging hand gently. You bit your bottom lip to keep quiet. “I apol—”
“Go sit in front.”
You obeyed without question, your body moving on autopilot as you rose from the sofa, taking a seat across from him. If you hadn’t the guts to defy your parents, what made you think you could defy a prince? You didn’t even have the strength to be angry; you were too preoccupied with trying to hold yourself together under his oppressive gaze.
What followed was more of an interrogation than a conversation.
“Can you read?”
“No.”
“Write?”
“No.”
“Table manners?”
“I eat with my hands.”
“... Can you do anything at all?”
Your fingers twisted nervously in your lap as you swallowed thickly, embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I can make really good vegetable soup...”
“...”
The silence stretched out, and you could feel your self-worth slowly becoming nonexistent. After a moment, he stood with a sigh, making you flinch.
You averted your gaze to the window and you tapped your foot anxiously against the floor. You realized you were swallowing thick lumps of nothing more than usual. All his questions were glazed with layers of dripping haughtiness and it hurt when you realized how useless and worthless you were as you answered each one.
“No, this is good,” He assured, almost to himself, as he began unbuttoning his white shirt. You looked up at him, confused.
“Good?” You repeated softly.
Rin approached you with his shirt halfway undone. He stopped just in front of you, leaning down with an expression so intimidating it sent shivers sprinting down your spine. “Do you know why I chose someone as lowly and pathetic as you, peasant?”
You rubbed your clammy palms together and paused. “I think I might have an idea,” You whispered.
“Oh? Continue.”
“You want to win the public’s favour, perhaps?” you guessed carefully, “because it shows a connection to those of lower status…”
He raised a brow, “Hm. You’re smarter than you look.” He admitted.
But his next words made your blood run cold. His hands found your shoulders, his fingers gripping onto them with not much force as he leaned closer. Your gaze ashamedly darted down to his peeking sculpted chest before flicking up to his eyes.
“After I’ve become emperor instead of that shitty brother,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, “you will bear my child. Then, I’ll find a way to get rid of you.”
Your whole body was trembling as soon as his hands left your shoulders. You could feel your teeth clattering slightly as you stared at the floor, unable to speak. You tilted your head up and watched as he slowly slid off an oval-cut sapphire ring, rimmed with shimmering stones of diamond, from his finger.
“Give me your hand,” He ordered impatiently.
You nodded immediately, extending your hand in front of him with starry eyes. Without a word, he slipped the opulent band onto your ring finger, careful not to make contact with your skin. You pulled away and admired the accessory— you’d be set for a thousand lives if you sold this heavy thing.
“Thank you…” You smiled softly.
“This ring is a royal heirloom, along with one other,” He warned, pointing to the Crest engraved in the gemstone. “Do. Not. Lose. It.”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the ring, nodding quickly, “Yes… I won’t.”
“Good. Now go. The maids will show you to your chambers. Be ready for your etiquette lessons tomorrow.”
You rose from the sofa shakily, bowing once more. The difference between this man and the one you’d met earlier was staggering, and you already had a not so vague idea on who you preferred.
“Then I shall see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Your Imperial Highness.”
Your eyelids felt heavy as you tried to open them. You blinked once, twice, three times– your vision blurred with remnants of sleep before gradually sharpening into clarity. But what you saw around you was anything but familiar.
Gone were the days of waking up to dusty cobwebs and the cracks and crevices of a wrecked ceiling that you had grown used to. Instead, your eyes met a vast, polished quartz ceiling, glistening in the morning light. Above you was a fancy chandelier, its long golden-framed vines dripping with crystals, and glass trickled down from the hooks.
You shifted beneath your plush cover and froze for a second, because this soft sensation was just as unfamiliar. No more prickly stacks of straw or thin, rough blankets. No, today, you had woken up in luxury.
As you sat up, memories of yesterday flooded your mind. Oh, right. You were absolutely shocked when you were first led to your room. You could say you were floored by its elegance– far larger and more lavish than any room you had imagined you’d get. Though it still paled in comparison to Rin’s personal quarters, it was hard to grasp that this space was your room.
You remembered indulging yourself in a little tour last night, exploring it in awe. There was a massive walk-in closet, filled to the brim with fine dresses and gowns of rich silks and satins. Accessories like cocktail hats, jewel-studded heels, and purses of gorgeous colours, all of which you couldn’t wait to try, filled the shelves.
The grandest thing you had ever owned prior to this was a ring made of a flower’s stem.
But as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you felt a shiver run up your spine. Your heart jumped as you realized someone was in the room, and you let out a small squeak, instinctively clutching the covers.
“So you’ve finally woken up, my lady,” came a gentle, slightly amused voice.
You blinked rapidly, your gaze locking onto a pair of soft amethyst eyes. The young woman standing beside you had ginger hair that fell to her shoulders in soft curls, her pale cheeks peppered with specks of pretty freckles.
“W-Who are you…?” You asked carefully.
The woman set a pair of fluffy cotton slippers on the floor beside your bed, then gave you a small curtsy. “Eleanor, my lady. I am your lady-in-waiting.”
You slid your feet into the slippers, still feeling a little dazed. Eleanor busied herself with smoothing the bed linens as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Meaning..?” you echoed, sitting up straighter.
She chuckled lightly. “Meaning I’ll attend to your personal needs and assist you with your duties to make sure you are well taken care of.” She gave you a smile, “You’re new to all this, aren’t you?”
You looked down at the marble bashfully, nodding your head, and admitted softly, “Yes…”
“Haha, that’s quite alright. But let’s not waste anymore time! We have to get you ready for today!”
“... Huh?”
You were absolutely pampered.
The question constantly lingered— what had you done to deserve this? Probably nothing but you were thankful that you went in the stead of your older sister.
Just a short while ago, you had been treated to the greatest bath of your life, courtesy of Eleanor. She had insisted it was part of her duty as your lady-in-waiting, but it seriously felt like a ritual reserved for queens. She skillfully massaged your muscles and rubbed your scalp with rosewater serenade. And when her hands worked authentic vanilla lather across your skin, you smelled like a warm, freshly baked biscuit. An upgrade from your baths in the river.
Currently, you were seated on a leathered stool as Eleanor combed through your hair with care. The reflection in the mirror in front could leave you gushing over yourself for hours. Your gown was a waterfall of midnight blue silk with intricate silver embroidery. Your waist was still uncomfortable from the pressure of the tight corset, but the result was definitely worth it.
A delicate web of pearls hung from around your neck, cool against your collarbone. You absentmindedly toyed with the silver tassel earrings as Eleanor finished adding the final sprinkle of silver glitter to your styled hair.
“You look absolutely breathtaking, my lady!” She exclaimed as she clapped her hands together to dust off the excess shimmer.
You smiled admiringly, turning your head left and right. “Thank you, Eleanor. I never thought I could look like this...”
You stood from the stool, walking towards the door before her voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Wait, my lady!”
You turned, watching as she carefully presented a delicate box etched with faint leaf patterns. Nestled inside were a pristine pair of white fine lace gloves that were long enough to elegantly reach the elbows.
“His Imperial Highness the Second Prince has ordered that you must wear these whenever you are with him,” She said quietly.
“Ah. Thanks.”
You understood. It was slightly disappointing that your fiancé would go to such lengths to avoid touching you. Was the prospect of touching you truly that distasteful to him? But you shrugged off the thought and removed your heirloom ring before sliding the gloves on. You put back the ring on top. It wasn’t everyday you got to wear something this refined. Perhaps it would be everyday from now on…
But then, the memory of Rin’s chilling words echoed through your mind. “Then, I’ll find a way to get rid of you.”
Your heart clenched and you shook your head. As long as you did as commanded, you were sure you’d be fine.
“Let’s go, Eleanor.”
Your body tensed under the penetrating gazes of the countless servants. Their stares followed you as you walked down the Main Hall of the right wing, heading towards the heart of the palace.
They weren’t even trying to hide their gossip. Why would they? Servants here were no ordinary peasants, they were people of the lowest class of nobility. Sons and daughters of Earls, Counts, Barons.
“His Highness must be smitten,” one maid said, “Just look at her dress!”
“Isn’t she from the slums?”
“And she wears the Royal Heirloom on her finger!”
“So, the rumours were true, then?”
“I heard she thought she'd be marrying the Crown Prince.”
“Pftt, That’s embarrassing.”
The hushed whispers suddenly quieted down to zero, and you assumed it was probably Eleanor’s doing because you could literally feel her piercing gaze though she was trailing respectfully behind you.
“It’s alright, Eleanor, leave them al—”
The words died in your throat the moment you caught sight of him– the man you first encountered when you arrived at the palace. He was exiting the Council Hall, deep in conversation with what looked like an advisor or high-ranking official. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively lifted the hem of your dress and rushed towards him.
“Your Highness!” you called out, your voice chirpier than you had intended.
He turned at the sound of your familiar voice, his eyes widening just slightly in surprise. For a fleeting moment, it seemed you had embodied the grace of a princess… had your heel not caught beneath you. You stumbled, eyes squeezing shut as you braced yourself for the fall. But instead of tasting the cold, hard floor, a pair of strong hands caught you, steadying you by your waist.
“Careful,” he warned softly, his hands lingering for just a moment before falling back to his sides. “You’re not used to heels.”
You laughed awkwardly, but you could not hide the disappointment that washed over your expression as his hands left you. “No, it’s my first time.”
He paused. His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than they should, taking in the way your dress perfectly complimented your figure. But he realized this, and his gaze quickly shifted to the golden deer emblem mounted on the wall.
“You… look different,” He continued, rubbing the back of his neck.
The hall suddenly felt hot, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from your face. You dipped your head, fiddling with your clad fingers. “Oh, do I…?” you sputtered softly, but you silently cursed yourself for replying in such an awkward manner. Of course you looked different!
“Ahem,” Eleanor chimed in, coughing into her fist dramatically. “Not to interrupt, but I hear some alarming footsteps…”
“If you slack off one more fucking time, I’ll display your decapitated head on a pike to serve as an example for your pathetic kind!” a voice yelled from behind.
Rin stepped out the Council Hall, his face an angry scowl as he finished lashing at the minister who scurried away like a frightened animal. His eyes then flickered towards you and his older brother, and his expression soured further.
He turned to look at your lady-in-waiting, speaking sternly. “I thought I told you to bring her to my study,”
“We were on our way, Your Imperial Highness,” Eleanor responded politely, bowing her head.
“Incompetent.”
Rin’s attention shifted to you, noticing the lacey white covering up to your elbows. Without warning, he inched forward and closed the distance between you, his hand snaking around your waist. You tensed as his not unwelcome grip pulled you closer, your palm instinctively flying up to settle on his chest. You looked up at him gently, hesitantly, but his eyes weren’t on you– they were locked on his older brother.
He eyed his brother suspiciously, “What are you still doing here?” He asked. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your trip to Berlina?”
“Berlina…?” You repeated in confusion.
“The Kingdom of Sorcery and Magic,” Eleanor quickly whispered into your ear, leaning in with her palm covering her mouth.
Sae’s expression remained indifferent, clearly unbothered. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on more important matters right now?” He let his eyes wander lazily towards your hand on Rin’s chest before he smirked. “Like… sharpening your embarrassingly inadequate swordsmanship skills?”
