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servicpop · 7 months ago

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family trip adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader

ⓘ established relationship au

Through the excessive amount of visiting each other's houses almost everyday of the week, it was only natural that your families would grow close.

It wasn't a surprise when you received a pretty little invitation by Adrien to come join him and his family on a small trip to the coast. Since you had nothing better to do that weekend, you gladly accepted. Adrien brought up his family's van and offered you a ride in which you also agreed.

You never thought to ask Adrien about his family, assuming it was a topic he didn't particularly like as he never talked about them anyways. So seeing two little girls and a young boy that were the splitting image of Adrien if not his parents. They were a rather rowdy bunch as Adrien's mother rounded up the little troublemakers into the 2nd row of the van while her husband was busy packing things into the trunk.

“Why didn't you tell me you had siblings? And so many,” You question, turning to Adrien who seemed to be on his last straw trying to get his siblings to calm down.

“Didn't think I seemed like an only child,” he quipped.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes when Adrien's mother walks up to you. She's gorgeous, straight nut brown hair, short and slim like a doe. It's strikingly different from Adrien's rough appearance.

“Oh dear, it seems like there's only one chair left,” Mrs Castillo's voice is like a hydrating balm to the soul as she places a hand on her cheek.

You open your mouth to propose a solution — as the responsible person you are — but you're acutely cut off by prince charming himself.

“He can sit on my lap, no problem.” You can see the relieved expression Adrien's mother carries before she walks off into the passenger's side of the van, leaving you absolutely speechless.

“Since when did I agree to that?” You sigh, but it's ultimately the only solution you can think of on the spot.

Adrien slips into the back seat first, getting himself comfortable before patting his thighs. There's a sour expression on your face as you climb in, settling yourself on Adrien's lap. He slips on the seatbelt from behind you and slides his arms around your waist, holding you close.

“Don't worry, I'll be your seatbelt.”

“I wasn't worrying.”

The ride was anything but smooth. You were profoundly aware of every single movement Adrien made underneath you, the soft thumping of his heart rattled against his chest every time you leaned back to rest.

Not to mention his demon-like siblings turning around to ask you bizarre questions.

“Did Adrien kidnap you?” “Do you think you can do a cartwheel and then the splits because I can.” “How much money did he pay you to be here?”

You couldn't even answer one question before another was interjected. Even Adrien seemed annoyed by this constant noise.

“Stop bothering him,” His tone caught you off-guard; it was harsh and grounded like he truly meant it. It didn't seem like the kids understood the message until Adrien swatted at them to turn around.

He sighed, leaning back into the car seat, pulling you down with him.

“They can be a damn handful sometimes,” He exhaled, letting his forehead rest on your shoulder.

The soft gesture, the heat radiating off his face to your shoulder, and his forearms locked tightly around your waist made something in your heart ache ever so slightly. Your fingers hesitantly move to rest on Adrien's arm, patting it gently like you're consoling him.

A few more hours pass by and the kids have already fallen asleep, not a sign of liveliness from the three. Your own eyelids start to grow heavy until the van drives over a rather large speed bump. From the scratchy sound of tires crunching along gravel, you can pretty much assume that the road is going to be filled with dents and bumps.

A barely audible groan comes out from Adrien's throat and you freeze up. Did you hurt him? Your movements are cautious as you turn your torso to look back at him, trying not to move so much so you don't hurt him further.

“Shit, are you okay?” Your eyes narrow and your nose crinkles in concern, Adrien has his head lowered before he lifts it up to meet your gaze.

The hands planted firmly around your body tighten and he pulls you back up against him.

“Just— Stay still,” he grunts out, forehead returning back to your shoulder.

You shuffle just back to get comfortable just enough that you practically grind against the tent growing in Adrien's pants. It takes you a moment to realize what was happening. A small gasp escapes your lips as you grip the flesh on his arm, keeping your head dipped.

The van drives over another bump and you feel it now. Adrien's hand clasps around your shoulder blade and he muffles a strangled grunt again. Your body grows hotter by the second, heat pooling in your lower half.

Now you were both hard.

“Ah shit, prez, you're gonna kill me,” He lets out a dry chuckle, hips twitching from underneath you. You crave it just as bad as you're rocking your body against his in a steady pace. There were too many people in the van, it was way too dangerous to fix the little problem.

“Wait it out,” You whisper, patting his arm once more like trying to calm down a dog.

He doesn't respond, instead, he grumbles into your shoulder.

The van finally comes to a stop. The engine whirrs off and the kids are hustled out of the doors before you and Adrien climb out behind them. There's a satisfying crackle and pop of your joints as you stretch, letting the good ol' sunlight kiss your deprived skin.

Getting the bags out of the trunk wasn't much work since you packed only for 3 days so you rolled your suitcase into the lobby alongside Adrien's family. A small notification pops up on your screen, a check-in from your family which you happily reply to.