Rin’s face contorted in anger and his neck flushed a deep red. His grip on your shoulder tightened just enough to make you wince. “You bastard… You’ll regret this.” He seethed through clenched teeth.
The Second Prince glanced back at Eleanor in disgust, “You’re dismissed.”
He looked back at you, noticing your extravagant dress, before furrowing his brows. “The dress you’re wearing is too fancy for a day with no important occasion.”
You glanced down at your blue gown and shrugged. “Eleanor chose it for me,”
“Who?”
“—I personally think it suits her just right.” Sae broke in suddenly, wearing a smirk on his face as though he found pleasure in annoying his younger brother.
Rin narrowed his eyes at him. “Who asked for your opinion? And what were you two talking about, anyway?”
The Crown Prince hummed, leaning against the wall behind him. “Let’s see. Well, I told her she looked different, and helped her up when she tripped on her heels.”
“Tch.”
“But be careful,” Sae’s lips twitched into a small grin, his gaze drifting to meet your eyes. “keep your eyes on this beauty else I might steal her from you. Isn’t that right, my lady?”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Your Highness, even if you joke around like that, I don’t think my heart can take it–” you whispered, and Sae chuckled lightly, though Rin quickly pulled you behind him.
“That’s enough, stay away from her.” He glared, barely affecting Sae. “Your little jokes aren’t funny.”
“Who said I was joking?” The eldest quipped nonchalantly, and Rin just rolled his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He exasperated, holding onto your wrist and dragging you alongside him.
As his hand guided you away, you looked over your shoulder, searching for a familiar pair of tourmaline eyes. Ones identical to those of your fiancé’s. But instead, all you saw was a broad back and auburn hair shifting as he walked away in the opposite direction.
Rin slammed his fist against the hardwood of his desk. That interaction seemed to have spilled gasoline to the blue flames in his eyes, which were already burning with rage. “That bastard thinks he can keep playing games with me!”
You remained still, hands folded patiently over your abdomen. The last thing you wanted to do was provoke him further.
After a tense silence, Rin let out a sigh and collapsed into the plush seat behind his desk. “It’s alright,” he began, his voice softening just slightly. His gaze locked onto you in a way that made blood rush quicker through your veins. “You’re my ticket to becoming the emperor—” He leaned forward. “I need you.”
Your breath hitched in your throat at those words, but you knew not to expect much. Still, you mustered a sweet smile. “I’ll do my best, Your Highness. You were mentioning today’s schedule…?”
He leaned back, propping his arm on the armrest. “Right. My father is holding our engagement ball next week. Every noble house will be there to congratulate us. In the week leading up to it, you will perfect your manners and court etiquette. Understood?”
You gulped hard as a huge bag of responsibility was suddenly thrown onto your back. A week? To not work on, but perfect everything?
“...Understood.”
—
“... After you master public speaking skills,” Rin went on, “you’ll focus on formal dining etiquette. I don’t want you embarrassing me by eating with your hands. Then, you’ll have dancing lessons and study Royal Dress standards. You also need to be familiar with Aquaria’s history, diplomacy, and customs– especially royal protocols and responsibilities, and….”
His voice continued on, listing task after task. Your head was spinning, and you thought you were going to faint and collapse to the ground. This wasn’t the fairytale you’d imagined. You signed up for the fun part of being a princess— the ballgowns and the makeup, and maybe kissing the prince. This was a chore, the kind that made growing carrots and potatoes seem like heaven in comparison.
“By the end of this week, I expect you to be flawless. I’ve brought in the best tutors for reading, writing, and everything else– all that easy stuff. Do not disappoint me.”
You nodded automatically, but not before adding an innocent thought that had slipped into your mind, in a slightly sarcastic manner. “Have you perfected your swordplay, though?”
Now the temperature in the room seemed to drop down to zero as he bore his narrowed eyes at you. You felt a cold shiver run up all your bones, and your knees weakened. “You think you’re funny don’t you? Do you really want to play this game with me?”
Your bravado crumbled. “N-No…”
“Then get some rest,” he ordered. “Your training starts this afternoon.”
You nodded and quietly turned to leave the study.
Six long days had passed by since your lessons began. Six mentally and physically exhausting days.
Your dance instructor was a strict middle aged lady with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, who worked you till your feet were bruised. She made you balance books and vases on top of your head as you marched back and forth, her shrill voice cutting you off whenever your posture was horrible, or when you mixed up the steps for a dance made for another song. Although you loathed her guts, you couldn’t deny the significant improvement of your poise.
The dinner etiquette lessons, however, offered a time-out from that hag. Yes, you learned the basics of formal dining– how to keep your elbows off the table, chew with your mouth closed, use the silver utensils correctly, and pat your lips clean with the patterned napkins. But, the best part, or reward, was tasting the delicacies they served. Truffles, lobster coated with butter, and tender lamb chops. And then there were the fancy desserts– macarons pumped with ganache filling, puff pastry, tartelette au citron, éclair au chocolat, and more.
All of which you had never dreamt of tasting in your life, you who had never tasted anything more luxurious than a loaf of bread.
You also learned how to read and write, not for the reasons you preferred, but good nonetheless. You had found a particular fondness for the history lessons, which were not tedious at all. You were focused at all times much to your mentor’s surprise. Learning about the Royal family’s reign— how they had ruled over neighboring lands for centuries, managing resources, trade, and finance— fascinated you.
But your ears always managed to tune in and pick up the subtle gossip rotating among the maids and servants in the halls and libraries, so you had learned a few things.
The two princes were locked in a one-sided rivalry. One was fighting crystal and pickaxe for the crown, while the true heir showed little interest in the throne he was destined to inherit.
Sae, the eldest, wasn’t just entitled to the crown by birthright. He excelled at everything– swordplay, defense, archery, and horseback riding for royal ceremonies or simple trips to cities. His skills were polished to literal perfection. Rin, on the other hand, was skilled, but not extraordinary. He always lived in the shadow of his brother.
Yet Rin’s desire to become emperor wasn’t merely a wish— it was a burning, desperate need, an ambition to prove himself worthy. To finally win against Sae.
Killing his brother, of course, was out of the question— such an act would be treason. Besides, Rin didn’t just want him gone; he wanted Sae to see the moment when he ascended the throne, to admit defeat, to acknowledge that Rin had bested him.
Rin believed that the key to winning favour with their father—the current emperor—and the people was to flaunt his achievements, which, to remention, were not as good as Sae’s. But his sharp tongue and cold demeanor made it difficult for him to win many hearts. Sae learned to place a mask behind his foul words, whereas Rin still struggled to.
And that’s where you came into the picture.
You weren’t just his fiancée; you were part of his strategy. He’ll show you off before the court and the public, showcasing to the world how he transformed a mere commoner, a peasant, into someone of worth.
You came from a disgusting, needy village, yet now you stood in royal fits. To Rin, you were a symbol showing his ability to elevate those beneath him. A tool to gain the favour of the people. You could read and write now, you were beautiful, and in the eyes of the kingdom, you had the potential to become the empress one day— if, of course, Rin managed to seize the crown from his brother.
—
It was late at night, and the moon’s natural light filtered through your curtains. You moved to your huge window and brushed aside the rosegold-embroidered fabric as you peered down at the Royal Gardens. The view was similar to that of Rin’s, since your chambers were three spare rooms away from each other.
You were exhausted, but you always had time to admire the water spilling down elegantly from the angel sculptures’ stone lips, or the beautiful shrubs clipped into topiaries.
But all the exhaustion you felt moments ago suddenly vanished when your eyes caught sight of someone unexpected.
It was the Crown Prince. You had seen Sae around the palace during these tiring six days, and you’ve engaged in many small talks with him without Rin’s knowledge. Conversations flew naturally with him, he asked you about your life before the engagement, and though you were initially hesitant, you found yourself speaking openly with him. There was a strange ease to Sae that, oddly enough, only you seemed to feel.
You stared at him a bit too long, your gaze almost boring a hole into him, and he sensed it.
Pivoting on his heel, he made direct eye contact with you from below. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you hurriedly pulled the curtain closed. But he could still see your silhouette, and when you peeked your head out slightly from the curtain, you could’ve sworn you’d seen him chuckle.
With a quick gesture of his hand, he beckoned you down to the gardens. Your pretty eyes widened, but you found yourself nodding eagerly with no hesitation. How could you refuse?
—
Panting softly between giggles, you rested your hands on your knees.
“I can’t believe you ran to meet me in your… nightgown,” Sae remarked, his lips curving into a subtle smirk.
You straightened and boldly stepped closer until you were only centimeters away from him. Your eyes twinkled in the moonlight, and you shone a smile brighter than la lune.
Sae’s breath caught in his throat as your face came full view and he felt his body still. You were Rin’s fiancée– he shouldn't be looking at you like this. But the glow of moonlight was making it hard…
“... You’re beautiful,” the words slipped out naturally.
Heat flooded the sweet curves of your cheeks at the way he said it so casually, so suddenly. Your gaze dropped to the freshly cut grass, your fingers nervously tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
“Thank you,” you muttered quietly, your voice barely above a hush.
Silence followed. But comfortable, nonetheless. Then, you noticed his hand, palm up and waiting in front of you. You blinked up at him in confusion.
“I am aware that I am in no position to do this, but…” He paused, “May I have this dance?”
Your eyebrows shot up comically in surprise, glistening doe eyes widening for the hundredth time tonight. Your heart was thumping so fast you thought it might burst from your chest, and you feared he might hear it.
It was risky, you knew that. If Rin were awake, he might have been watching from his window– his chambers were so close to yours. You knew how much he enjoyed looking from his window from the time you’ve spent together in the past week. But, he had dismissed you earlier to rest and this moment alone with Sae was tempting.
Hesitantly, your hand hovered over his before relaxing and letting it fall in his grasp. You met his gaze, and you shyly whispered,
“I know we’re not supposed to be doing this… but I want to.” Your fingers intertwined with his, and you smiled softly. “May I have this honour, Your Imperial Highness the Crown Prince?”
Sae glanced down at your hand weaved between his fingers. His brows furrowed in a frown, and a wave of panic washed over you. You literally felt your heart leap out of your chest. Had you overstepped your boundaries?
“I was only kidd—”
But instead of pulling away, he gently hooked his finger under the wristband of your glove, sliding it off your hand. You felt warmth bloom across your cheeks as he slowly removed the other glove too, making sure to leave his touch lingering on your bare skin.
“You don’t need to wear these ridiculous gloves to bed,” he said, “It’s unnecessary.”
Your cœur fluttered. “I… I just forgot,” you mumbled, embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a smile as he clasped your now bare hand, while the other found its place on your waist. The fabric of your silk nightgown was thin, and his touch felt intimate, direct, and you could feel his fingertips pressing lightly against your skin.
He led you in a slow dance gracefully under the protective gaze of the serene moon, delicately spinning you before your arms naturally draped around his neck. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer. He looked so good, he smelled so good, his touch so gentle. You wanted him.
“Do you like these gardens?” He asked suddenly, giving you another twirl.
You nodded, lacing your fingers in his. “I do. It’s quiet. The palace can be… overwhelming.”
Sae raised a brow, “Overwhelming, huh? For someone like you, I suppose it would be.”
The words stung slightly, but there was no malice in his voice. You dared to meet the eyes you came to adore, “And you? Why are you here, Your Highness?”
He paused, then turned slightly. “I’m avoiding another council meeting. You’d be surprised how tedious it can be listening to old men argue for hours on end.”
You laughed softly, and for a brief moment, his eyes softened. He pointed toward a part of the garden in the distance. “Come with me,” he said simply.
You followed, trembling as the Crown Prince led you with his fingers gently wrapped around your wrist. When you came to a stop, your breath caught in awe. Before you were roses of every shade– deep crimson, soft peach, porcelain white, and candy pink.
“They’re gorgeous,” you gasped.
“Right.” Sae bent down and plucked a single red rose from the bush, turning to you with a small, rare smile. “The red ones are my favorite,” he murmured, carefully tucking the rose into your hair.
You smiled sheepishly, gently patting the rose he’d placed. “They remind me of strawberry ja—”
“They remind me of blood,” he interrupted with a casual voice.
You blinked, startled by his answer. “R-Right.”
He chuckled softly, rubbing the area around his neck. “I can see why Rin chose you.”
You looked at him for a few seconds before quickly shaking your head. “He didn’t choose me, he just wanted any girl from our clan. My older sister was supposed to go, but I went in her stead. Besides, I’m nothing special… just convenient.”
“Convenient?” His gaze darkened slightly before his hand came up to rest on your chin. “...Don’t sell yourself short. You’re more than that.”
Your head quickly tilted down and you began to fiddle with your fingers, then with the simple lace adorning your neck. “Your Highness– stop saying things that make my heart, I don’t know, hurt?”
“Oh?” He placed his hands gently on your cheeks and you looked up at him lovingly. “That isn’t good for Rin, is it?”
You shook your head, “No, it isn’t. But he doesn’t make me feel this way.” You boldly placed your palms on his shoulders and stood on your tippy toes, and as soon as he leaned down slightly in approval, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
He tapped his forehead against yours and smiled. His heart was beating a bit quicker, and he found it dangerous. “Well, I’m afraid I must leave now.” He drawled.
Your heart sank a little, your ethereal eyes flicking down. You nodded slowly, “Thank you for your time, Your Highness.”
He looked down at you, his expression softening. Slowly, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your skin. “It was a pleasure, my lady.”
If he couldn’t hear your heart thundering in your chest one thousand miles per hour moments ago, then he sure could now. As he disappeared, you placed your hand over your chest, rubbing over the spot where he’d kissed.
It seemed like Sae had yet again bested Rin in a game neither had realized they were playing.
Tonight was your engagement ball, the grand celebration that would officially announce your impending marriage to Rin.
You were both in his chamber, dressed fully in fancy outfits. He wore an elegant white attire adorned with the brooch of Aquaria and a navy blue sash draped across his chest. You wore a pitch black gown embroidered with gold, matching gloves, and heavy golden jewelry that Rin had exclusively bought for you.
The party had already begun downstairs, the grand ballroom filled with the most important guests from across the empire. But the grand entrance of the soon-to-be bride and groom had to wait for the Emperor’s speech, set to occur an hour after the festivities commenced.
“It’s a lunar eclipse,” you mused admiringly, leaning against the window. The moon, bloody red from the umbra, hung in the night sky ominously. “I’ve read about the phenomenon in the Royal Library. The stars look so close… they look like they could fall right into our hands.”
Rin rolled his eyes and walked closer to you, resting his hand on your further shoulder. He stared out the window in boredom. “How poetic,” he muttered sarcastically. “Even the moon is congratulating us tonight.”
You turned your gaze from the sky to him, your hand gently smoothing out a small wrinkle on his sash. “It’s time, isn’t it? We should head to the Ballroom.”
He grumbled in response, pushing your hand aside as if your touch was unnecessary.
The intricate grandfather clock suddenly chimed loudly. Midnight had arrived.
Tick.
“In the Twilight of the Eclipsing Red Moon…”
Tick.
“When Stars Align and Shadows Loom…”
Tick.
A strange voice seemed to rise from nowhere. You flinched visibly, a shiver creeping up your spine as the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You quickly found Rin’s hand and grasped it tightly.
“D-Did you hear that?” You shuddered, voice trembling.
He raised an eyebrow. “Hear what? You’re imagining things.”
You shook your head, swallowing hard. “No… I swear, I heard something– like a voice. It was…”
He scoffed, shaking his head dismissively. “It’s just the clock ticking. Don’t start getting all nervous on me now.” His grip tightened around your hand, but you doubted it was for your comfort. “You’re going to be on your best performance for me, Got it?”
You hesitantly nodded, your gaze lingering on the moon for a few more seconds. The red, eerie glow still haunted your thoughts. You reluctantly turned away, looping your arm through Rin’s to exit the chamber and enter the grandeur.
“Yes…”
“And I want to thank you all once more for attending tonight’s ball,” The Emperor’s proclamation boomed from behind the closed doors. The attention of every soul present was on him. “I would now like to announce the formal entry of The Second Prince of Aquaria, and his fiancée, a soon-to-be princess, Y/N!”
The large doors, decorated with orchids and bloody red roses, parted dramatically to reveal you and Rin hand in hand. The Royal Guards on each side immediately stiffened and raised gloved hands to their head in salute.
The aristocrats hushed immediately and their eyes followed as you both stepped onto the red carpet, descending the grand staircase and heading towards the two thrones.
You halted just below the steps of the thrones, immediately lowering your head in a bow of respect alongside Rin.
“Greetings, Your Imperial Majesties,” you murmured, lifting your head as you learned to.
“... Thank you, Father, Mother,” Rin’s voice followed formally.
Your gaze shifted towards the Empress. You particularly loved her as her lovely crimson hair always seemed to remind you of Sae. Oh, speaking of the Crown Prince, where was he? You hadn’t caught a glimpse of him yet.
You turned your head, eyes subtly scanning the room in search of a distinct redhead. And in the corner of your eye, you found him leaning casually against a balcony pillar, arms folded over his chest and eyes closed.
Your gaze softened at the sight of him before refocusing on the mob of aristocratic ladies and noblemen that had rushed to circle your betrothed as soon as the Imperial Greetings were over. They approached and offered smiles under snobby and vexing expressions, backhanded compliments under the guise of praise.
“Such a refreshing choice, Your Imperial Highness!” A brunette lady gibed, fanning herself with an elegant fan as she slyly smirked, “You’ve truly outdone us all in… originality.”
A Lord chuckled beside her, his laugh insufferably pompous. “I must say, Your Highness, I certainly admire you embracing such humble roots! A prince of the people! Ho ho ho!”
“I’m glad we have such a reliable prince who values all his subjects equally!”
“It is odd that His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince hasn’t found a lady yet.” One brought up.
An Earl added, “That’s true. He’s supposed to step up to the throne sooner or later. He needs an heir once he becomes Emperor.”
You squeezed Rin’s hand discreetly as he bit his lip in frustration at the mention of his brother. He needed to restrain himself at least this one time.
“I appreciate your sentiments–” he began, but faltered for a split second. “No I fucking don—” You squeezed his hand again, giving him a gentle nudge, and he cleared his throat. “Your support is reassuring,” he finished with a strained smile.
As your fiancé continued chatting with the backhanded nobles, your attention kept drifting towards Sae, stealing quick glances every now and then. He had begun conversing with a group of higher officials and ministers, likely discussing Berlina, The Kingdom of Sorcery and Magic that he had frequented many times to strengthen the Empire’s growing alliances.
Loud enchanting music began to play from the orchestra and many already established couples began to dance in the center. Expensive and rare gifts began to pile at your feet, congratulatory offerings from various guests. Rin accepted them indifferently and reluctantly offered his thanks with as much enthusiasm as the stone sculptures that lined the ballroom.
“This jewel was found in the Ancient land of Topion and is thought to bring good fortune!”
“This exotic bird from Elakis produces gold everytime it sings!”
“This sword is forged by a legendary ghost smith whose body lives in the volcanic depths of Loo!”
You froze when Sae stepped forward as the next gifter, and it seemed like the entire room was also holding its breath. He approached, your widened eyes drifting down to the elegant box in his hand. He opened it, revealing an intricate necklace with shimmering, round pearls.
“An authentic pearl necklace crafted by the Merman Emperor of Eau.” Sae presented with his usual calm demeanor, making it hard to believe that he had spent days negotiating with the merman to create a necklace exclusively suitable for you.
Your mouth parted in surprise, and the words tumbled out. “Oh– thank you! It’s… beautiful.”
Rin rolled his eyes, gently fisting your hair and lifting it to expose your neck. “You didn’t have to do that,” He hissed through gritted teeth, looking at Sae with teal eyes that crinkled in hate.
Sae met his brother’s glare with a simple hum, fastening the beaded necklace around your neck. You bit your lip tightly as his touch lingered on your skin, looking down at the pearls that beautifully settled against your collarbone. “That would be disrespectful to you both, I’m afraid,” He said. “Even Our Father, the Emperor, has offered her pleasantries.”
Rin clicked his tongue and looked back at you, wrapping his arm possessively around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, catching you by surprise. The Crown Prince narrowed his eyes at the gesture.
“Come on, darling,” Rin emphasized as he spat out the term of endearment, though he internally cringed and wanted the ballroom to rupture and swallow him whole. The pet name left a bitter taste at the tip of his tongue. “It’s time for our dance.”
You nodded, your lips parting to speak, but, “Of course, Your High—”
“The Great’s Fate is Sealed in the Veil of Night…”
That haunting voice again. Your ears were ringing. You quickly squeezed your eyes shut and froze in your tracks.
“...By the Hand of One from Mystic Light.”
“I-It’s the voice again!” You whimpered, hands flying to your ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. “I hear it!”
Rin scoffed loudly, glancing left and right at the guests who were exchanging confused looks. Sae, on the other hand, seemed out of it, with half-closed, bleary eyes.
“Quit it, you fool!” Rin cursed in annoyance, his patience snapping. He grabbed you by your shoulders and yanked you to his chest away from their judgemental gazes.
“Voice? I don’t hear anything,” a lady whispered.
“Neither do I,” someone else chimed in.
A voice snickered, “She said ‘again’.”
“His Imperial Highness must be marrying someone with auditory hallucinations.” The words stung as they left another noble’s mouth.
Then, in an instant, the ballroom plunged into darkness as the bright chandeliers went out. The ballroom was only illuminated by the glow of a large bolt of lightning, and a thunder rattled so violently it deafened you and shook the windows. When the bulbs flickered back on, a shrill lady’s voice pierced the silent room.
“T-The Crown Prince! He’s not moving!”
All eyes shot to Sae, who lay motionless and graceful on the floor, hand on top of hand. He looked calm, as though he was merely resting.
You gasped in fear, hands flying to your mouth as you tried to stay balanced on your feet. Rin’s eyes in particular were the widest. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted to terror as everyone noticed the ink-blue vines creeping slowly up his neck, thorn designs wrapping themselves around his throat.
“T-That’s… Alexis’ Curse!” The Emperor panicked.
You had read about it. Alexis’ Curse—an ancient legend of a wizard scorned by love. His heart had been shattered by the daughter of a shoemaker, Michelle Kaiser, who had chosen her Earl lover over him. She always refused Alexis’ advances, and the gifts he’d always present.
Enraged, Alexis had cursed the Earl, condemning him to a fate of eternal sleep unless the one he loved kissed him to break the spell. The curse wasn't one of eternal youth, however—the body continued to age, to decay, until there was nothing left but ugly bones.
But because Alexis had disposed of his inked body in his tower, the Earl had died alone, Michelle never finding him.
The curse had become a myth, that Alexis’ wrath was aimed at those of high status, warning them of the dangers of meddling with those beneath them.
But the nobles’ faces were literally drained of colour because what had once been myth was now terrifyingly real, before their very eyes.
It had been a few weeks since the disaster during your engagement party.
They had sealed Sae’s lifeless body deep in a chamber within the Main Palace’s basement. You attempted sneaking in multiple times, but you failed– the entry was heavily guarded and there was too much risk. And besides, if slipping past your lady-in-waiting wasn’t hard enough, Rin had become increasingly possessive as the possibility of being promoted to Crown Prince rose. That is if he was elected as so in the Royal Committee Meeting.
He was proud enough that he’d permit small acts of closeness– letting you remove your gloves when in his presence, even sharing his chamber. So, you would never risk waking him up while trying to sneak into the basement.
You recalled the aftermath of the disastrous ball vividly:
—
“I never knew he was so pathetic,” Rin sneered that night, running a hand through his dark hair before resting it at your throat and squeezing lightly. “Falling in love with you? A commoner? He must be out of his mind.”
He chuckled as he released you, pulling you into his chest.
“The whole Empire is so stupid. They think he fell in love with someone else. But it’s better this way.”
—
Yet despite Rin’s actions, your thoughts remained with Sae. You’d spent the weeks caring for Celestia, his white mare, as well as tending to Rin’s black stallion which he had never bothered to give a name to. You learned from the stable workers that Celestia was the mother of the charcoal horse.
Tonight, however, a once in a red moon opportunity presented itself. Your fiancé was away on royal business in Yelund, negotiating financial matters with their government in place of the Crown Prince. You took this chance, knowing it was the only one, and decided to sneak out.
You left your chamber, clutching a cage with a rat you’d found in the servants residence. You made your way through the darkened corridors until you reached the entrance of the basement. You hid yourself behind a large stone pillar and took a deep breath, tossing a small block of cheese across the room as a distraction.
The guards were alarmed by the subtle noise and quickly whipped their heads and ran towards the sound. You bit your lip in concentration— everything was going according to your plan. You quickly released the rat from its cage, watching it scurry across the concrete, and silently slipped into the Royal basement. You sighed in relief as you heard a guard's voice.
“Oh, it’s just a rat. Guards, get back into position.”
—
You slid off your heels so that your bare feet barely made a sound as they grazed the stone steps of the staircase. The basement wasn’t very illuminated if not for the dim candles that hung on the wall, and the stench was not horrible as you thought it would be. Instead, it smelled like preserved jasmine.
You were at the last step when you put your hand on the concrete wall, trying to catch your breath.
At the bottom, in the center of the relatively smaller room, stood a rectangular crystal glass box. Inside it, Sae lay perfectly still. The sight of him made your gaze soften and your heart clench as if it was put in a meat slicer. His skin was pale, but it was bolded, in contrast, by the inky blue vines tracing thorn and rose patterns across his body.
His cheeks and ears were faintly flushed by a baby pink dust, and his lips looked so soft, so gentle, so inviting. Stray strands of his red hair lay on the cushion beneath him, his long lashes resting against his cheekbones.
You were aching as you approached the enclosure. Your fingers trembled as you pressed them to the glass, your breath slightly fogging the surface. Tears blurred your vision as they began to roll down your cheeks, and you leaned down to gently caress his cheek with your bare hand, feeling the coolness of his skin.
You sniffled and your palms went to rub your glossy eyes, before you straightened up and curled your fingers on the glass in a tight grip. He looked beautiful, you thought, with roses that matched his hair colour surrounding him all over.
“Your Imperial Highn— no, Sae—” you whispered, “I… I love you, too.”
You cupped his face with quivering hands, your thumbs rubbing sweet circles on his skin as you contorted your body awkwardly to reach him. The glass was positioned high, at your waist’s level, so you had to twist your body and bend to touch him intimately.
Sae remained unmoving, yet you had hoped that somewhere deep within his slumber, he could sense your touch, or the sincerity of your unsteady voice confessing your reciprocated love.
As you leaned in to kiss him, that same sharp voice that you always hear yet again cut through your ears, and you instinctively covered them with your hands for protection.
“But From the Dust of Forgotten Lands,”
Your heart thumped faster in your chest as you tried to shake it off.
“Shall Rise a Heart with Common Hands,”
Beads of cold sweat trickled down your temple— you could never get used to the voice, no matter how many times you’d heard it.
“With Lips of Rose and Spirit Warm,”
Your hands fisted at the cotton under Sae, inhaling deeply before bending down until your face was inches away from his.
“To Bring the Order, End the Storm.”
Your lips hesitantly hovered over his mouth before you fluttered your eyes shut and pressed them against his in a kiss. Your lips together were so soft, yet they weren’t moving against each other like a mutual kiss would. They locked seamlessly in a way that felt strangely natural, as if the pair were made for each other.
Your lips lingered against his for a few seconds, and you wanted to relish the moment more, but you felt a subtle shift in Sae’s body. A faint flinch, almost imperceptible, ran through him, and the blue roses on his skin suddenly began to glow.
You pulled back before you could fully comprehend what was even happening, your lips just brushing his as you turned and sprinted towards the stairs. Fortunately, the guards on duty were in the midst of a shift exchange, so you assumed you had gone off flawlessly.
But not entirely.
A certain awakened man had caught a glimpse of your hair as it bounced during your escape.
The first light of morning stabbed your eyes, and they fluttered open abruptly as you realized Rin’s hands were on your shoulders, shaking you harshly. His face was itched in a deep scowl, his breath hot against your skin.
“What the fuck is all this about? This is what I come back to, you fucking whore?” He fumed venomously.
You blinked in confusion– your head was still fogged with sleep, after all.
“W-What..?”
—
The usual tranquility of the whole palace was broken by hurried, squeaky footsteps and frantic voices. News of the Crown Prince’s revival had spread like wildfire through the Royal Quarters: the sleeping prince had defeated the curse and had awakened after only a few mere weeks.
The servants and maids rushed through the hallways, scrambling to prepare for what would be an unexpected audience. Gossips and rumours flowed through every corridor of the palace faster than the head maid brewing herbal tea in preparation for noble guests.
And in the Royal Gardens outside, hundreds to near thousands of noblemen and noblewomen who were alerted of the Sae’s revival gathered, dressed in their finest dresses and suits.
Oh, you were so fucked.
—
“M-My lady, this isn’t good!” Eleanor cried as she ran into your room, “Hundreds of guests have arrived in the Throne room, and both princes are there too! His Imperial Majesty is now urgently awaiting your presence!”
Your hands instinctively wrapped around your abdomen, and you suddenly felt nauseous. Your body shook slightly, your teary eyes fixing themselves on the ground. You loved Sae, you really did, but doubt was gnawing at your organs. Kissing him felt right in that moment, yet you were starting to regret ever doing it.
What if he didn’t want your help? What if your peasant lips had tainted him? What if he didn’t want you?
“I… I don’t want to go,” you hiccuped, walking around your room in circles. “I’m so stupid, I should have never—”
“No, my lady,” She interrupted gently. “You must.”
You gulped and nodded hesitantly. Rin’s anger lingered in your mind like salt and pepper— his eyes were boiling over with rage, his face tinted a deep crimson red. You had never seen him like that, and now, as you stepped into the crowd gathered in the grand hall, all heads turned to look at you in a way that made you even more uncomfortable.
But the Emperor, however, did not seem angry. Weird enough, he looked elated for reasons you couldn’t yet pinpoint.
As Eleanor had said, Rin and Sae were both present, standing opposite each other like the rivals they were. Rin was struggling to contain the way he was absolutely fuming, while Sae was blatantly staring at you with no intention of hiding it. Unlike the way you usually reacted to the Crown Prince’s gaze, you felt rather nervous, flexing and unflexing your fingers.
You pinched the fabric of your simple gown and bowed low, and the thin patterns of the marble floor never seemed so interesting.
“Greetings, Your Imperial Majesty,” you addressed.
The Emperor nodded in acknowledgment, before turning his attention to Sae expectantly. “My son.”
“Yes, father.”
Before your wracked mind could process what was happening, Sae suddenly began striding toward you. Rin was a considerable distance away from you but he also furrowed his brows in confusion. A million thoughts started to run through his mind and he felt the unease creeping up his spine. Had they planned something behind his back?
Sae came to a stop in front of you, and your breath caught in your throat as you felt his arms, so muscular despite being under layers of hand-crafted clothing, loop around your waist and pull you close. Your face pressed against his chest, and your hands awkwardly hung near your sides despite being desperate to place themselves in places they’d beg to touch.
Loud gasps and surprised awes of the hundreds of uninvited, stunned guests echoed throughout the large room.
“Hey, what the heck–?” Rin suddenly snapped, biting down on his lip so hard that blood seeped out, the iron leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.
He didn’t like you, not really, but he had finally claimed something– someone that his older brother desired, and now it felt as though Sae was taking you from him.
It irritated him to no end, the way Sae’s hand gently patted your hair and the way you sheepishly smiled into his suit like an idiot– who the heck did you think you were? How could you? How fucking dare you?
And more importantly, why was the Emperor fine with this? Why was he chuckling so carelessly akin to the circus’ fool? What was going on?
But your mind was already in Saturn. You were lost in the Crown Prince’s musky scent and the oh-so-delicate taps of his fingers on your head, and when you heard that voice again, you closed your eyes knowingly and smiled for the first time in what felt like forever.
“A Crown of Old Shall Find its Grace,”
“In the Embrace of a Simple Face.”
“Y/N.” Sae’s voice broke through your thoughts and the voices of gossip in the crowd died down instantly. He tilted your chin up gently, thumbs caressing your face sweetly before his hands found their place on your cheeks.
Your eyes darted left and right nervously, avoiding his gaze. He'd never called you by your first name before. You shook those thoughts away and met his gaze. “Yes…?”
“You know,” He started, “To break the curse, the feeling of love must be mutual…”
Your cradled head nodded in his hands in embarrassment, and you felt heat creep up from your neck to your ears. “I’m aware,”
“So?”
Your eyes widened and immediately snapped down to the floor, watching your simple heels shuffling softly. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped past your lips, and you only hoped that no one had heard that. You looked up at him affectionately.
“I love you…” Your voice dripped like melted caramel on his tongue, so sweet.
He smiled– a real, genuine smile that no one besides you could see– and leaned down, whispering an “I love you too,” before sealing his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle, and you let out a soft sigh as your fingers curled onto the rich fabric, gripping onto his attire tightly. His lips were warm as they moved against yours, unlike the cold, unmoving lips that you had claimed a while back.
When you finally pulled away, your eyes fluttered open, dazed with bleary eyes, little hearts seemingly etched into your pupils.
The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps, and maybe a few rolls of the eyes and glares from jealous noblewomen or daughters of Lords who had hoped to have Sae all to themselves, though you barely registered anything.
Why would anything matter, when you were here, openly in his arms?
“His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince is in love with his soon-to-be sister-in-law? This is hot news!”
“The Second Prince didn’t love her anyway.”
“He didn’t? But was it really a marriage of convenience, then?”
“No way, he must have been in love. What’s there to gain from a commoner?”
“But what could a village girl like her possibly offer the Crown Prince?”
The Emperor suddenly rose from his golden throne and stepped down the carpeted stairs, standing in the center. He cleared his throat and raised his scepter high in the air.
“I, the Emperor of the Royal Empire of Aquaria, officially dissolve the engagement between Y/N and the Second Prince, and announce the engagement between her and the Crown Prince!”
Rin’s eyes twitched. His fists clenched tighter by his sides, knuckles white and nails digging deep into his palms. He felt humiliated in front of so many people, but it is said that what goes around comes around.
“Huh? But Father, she's—” Rin began, but the Emperor turned his head and shot him a threatening glare.
“Emperor’s order.” With a voice that sharp, there was no possible room for argument.
You also stood frozen, mouth hanging open in disbelief as you blinked at the Emperor in the distance. But Sae’s fingers tipped your chin back up and his lips latched onto yours in a bold, open-mouthed kiss.
“Look at me,” he murmured as he pulled back slightly to look at you, his breath warm against your skin.
Your breath hitched, your gaze locking onto his. “Your Highness… I can’t believe this is happening,” You whisper-yelled in excitement, your hands waving around uncertainly.
He gently poked your cheeks. “You’ll take my last name since you don’t have one.”
You pinched yourself to check if this was all just a dream. If it was, you didn’t want to wake up. But it was all too real. The Crown Prince was now your fiancé. You were going to be the Crown Princess, and eventually, the Empress. And you were going to take his last name because commoners do not have the privilege of family names.
And despite everything, you strangely felt no deep remorse. You had slightly opened up to and grown fond of Rin in the past few weeks– he had those moments, but with you in his brother’s arms right now, you felt something different. You felt bad, but at the same time you didn’t. It wasn’t guilt. It was more complicated, but in the end, you didn’t dwell on it. You didn’t need to.
Rin stood in his spot motionless like a fallen angel’s statue, face hidden by a brush of his dark bangs. His eyes were fixed on the floor and his hands were clutching onto his pants like if he removed them hell would break loose.
His plan had backfired on him. Initially, he had chosen you, a commoner, as his fiancée to gain favour with the people, to appeal to the majority of Aquaria’s population, who were commoners themselves. It seemed like a strategic move at the time. His father, the Emperor, was known for his peculiar love for equality and would occasionally volunteer in villages, much to his dismay. Rin had believed marrying you would show his alignment with his father’s baffling… values, and would increase his chances of becoming the next ruler.
But no. His darn prodigy of a brother had bested him once again. Sae was better at everything: swordplay, horse riding, diplomacy, even winning nobles’ hearts. And now, his brother had not only fallen in love with his fiancée, a dumb commoner from the slums that he had chosen to boost his image, but also managed to make her fall heads over heels for him as well.
If that hadn’t infuriated him enough, he despised how his father wore that sickeningly proud smile on his face as he clapped his hands together, and how the couples were cheering and twirling like morons on the floor. While he stood stiff and awkward in the corner, insides seething in mixed emotions, hearing your stupid giggles and his brother’s irritatingly sweet reassurances of a better life with him. Sae had taken everything away from him, and it felt like salt being rubbed into an open wound.
But Rin hated his older brother, and he hated you too.
So on the night of your wedding, the chambermaid in your room let out a blood-curdling shriek, her face as pale as the moonlight that shone through the window.
Cruel streaks of mulberry and plum bruises painted the delicate canvas of your neck. The once-pure white of your nightgown now blemished with spreading stains of deep cherryrose dye called blood, seeping through the fabric and into the silken sheets beneath.
A severed porcelain horse’s head lay propped beside the body with vacant eyes, and scattered across the carpet were shattered remnants of a pearl necklace.
“But Do not be Fooled, One Shall Not Bloom,”
A dagger, its handle carved from true blue sapphire, was loosely wrapped between cold, limp fingers of a lifeless corpse sprawled across a river of red.
“For This, Will Lead to One’s Gentle Doom.”
© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !
#౨ৎ — vivi writes.#i just realized the love development is so bad#i'm gonna cry#but i'm too lazy to change it sorry#bllk#blue lock#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#itoshi sae#sae itoshi#itoshi sae x reader#itoshi sae x you#itoshi sae x y/n#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi x you#sae itoshi x y/n#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin#rin itoshi#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#whoops forgot to add the tragedy & angst tag
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i don't know what to do
First of all, stay alive.
Second of all, be fucking obnoxious. Do not let this unqueer you. Hiding and moderating didn't do shit so go absolutely feral. They think you shouldn't even exist? Fuck it, fisting is SFW now and rotate through a new unpronounceable neopronoun every time someone even slightly misgenders you. They want you to fucking die so live each day like it's your last and stop giving a shit.
Third of all, STAY ALIVE, DO NOT ACTUALLY DIE, specifically do not do it to yourself, ever. You will be okay. And if they want to murder you let them do it with their own shitty little hands, not yours.
Anyway. Take a deep breath and realize that we don't know how bad things are actually going to get. These people are terrifying but they are NOT smart. They have spent the past four years brooding and scheming and making it look like they were coming up with some kind of evil master plan that will actually be effective christofascism this time, but they're still monstrously incompetent. Everyone who was present during the first Trump regime who actually knew how to run anything at all has defected and left. True, they were also the people telling this fuckin nutcase not to nuke North Korea, but that is a level of apocalypse completely beyond any of our control like the fuckin sun exploding randomly, and always has been. Barring random armageddon, it is entirely possible these losers will trip over their own shoelaces trying to actually legislate you out of existence.
Honestly their first priority is probably blowing up the entire economy by putting tariffs on China and closing the border with Mexico. The price of eggs and smartphones are about to get ridiculous, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs, and all of this is going to suck but it very well may suck so much that they'll just forget to ban HRT.
Keep in mind the incoherence of what happened on election night. Trump won and so did a bunch of red state abortion protections. The first trans person made it into Congress. The people voting for the Leopards Eating Faces Party also voted for minimum wage increases, so when the leopards start actually eating their faces it's not going to go over very well. This is probably less America's Hitler and more America's Brexit, where life is going to get noticeably shittier and everyone who voted for it is going to be very shocked and confused about why everything is shittier, but we also won't all die.
Whatever happens it is not above your ability to survive. Hold your friends close. Connect to your local community. If you don't have a local community or you're legitimately stuck someplace where you're the only queer person, then it's okay to run away and never look back, but find yourself your friends, your chosen family. Stick by each other.
Our love will help us break through.
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18+ - mdni
major warnings: rafe body shames reader, toxic relationship, very light smut, degradation/praise kink, body worship, fem receiving
⋆ ★ in which your toxic boyfriend scare you straight.
It was that damn skirt--you know, the one--the one that Rafe claimed to show your ass cheeks to all the men on Kildare Island--"babe it's like an early saint patty's day for all the men on Kildare" Rafe told you--yeah, that skirt.
Rafe had told you to burn it. You laughed when he first suggested it, but when you noticed your boyfriend wasn't laughing, you realized he wasn't kidding.
You never really planned to burn the skirt (obviously, you wouldn't have been in this situation if you had done so.) You thought if you hid the skirt in the back of your closet for a few months, just until Rafe forgot about this particular skirt, then you could slowly start wearing it again. Obviously, you had thought wrong.
Your phone had been blowing up--all your girlfriends were texting and calling to see if you were okay because everyone and their mama saw when Rafe angrily walked up to you and your girlfriends having brunch at the Country Club--out of thin air--and snatched you by the arm and started screaming at you about how much of a dirty slut you were and how much of attention whore you must be, and then everyone--including their mama--saw Rafe grab you by the wrist and drag you to his car.
If everyone didn't know any better, they would have thought it was a live kidnapping.
But everyone in Kildare knows that this is Rafe Fucking Cameron we're talking about. Your boyfriend could get away with anything, and everyone would bat an eye, say like murder, for instance.
You hadn't known why Rafe was so angry at you; anything could have happened,--you could've looked at Topper the wrong way, or "accidentally" touched Kelce's hand--or sucked JJ Maybank off out of spite (which may or may not have been a true accusation), so it could've been anything.
Come to find out, it was the skirt that Rafe was so damn pissed about--the skirt that showed your ass to not just all the men in Kildare--but all the women, too--that's what Rafe had said this time on that drive home.
"Did you see the way your friend Steph was looking at you, I swear she wanted to suck your clit off, y/n." His voice was chill-toned, but you knew he was angry.
"You're fucking delusional! Rafe." you spat, your arms crossed with your feet dangling out of the car window.
Then suddenly, it got super quiet, and then the car stopped at a red light, and then Rafe turned his head to you, and looked you square in the eyes and said:
"No, I think you're the delusional one."
You pinched your face together because something about this insult hurt. It was the fact that he looked you directly in your eyes and called you out of your mind, and then proceeded to say to you:
"I mean, your ass is just way too fat for that type of shit." a boyish smirk on his lips.
The light had turned green, and Rafe sped off.
"I thought you liked how fat my ass was?" you asked.
"I do baby, don't get me wrong, but let's admit it, you're a little bit too chubby for a skirt like that, don't you think? I mean, of course, I like the way your ass is--I love it--it's just that most people don't like the way that type of shit looks on girls like you."
The look of pure curiosity on Rafe's face suggested this was a true statement, and it was a fact that you were the wrong candidate to be wearing the clothes you were wearing.
Your insecurities about your body suddenly exploded from the deepest parts of your brain--all the shit you'd been trying to hide since you started dating the Kook King, yeah, that.
You were stunned--too shocked to even speak--because this was very low of Rafe. This was even low for you because you weren't afraid to throw gut-wrenching comebacks at Rafe either, which showed how well you both know each other.
It was fucked up how it made your clit throb thinking of how well Rafe had known you--to go as low as going for your body issues to actually hurt your feelings.
I guess when you get accused of being a slut so many times, it just doesn't phase you.
Rafe had finally gotten to you. You decided to burn the skirt once you returned to Tanny Hill--and maybe a few more of your clothes too. The situation would have ended here if it hadn't been for stupid Bill Dumpty, the grounds maintenance guy.
If Bill Dumpty didn't wave at you and compliment you on how lovely you looked, and if you didn't wave at him back and tell him "Why, thank you, Mr Dumpty! You don't look too bad yourself!" you joked, then you wouldn't be forced to look at your naked body in bathroom vanity held by Rafe's taut grip. At the same time, he said vile things about your body--oh, and about how much of a slut you are--which does seem to phase you this time.
Tears had run down the globs of your cheeks, your eyes, and lips just as glossy as your face, yet your boyfriend had shown no mercy to you.
" "You don't look too bad yourself!" " Rafe had mimicked you. "And--and you expect me to believe that you aren't cheating on me? Do you really think I'm that stupid?"
And as you cried, being forced to stare at your body in the mirror, you had tried to cover yourself because everything was all too much--your stupid skirt, your stupid body, and the way Rafe only ever made you feel worse about one thing to another.
"Don't try to cover yourself, look at how much a filthy slut you are, you want men to ogle you so fucking much, ogle your fucking self first!"
It was when you started to cry—ugly cry—that Rafe realized that his plan to scare you straight into getting rid of that skirt once and for all had gone too far.
And the little insecurity Rafe thought you had about yourself was more extensive than he thought.
Rafe had immediately sought into protective boyfriend mode (yeah, he knew he was a shitty boyfriend at times, but he knew how to treat you right.)
Instantly, Rafe had hosted you up on the celluloid skin-- the shiny surface making the hairs on your body prick, and then Rafe's mouth was attaching itself to your nipple while his fingers started flicking the other one.
You were still crying at this point, but you couldn't help but let out a little mewl and the sensation of Rafe's tongue lapping at your pricked bud.
"I know baby, I'm sorry." Rafe mumbled into your plush skin--almost as if he was apologizing to your body directly, his lips going to one shoulder blade to the other, to travel down your belly, and his hands palming your ass and giving them a nice firm squeeze.
"You know how I can get." Rafe now told you, his body slotted right between your gapped legs and his fingers cradled around your jaw--the jagged material of his jeans had been catching onto your clit periodically.
"I can just get so paranoid--I don't know why." He said against your lips, and he kept kissing your lips until the both of you couldn't breath anymore--honeslty tho, Rafe was just stalling, because he hadn't want to hear any thing out your mouth--he didn't want to already kick a man while he's down--Rafe already felt bad enough.
Suddenly, Rafe had found himself leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, unto your sternum, and down onto your belly, and eventually, Rafe had found himself making love to your clit.
"Fuck, you're so perfect. You're so fucking gorgeous." he groaned into you. You hadn't said anything--the only thing to muster out of your mouth being a whimper to moan-- because, again, you were too stunned at the way Rafe had completely done a 180--not like you were complaining, though, you'd like the way Rafe's saliva was coating your little bean right now.
"Look at this pretty cunt, it's already so fucking wet for me." Rafe had slowly said, his pointer finger protruding the walls of your slit, and slightly parting your cunt open--the cool air pierced your skin.
"I'm sorry, baby." Rafe had said, slowly getting on his knees and getting distracted by pecking your inner thigh before going back to pressing small kisses and kitty licking your cunt.
"I promise," Kiss.
"I will never," Kiss.
"Make my girl cry like that again, you hear me?" Kiss, which you both knew was a lie, but the way Rafe started full-on making out with your cunt--tongue kissing it in all--didn't give you any time to object to your feelings.
"Fuckkk." you whined, placing your hand on top of his buzzed head. "Ray--I need you inside of me."
Rafe took a break from your cunt, eyes so fucking soft, and lips glossed in your slick.
"You know I want to give you what you want baby--I want to give you the fucking world--" Rafe kissed your clit once more before saying:
"But you have to promise to do one thing for me."
You nodded your head quickly, and Rafe squeezed the inside of your thigh.
"You have to promise that you'll never ever leave me."
Obviously, this was a promise you planned to never break.
a/n: AHHH, YOU MADE IT TO THE END!! Thank you for reading. Don't be shy to tell me your thoughts! I love hearing your opinions!!! 🫶🏾 Also, I just wanted to remind you all that I in no way condone the behavior in this fanfiction! And if you or anyone you know are in a relationship that I depicted, don't be afraid to reach out to the DV hotline!
#crookedteethed#fanfiction#rafe cameron#fem reader#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut#drew starkey#the obx#toxic! reader#toxic rafe cameron#toxic rafe smut#toxicex!rafe#possessive rafe cameron#obx fanfiction#obx#drew starkey fanfiction#drew starkey smut#toxic!rafe#queer#drew starkey x reader#rafe outer banks#dark! rafe cameron x reader#the outer banks
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Hi, I loved your se-mi x reader and was wondering if you could do a no-eul one where the fem reader is a player and she kind of tries to protect them during the games?
Yesss! We NEED more fics about our favorite murderous guard :D
Warnings: Mildly Obsessive No-eul
Guard No-eul x FEM! Player Reader
No-eul has always felt a protective pull towards you. It stemmed from when she saw you in the very first game, a type of feeling that curled around her heart and blazed fiercely in her chest.
After all, you were such a pretty little thing.
She couldn't stand watching you suffer through the games as you fought to survive. Whenever she noticed your shaky legs, or the way your lips twisted as you held back a cry, she would always tighten her fists and snarl into her mask.
You didn't deserve any of this.
No, no, no, you shouldn't have to fight at all. No-eul should just be allowed to whisk you away to somewhere safe. She didn't give a shit about the prize money; all that mattered was having you sheltered in her arms.
No-eul only wanted what was best for you, after all.
But...that couldn't happen. Aside from the task of rescuing you being infeasible in its own right, she would also have to plan an escape and have some mode of transportation to leave the hidden island and return to the sturdy shore.
And besides, the risk of you getting hurt was all too high. It wasn't worth it.
So, instead, No-eul decided to give you gentle nudges in the games.
They weren't much, usually just stemming from her overlooking a small, crucial error, but it was enough to ensure your survival.
Until she found another plan, that would have to do.
—
You tried not to cry as you stumbled along the steady rhythm of the doll’s voice. The metallic stench of blood invaded your nostrils, and you swore you could even taste it on your lips.
Even now, you could still remember Mi-na’s lifeless corpse on the floor, and the others that followed.
Gi-hun’s reminder rang clear in your mind, repeating over and over again until you thought your brain would burst.
“If you move; you die!”
At first, you thought he was just some crazed lunatic too high on some unknown drug. But, even then, the way his eyes glared at everyone told some small part of you that he was being serious.
And then Mi-na died. A crisp, clear gunshot rang right next to you before she folded onto the ground. The noise had shocked you, seeing as you were right next to her and really didn’t fucking expect someonr to actually die in Red Light Green Light of all games. You remember stumbling back—it was just a miniscule amount of movement, but still enough to be noticeable.
The other players stared at you, wide eyed. And, you knew by the way sympathy had sparked in their irises, that you were done for.
You had closed your eyes, chin trembling as the first of tears fell from your face, and waited for a bullet that would shoot through your skull.
But…it never came.
A few moments had passed, and you were still unharmed.
An unsteady gasp fell from your lips as you felt a fragile, flighty sense of hope bloom in your heart. Were you really going to be spared? Did that movement not really count?
The next time the doll sang, it sounded like the heavenly voices of angels.
The next few rounds passed by achingly slowly. By now, you had decided to stop just seconds before the doll would turn its gaze to you, as an extra precautionary measure.
You didn’t want another close call like that again.
All around you, people of all ages fell down like flies. Even the slightest of movements got them shot, and you watched as one by one the life slowly faded from their eyes.
And, all the while, your mind was racing with one singular thought: Why were you spared?
–
As the timer reached zero, No-eul smirked. She squinted into the day scope, fingers dancing along the trigger.
She couldn’t believe it. Not only had you survived, but she got away with not shooting you too.
“011, what’s gotten you so happy?”
No-eul turned around, startled. Her fingers slipped, accidentally sending a stray bullet whirring past the intended target. The man screamed, tears spilling from his eyes as he begged for mercy.
How annoying.
Another triangle masked guard sat beside her. He chuckled, looking up from his gun lazily as he propped one elbow on his lap. When No-eul didn’t respond, the man made a flicking motion, urging her to speak.
“Come on, 011, whenever you’re on sniping duty for Red Light Green Light you’re always huffing and shit. Always so serious. So, why are you chuckling today?”
No-eul sighed, though she still couldn’t stop the blush that appeared on her cheeks.
“It was nothing, 013. Stop pestering me and go back to work,” She deadpanned at last. Before he could respond and fire back with a creatively stupid insult, No-eul gazed back into the magnifying scope and started shooting.
No-eul didn’t want anyone else focusing on you. You were hers and hers alone.
—
As the games passed by one by one, you grew more and more concerned. Really, you shouldn’t even be alive right now.
You laid in your bed, a frown on your lips. During each and every one of the games, you had done something that should’ve gotten you disqualified. In Gonggi, you had accidentally dropped a Jack at the very last second, but instead of making you start all over again, the guard posted at your side made an O.
Hell, you could’ve sworn the guard’s eyes were on you the entire time. There was no chance they didn’t see your slip up.
So why did they still let you go?
And then, it happened again in Mingle. During the last round, you were unable to find a partner in time on the carousel. In your fit of desperation, you had run into one of the rooms, only to find a very traumatized player already sitting inside.
And, what was even stranger was that no matter how hard someone pounded at your room, it wouldn’t budge. It was almost as if the door had locked itself before the timer ran out.
What the hell was going on? Do you really have a secret guardian angel protecting you, or were the game creators just that careless?
You paused, then punted the last part of that thought to the stratosphere.
If that were true, it wouldn’t align with the actions of the soldiers when it came to other players.
You remembered how stingy they were with the rules, and how a guard even disqualified a team’s toss because one of the men had accidentally stepped a little further than the boundary line.
Maybe your guardian angel would help you with your next game too and just hand your victory to you on a silver platter.
You groaned, covering your face with your hands as a heavy sigh escaped you.
Fuck, all of this thinking was making your head hurt.
In truth, you knew you really shouldn’t be so ungrateful at how you survived for this long. Hell, you were even willing to bet your entire life savings that most of the players would kill to have the luck you possessed now.
But… the fact that you’re still alive unnerved you. And at times, you even felt like you were being watched.
After a few more minutes of fruitlessly twisting and turning in your bed, you sighed.
You needed to go to the bathroom to freshen up.
Awkwardly, you pulled your blankets aside and climbed down your bunk bed. The room was deathly quiet, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through your body as you stared into the inky abyss surrounding you.
For fuck’s sake, get a grip! You’ve already survived literal death games; a little bit of darkness shouldn’t scare you, You chided yourself.
Shaking your head, you spread your arms out and slowly walked over to the bathroom.
The triangle guard on the other side stared at you blankly when you asked them to open the door. You blushed, running a hand along your neck as you started spouting out some nonsense on how your stomach hurt and you really needed to go.
When you had almost considered giving up, the door slid open.
“A-ah. Thank you!” You squeaked, and hurried in.
The guard froze, their shoulders stilling. Then, they nodded, before turning back to their station.
The second you entered the bathrooms, it almost felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.
Signing for what felt like the umpteenth time, you walked over to the sink and splashed water onto your face.
The cold liquid was like a blessing to your sweaty face.
You smiled into your reflection.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
And then you heard footsteps approaching.
—
After making sure no one was watching her, No-eul strided into the bathroom, a confident smirk on her face. In the still quiet of the room, she could hear her own heartbeat reverberating around her eardrums.
Finally, she was able to be alone with you.
When she opened the door, it took all her willpower not to pounce at you.
You looked so…adorable in there alone, with water still clinging to your chin. Oh, No-eul just wanted to gobble you up.
You backed away, and No-eul could see the familiar look of fear on your face. You were scared. Of her.
She tsked. She would not let that stand.
“Why are you looking so scared, honey?” No-eul purred. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her hand retrieved a key from her pocket, and she used it to lock the door.
You swallowed, arms instinctively crossed around your chest.
“F-forgive me, miss, but that is a little hard to believe when you just locked the door. So that it’s just us. Alone.”
That last part was barely audible, even in the quiet night.
No-eul’s smirk grew wider.
“Awwwe, would me taking my mask off help with that, love?”
Your cheeks turned a dark auburn at the mere suggestion, and you doubled back. As she reached for her mask, you tried to stop her.
“Isn’t that against the rules? Won’t you…get in trouble?” You ask, genuine concern lacing your words.
No-eul laughed softly, shaking her head.
“I’ve already broken the rules by just talking to you, baby,” She tilted her head, closing the distance between you two. “What’s one more?”
Your throat bobbed up and down. You looked like you were about to argue, but didn’t.
“If that’s what you want, miss,” You mumbled at last, gaze turning to the floor.
No-eul laughed again.
She knew she made the right choice in sparing you.
She unclasped the straps to her mask.
—
Fuck.
Fuck.
The guard in front of you was taking her mask off. And she looked so fucking hot.
She already had a hot enough voice. Her face card was enough to kill you.
You know what, maybe you didn’t mind dying if this was her face. You would be leaving the Earth with your little gay heart doing backflips.
Unconsciously, you took a hesitant step forward.
The woman smiled, and extended her hand.
“Do you like what you see, love?”
You nodded, unable to speak.
She hummed approvingly, reaching to caress your face gently with her hand.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this, baby. Fuck, you look so precious like this, I could just eat you up.”
The way she enunciated her words made you whimper uncontrollably. This close, you could see every little detail in her face. There was a fresh cut on her cheek, and pretty little dimples littering her mouth. Her lips were plump, but a little chapped.
You wondered how sweet her mouth would taste.
Wait, what?
For fuck’s sake, you literally just met the woman! And she was a guard! You couldn’t possibly be swooning at her already!
But, as you looked at her again, your mind couldn’t help but wander. Would she pin you to the wall and kiss you roughly? Or would she be gentler in her approaches?
“Were you the one who was watching me?” You asked at last, turning to meet her gaze.
Something flashed in her eyes. Something predatory.
“My, my, did you catch on at last?” The guard cooed, hands moving to wrap themselves around your waist. “I supposed the truth would have to get out eventually.”
She pushed you so that your face landed on her chest. Her scent filled your nostrils, comforting you in such a way that made you feel boneless.
Slowly, she leaned in, her breath tickling your ear as she whispered, “Did you realize I was protecting you too?”
As soon as you registered those words, you gasped.
In your surprise, you broke out of her embrace and gaped at her.
Already, you were beginning to miss her touch.
The guard pouted at you when you left her arms, but made no move to pull you back in.
“It was you?” You blurted out, still in shock.
A Cheshire grin danced on her lips.
“Of course, love. I was the one who didn’t shoot you in Red Light Green Light, I approved of your Gonggi performance, and I jammed that door for you.”
You freeze, not quite sure what to think. On one hand, the idea of a pink soldier protecting a player was so outlandish! A part of you didn’t believe her.
But…on the other hand, what she said lined up with the unusualness following you. It made sense that, if they chose to, a guard sparing you could be the difference between life and death.
All that left you was one, burning question.
“Why?”
The woman’s nostrils flared, and an unreadable expression adorned her face. She stepped towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“It’s because I couldn’t let you die, love.”
She paused.
“Do you remember how you looked during the first game? You were so scared, so small. I wanted to protect you.”
Her eyes grew feverish.
“I only want what’s best for you, baby.”
Your heart thundered.
What the hell?
“But, we don’t know each other! I’ve never met you in my life—“
“Oh, but that doesn’t matter, sweetie,” The guard purred, running a finger along your cheek. “We can take our time getting to know each other later. When you’re safe from the games.”
Blood was roaring in your ears. You knew you were supposed to feel scared at her reaction, but something primal inside you relished in it.
Seemingly noticing your shift in demeanor, the woman leaned in close and kissed you chastely on the forehead.
Obsessively, she hugged you once again, though this time her embrace was tighter.
“Would you like that baby? Be taken care of by me? You wouldn’t have to ever be worried again.”
She said the word in between kisses, peppering your face but never touching your lips.
“We would be so happy together.”
Her hands wandered, one pressing against the back of your head while the other rested on your waist.
Despite yourself, you leaned into her touch and wrapped your arms around her. You soaked in her attention, in how desperate she seemed to want to protect you.
You liked the feeling of being loved.
The next time she leaned down to kiss you, you purposefully angled your face so that your lips connected.
The guard gasped softly, but didn’t pull away.
In fact, she deepened the kiss.
You moan softly, opening your mouth and letting her tongue explore it.
Mindlessly, she lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around her waist.
When the two of you parted for air, a string of spit connected your lips.
Mesmerized, you brought a finger to your face.
“I guess you really are my guardian angel,” You mumbled.
The woman only smiled again, and pinched your cheek.
“The name’s No-eul, by the way.”
A/N: Hahaha I stayed up so late writing this ;__:. There actually will be a part two to this! I was planning on writing it all today but I genuinely don’t think I can get it all out without it being utter trash 😭
Please let me know if you liked it! I live for your comments.
[Im going to collapse onto my bed now]
#squid game fanfic#squid game spoilers#squid game#no-eul x reader#Guard 011 x reader#Ask answered#My fics#i am so tired save me
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Snitches the cat and his favorite bat
I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.
EDIT
The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!
Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.
Word count is 1053.
Tumblr reference
masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics
“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”
“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”
Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.
Wait, what?
“You fucked this up.”
His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?
He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.
“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.
The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”
He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.
“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.
Uh- what now?
Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!
‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.
He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!
The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.
“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!
“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”
Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!
The window burst in.
Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-
Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.
Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-
He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.
“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”
Danny loved him.
The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.
Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.
Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.
“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”
“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.
The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”
“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”
Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.
“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.
“Not that fugly thing.”
Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.
“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”
“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.
That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.
“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.
He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.
Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?
“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”
The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”
Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”
That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”
Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!
Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”
“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.
Robin and Danny both growled that time.
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Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson One: Slick Silicone
(aka the one with the pocket pussy)
Summary:
What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot.
And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 17,200
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.
Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.
Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn’t understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer ‘honey’ (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn’t keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.
This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning’ about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent’ (it’s more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer’s hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting’ Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.
Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss’; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy’, 'baby’, 'pretty boy’, 'dumb baby’; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it’s controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer’s hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that’s it. There is descriptions of aftercare!
A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it’s interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it’s worth the pay-off imo.
...
Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day.
Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer.
You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t.
Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with.
“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain.
“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.”
“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was.
“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.”
For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found.
Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing.
You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside.
“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?”
Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you.
You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell.
It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch.
“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”
You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in.
“Ugh, fine.” You said.
You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made.
Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out.
Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips.
“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound.
Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag.
“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?”
You looked up at Reid with awe.
For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you.
But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about.
Your insides tingled with glee at this realization.
Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction.
“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag.
“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?”
This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head.
You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell.
You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion.
“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again.
Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you.
“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?”
You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this.
“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered.
There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.
It was something you found entirely endearing.
“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark.
Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you.
“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.”
Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true.
“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.”
Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this.
“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid.
“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -”
“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.”
Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features.
“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.”
As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did.
“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence.
He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question.
You held back a giggle.
“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered.
“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips.
“It’s a sex toy.” You told him.
His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed.
“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?”
Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features.
“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood.
“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over.
“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!”
“I wore a glove, Reid!”
…
Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed.
The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies.
Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved.
On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if.
You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it.
You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day.
…
Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment.
He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for.
When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense.
Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina.
(“Or an anus, of course.”)
Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about.
It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men.
(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.)
For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form.
A pocket pussy.
You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory.
Yes, he was a virgin.
He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.)
He had been touched by a woman before, but only once.
After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.)
Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none.
But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself.
He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one.
Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation.
His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.)
And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult.
One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you.
The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him.
He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind.
…
You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning.
There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked.
You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie.
You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels.
Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted.
You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass.
It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it.
You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself.
You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him.
Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office.
“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading.
“Traffic was hell.” You fired back.
“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.”
Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it.
“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath.
He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office.
You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer.
You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case.
“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?”
“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.”
It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day.
You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer.
You denied it.
Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad.
By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face.
“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you.
“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?”
You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind.
“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said.
You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for?
“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked.
“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands.
“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled.
Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy.
“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact.
Both of you knew what this meant.
For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company.
What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it.
“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.”
He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work.
Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life.
You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother.
“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile.
He smiled back at you fondly.
“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.”
“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?”
You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else.
“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files.
…
You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer.
A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment.
One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense.
He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you.
Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time.
You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him.
It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up.
He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard.
You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke.
“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly.
“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant.
He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back.
You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry.
“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise.
You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly.
“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.”
You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position?
“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him.
Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order.
He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking.
“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.”
Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy.
“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.”
These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine.
There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you.
When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was.
You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him.
Oh, but you did.
You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for.
“Spencer,” You called out his name gently.
This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm.
“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you.
He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there.
“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-”
He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it.
“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him.
You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now.
“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat.
He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps.
“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced.
He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious.
You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin.
You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect.
“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.”
Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about.
But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body.
So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy.
Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was.
Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts.
“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.”
It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand.
“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.”
You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize.
You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off.
You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more.
There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it.
That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need.
What he did next nearly sent you into orbit.
He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you.
But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time.
When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace.
“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”
“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.”
The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried.
Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock.
You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him.
“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.”
You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future?
The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy.
“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous.
“Of course.” You nodded.
You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you.
“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?”
He paused for a moment, clearing his throat.
“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet.
Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him?
You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that.
Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going.
“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.”
The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him.
The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction.
“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you.
Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different.
He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you.
“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was.
You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things.
“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”
The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you.
It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off.
Intense want flared up of you.
The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did.
“Spencer,”
You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest.
“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?”
Spencer nodded vigorously at this.
“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?”
You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm.
You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command.
You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules.
“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.”
“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?”
You decided to tackle his questions one at a time.
“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this.
You then continued your explanation.
“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.”
Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all.
“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’…” You took the time to find the right words to explain it.
Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this.
“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words.
“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.”
For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled.
You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic.
He easily understood what you meant.
“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.”
“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him.
Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant.
These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh.
“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.”
“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?”
You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him.
Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer.
“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.”
You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’.
“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on.
His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this.
“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.”
Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you.
“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?”
“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him.
If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word.
You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk.
“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?”
“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.”
Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority.
He nodded.
“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words.
You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now.
These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.”
You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day.
“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?”
“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.”
This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved.
“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule.
“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet.
Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it.
You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him.
“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.”
You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy.
When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’.
“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.
He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact.
“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask.
“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first.
“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.”
“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness.
“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.”
You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles.
You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement.
“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?”
Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this.
“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.”
Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration.
Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions.
When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table.
It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home.
You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage.
You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this.
He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off.
He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you.
But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said.
“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand.
“My - my belt?” He asked.
Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules.
You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat.
“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.”
Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.
When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks.
“Spencer,”
You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction.
“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders.
He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why.
You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen.
He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement.
“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.”
He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down.
A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside.
You had to marvel at it.
You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day.
Spencer caught you staring, of course.
He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you.
He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-
“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.”
Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules.
“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment.
“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair.
He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him.
You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch.
“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.”
To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it.
He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you.
You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back.
It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you.
You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement.
Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it.
“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.”
Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe.
“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists.
“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again.
You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him.
He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state.
Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin.
You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question.
“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him.
Instinctively for him, there was only one answer.
“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.”
The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him.
“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight.
Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing.
You were excited to finally use it on Spencer.
Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy.
“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,”
Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time.
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him.
You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand.
You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside.
“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock.
It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs.
“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand.
The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close.
You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears.
You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.)
“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word.
You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute.
“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say.
“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.”
Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him.
“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly.
“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable.
“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.”
You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used.
Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands.
You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him.
“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully.
Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization.
He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy.
There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently.
It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how��deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak.
“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic.
He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments.
“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight.
“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?”
He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him.
It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders.
You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon.
“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.”
Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move.
You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture.
With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort.
“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.”
“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again.
“Please, Miss.”
When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him.
You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation.
Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock.
His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life.
“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!”
You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head.
You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear.
“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!”
You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink.
“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.”
“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness.
“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate. “I - I need it.”
You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.
“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.”
He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along.
“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words.
“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips.
“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father.
“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.”
“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again.
You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy.
“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked.
“Yes!” He easily replied.
“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask.
“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped.
Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact.
“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled.
Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to.
“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?”
“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”
He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him.
But that thought left your head completely with his next words.
“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!”
Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm.
This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy.
Everything was so wet.
It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate.
“God!” He choked out. “Please!”
He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow.
“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness.
Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you.
“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?”
“Please!” He sobbed.
Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it.
“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.”
“Anything!” He easily declared.
“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him.
It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying.
And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words.
“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.”
“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.”
You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak.
You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time.
“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!”
“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?”
Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response.
You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done.
“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.”
He only inflated your ego with his next words.
“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!”
It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be.
You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath.
“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him.
And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one.
It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips.
You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit.
So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand.
The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive.
His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath.
It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible.
He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else.
Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him.
His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe.
You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses.
You loved those glasses even more now.
You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something.
“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.”
“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.”
Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down.
You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later.
You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long.
“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.”
He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was.
After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you.
“What - what about you?” He asked.
Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time.
“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?”
He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words.
“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly.
“Of course you can, baby.”
You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink.
You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal.
You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf.
You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question.
“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?”
You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care.
“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?”
You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress.
His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed.
“I don’t mind.” He told you.
You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing.
“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it.
Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.”
You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead.
You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side.
If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you.
You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress.
“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”
...
Keep Reading Here - Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.
#sundrop writes#spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction
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the forgotten girl (2)
posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)
Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player.
“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room.
“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said.
“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room.
“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy.
“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!”
“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before.
“Kei, come on they don’t know.”
“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before.
Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends.
Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all.
“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in.
“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice.
“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?”
“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.”
“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?”
“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”
“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”
“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.”
Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world.
Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning.
The morning that would change things.
#alexia x reader#fcb femení#woso fanfics#mapi león#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso community#ingrid engen#keira walsh x lucy bronze#lucy bronze x reader#lucy bronze#keira walsh x reader#keira walsh#claudia pina#alexia putellas fanfic#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#alexia putellas imagine
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The Straw Hats (+Ace) with you being injury prone
Featuring: Zoro x Reader, Luffy x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Usopp x Reader, Ace x Reader
Summary - you get hurt very easily. waking up with random bruises, tripping over your own feet, walking into walls, etc. and your boyfriend is extremely concerned.
Warnings - like one swear word
A/N: im super clumsy and VERY injury prone, so i thought this might be fun to write. writing this with ice on a bump on my head :))))
ZORO
Zoro tends to get murderous when he spots an injury or even the smallest cut on you. He is immediately ready to tear up whatever caused it, or slice the person responsible into ribbons. So you try to hide it as best you can, especially since you are especially clumsy and getting hurt is your biggest skill. Got a cut or bruise? You're wearing long pants and long-sleeved shirts. Bump on your head? Beanie or hat.
Sometimes, though, your body forgets you're trying to conceal your clumsiness and it will blatantly expose you, such as right now.
"OW! DAMN IT!"
You had been trying to sneak up on Zoro, who was laying out on deck - you guessed it - taking another nap. One of his eyes opened at the sudden cry, landing on your figure nearby. You were hopping around on one foot, clutching your knee with both hands, your expression pained. The swordsman sat up.
"How did you hurt your knee?"
Indeed, there was nothing around for you to hit your knee on - a precaution taken by Nami and Chopper, the only two who knew about your unfortunate tendency to get hurt.
"I...I kicked it."
"How did you-" Zoro was absolutely stunned. He was an idiot, but even he knew there's no way you could kick your own knee. It was physically impossible. He got up to come an inspect it.
"I'm fine!" You promised, setting your foot down - unfortunately for you, it twisted and took you down with it. "OW!"
Zoro's jaw dropped. It took a hot minute for him to react, too shocked to fully comprehend what had just happened. When he got over it he carefully lifted you up, taking you back to his hammock so he could take care of you. He had turned his back for a second before he heard a loud thud.
You groaned.
"HOW DID YOU FALL OFF THE HAMMOCK?!"
He was immediately rushing over to pick you up again, keeping you in his arms this time. He was so worried, the poor guy, eyes grazing over your body in concern. You didn't look physically hurt, but he could tell you were in pain. Mostly from the impacts of your falls. From then on, he's your personal bodyguard, having to physically move some things so you wouldn't knock against them, or move you so you wouldn't hit anything. As for the hammock...he always made sure to get on first so he could hold you and keep you from rolling off.
Good luck convincing him to ever let you walk anywhere - or do anything - alone again.
LUFFY
Luffy is a menace. Far from being concerned about you when you would trip or bump your head, this damn idiot has the nerve to burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter.
"You're funny, (Name)!"
And he doesn't mean to hurt or upset you, it's just the way he is. He's seen you on the battlefield, mercilessly crushing whoever got in your way, so he doesn't think much of these little accidents. He thinks you're not hurt, that you're completely fine and doing it on purpose to - yes this is his reason - entertain him. After all, why else would such a ruthless fighter just flop and fall around for no reason?
"Luffy, I don't think she did that on purpose..." Usopp tried to tell the captain, who was trying to convince you to fall again.
You frowned, trying your best to not get upset with your dumbass boyfriend, and before you could stop yourself, your body already obliged. You turned and walked right into the mast - face smashing against the hard wood. You groaned and stumbled back, your nose hurting and eyes glossing over. You fell onto your butt, earning another round of obnoxious laughter from Luffy.
"DON'T JUST SIT THERE AND LAUGH!" Sanji knocked Luffy so hard on his head that the captain fell to the floor, hitting the deck face-first. Then the cook came to help you up.
"Thanks," you mumbled, feeling so embarrassed.
It was then that Luffy noticed your tears, and he sprung to his feet - completely unaffected by Sanji's attack. He came up to you and grabbed your arms, making you look at him.
"(Name), what's wrong?"
"I'm fine," you smiled, shaking off his concern. You made to walk away, but you once again turned and slammed into the mast.
"CAN WE MOVE THIS DAMN THING?!"
"But that's...that's always been there?" Usopp said-asked meekly.
You shot him a glare so withering that he screamed and cowered behind Luffy, who just laughed and wrapped his arms around you, extending them until he had you completely encased in a cocoon made by his arms.
"There, now you can't get hurt!"
SANJI
Sanji, like Zoro, tends to overreact when you get hurt. And by overreact, I mean he dropkicks everyone and everything that dared to cause you harm. So you try to hide your injuries from your overly concerned boyfriend, opting to cover them with layers. Sanji found this a bit odd, but otherwise didn't press. But slowly he started to notice things he hadn't before.
"My love, watch that-"
You bumped into the wall, sending your book crashing onto your face.
"-wall."
He rushed over to check if you were okay, laughing a little when you pulled the book away from your face to smile at him sheepishly.
"I'm fine."
Seconds after you said that disaster struck again, with you tripping over your own feet - with absolutely nothing being in the way - and falling over. Sanji's eyes widened and he quickly helped you back up.
"You are very clumsy, (Name)," he chuckled, not knowing that was exactly it.
"I am," you agreed, hiding your embarrassed blush behind your book.
Before he could say anything else, you took off and tried to quickly walk away before he could notice the growing bruise on your knee. That failed, as you hadn't taken three steps before you crashed into one of your oncoming crewmates, and fell backwards.
"Mosshead! Why did you push (Name)!" Sanji yelled, coming over looking ready to throw hands.
"As if I would do that!" The swordsman snapped back.
"Well she's on the floor isn't she?!"
"She bumped into me!"
"How dare you blame (Name) you big oaf!"
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"
You quickly stood up and got in between them, averting the total destruction of the Going Merry.
"He's right, Sanji. I bumped into him. I told you I'm clumsy."
You didn't have to say more before you were suddenly scooped up into the cook's arms, hearts in his eyes with his next words.
"Well then I'll just carry you everywhere my love!"
USOPP
Generally speaking, Usopp is a lot more alert than most of the crew. So it's no surprise that he picked up on your clumsiness early on, but he didn't think it was anything to worry about since it was just small stuff. But the moment you walked in one day with a bag of ice on your head, unsuccessfully trying to conceal it under a hat, Usopp grew alarmed.
"(Name), is everything okay?" Your concerned boyfriend asked you, stopping you from lifting something up. "Your head-"
"Is fine," you finished with a smile, kissing his cheek. "But thanks babe."
You walked away before he could insist on you telling him what was going on. But unfortunately for you, your two left feet gave you away and you stumbled forward, dropping the box and then tumbling over it. Usopp cried out in alarm and ran to your side, helping you up.
"(Name)!" He fussed over you. "Okay that's it, what's going on?"
"Should have known I couldn't fool the brave Captain Usopp," you smiled, trying to divert his attention.
"Well, I-" He stopped laughing confidently when he realised what you were doing, "Hey! You can't do that! Tell me, I'm worried."
You sighed, "I'm just clumsy, that's all. And injury prone."
"That...explains a lot..."
You growled and smacked him, "Is that all you can say?!"
"S-sorry!" He apologised quickly, rubbing his head. He was about to take you to Chopper for nothing other than he was worried you were hurt internally, when you suddenly tripped and fell on top of him.
He groaned, "Clumsy is an understatement."
ACE
He notices right away. There was no way it was normal for someone to walk into a wall that they knew was there, or to trip on a flat surface, or bonk their head on a shelf that they knew was over their heads - multiple times. But somehow, you managed to do all of that and more, and poor Ace was sick with worry about your physical health.
"OW! FUCK!"
Ace's head shot up from the bed, "What happened?!"
"I hit my head again..."
"Same shelf?"
"...Same shelf."
He chuckled before getting up and going over to you, bringing you into his strong arms. He placed a kiss on your head, replacing your hand rubbing your sore spot with his hand.
Later on, you were trying to bring him something, when you stubbed your toe on the bedframe and tumbled onto the bed, startling the poor man out of his nap.
"(Name)!" He figured you must have tripped, but he was not prepared for your tears. "Where does it hurt?"
"My toe..." You pouted. "I hit my food on the bed."
He face-palmed. It takes a lot for Ace of all people to face-palm, so embarrassment creeped up on you. Before you could protest, he pulled you on top of him and made you lay on his chest.
"I swear, you're a walking safety hazard," he teased. "Looks like I can't let you leave the room now."
He meant it. And if you did leave, it was with him. He was just too worried about not being around when you hurt yourself, which was valid because he was always your source of comfort.
Later...
"What happened to your eye?"
"I...fell...out of the bed..."
"...."
You are on the verge of making Ace cry.
#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro x you#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x you#sanji x reader#monkey d luffy#luffy x you#luffy x reader#usopp#usopp x reader#usopp x you#portgas d ace#ace x you#ace x reader#one piece#op#op x reader#op x you
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