Since it was such a large gathering, the family had split into different rooms with you and Adrien sharing one.

The reception hands Adrien's mother the keycard to each room and she hands them out, passing one to Adrien.

You turn your attention to him to see the guy already racing his way towards you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you past his family. You can hear a brief exchange of words between him and his dad, picking up on the lousy excuse that you're 'tired.'

Through the lobby, past the pools, around the bar and to your shared room. Adrien smashes the key card against the reader and he slams the door open.

“Fucking finally,” he sighs, shutting the door behind himself and burying his hands into the back of your head. He's tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling it back before latching his mouth onto yours.

He's practically welding himself to you, devouring your lips in a heated kiss. He pulls back to look into your eyes before he goes in for a second serving. Adrien guides you towards the bedroom, lips never leaving yours as he gently pushes you back onto the bed.

“You know how hard it was to keep myself in line?” Adrien chuckled against your cheek, his hands beginning to descend your body, tracing all the way down to the waistband of your pants.

“That's your job baby, not mine.”

You have half the heart to complain when he's pulling off your pants, lifting your hips off the bed to help him slide your clothes off. He pulls both your legs up and over his shoulders before kneeling onto the ground beside the bed.

“Adrien,” you call out his name almost breathlessly, fingers finding purchase in his thick hair.

He responds with a small hum that causes his throat to vibrate ever so slightly. Adrien's hands are coiled around your thighs, palms laying flat on your lower stomach as he leans in to kiss your inner thigh.

His lips tickle your skin and you can't help but jerk your leg from the sensation—which you're prevented from doing so by his arms holding your legs hostage.

Warmth envelops your lower half as Adrien wraps his mouth around your cock. His breath is hot against your trembling skin and he forces the most obscene noises out his throat. Slick slurping sounds mixed with groans and sighs like he's been starved a hearty meal.

The hand on your stomach slides up, pushing your shirt further so he could feel the flat plane of your torso. Your squirms and thigh twitches are held down by his built arms—it honestly seems like he trains just for this.

“Could do this for days.” its hard to tell what he's saying since all his words and muffled and gurgled.

He pulls off for one second to fish out lubricant from the hotel drawers, applying a hefty amount to his fingers before returning back to you.

Sliding back down to his knees, he prods a finger to your winking hole, teasing and pushing past that ring of muscle and pulling it back out just to watch it shiver from the loss.

“Pervert,” You grumble under your breath.

“Who's the one who asked me out?”

You shoot Adrien an irked glare but the annoyance fades from your face the moment he wraps his mouth around your dick once more. Your eyes flutter as he finally pushes that finger in, sliding in a second to slowly scissor you loose.

He's more skilled than you with his tongue and you can't help but wonder what his past experiences were like; you dismiss that thought as quick as it came.

You look down at him from half-closed eyes, watching as he hollows his cheeks to take in more. You're practically whining and thrashing around in his grip. He's buried his face to the hilt, nose brushing against your pelvic bone. Its almost a ticklish sensation, feeling him breathe against your skin.

His fingers press and pressure your walls, pushing them apart to ready you for his cock. He's rhythmically pushing his fingers deeper, curling at the apex before pulling them back, repeating that process in a steady pace. You can feel them hit your prostate, sending jolts straight to your dick.

It's too much for you to handle; your hips are rising to meet the bob of his head, back arching off the satin white sheets.

“Wait— Adrien pull off I don't want you to—” Your words are all diced up, spoken in short gasps as you try to pry his head off from your aching cock.

You succeed—for a bit—before he's dipping all the way down again, holding your hips steady as he forces you down his throat. He's fucking loving it too, moaning with your dick in his mouth as his fingers speed up, pistioning two fingers into your hole.

Your hips raise even more and he encourages it.

His name comes spilling out of your mouth like a mantra as your muscles spasm from the intensity of your orgasm. Adrien keeps sucking like he's trying to wring every last drop from you. You feel his tongue swirl over your slit, lapping up your sweet fluids.

He slides himself off of you, letting you rest on the bed for a bit as he tilts his head back. His Adam's apple bobs while he swallows, and he lowers his head back down to smile at you.

“Don't tell me you're tired already, I haven't even taken off my pants yet,” he tsks at you, shaking his head disapprovingly while he joins you on the bed. You're still dazed from how hard you just came but a warm hand pulls you back down to earth.

Adrien's hand grazes over your cheek delicately as he hovers over you, caging you in with two arms on either side of your head.

“Just relax prez, I'll do all the work, 'kay?” He takes your little grunt as an 'okay,' rolling you onto your stomach and guiding your head to rest on the pillow. It smells so distinctly of freshly cleaned hotel sheets with a hint of citrus and bleach that you take a moment to close your eyes and enjoy the scent.

You can feel the mattress dip on either sides of your hips as he plants his knees there. He leans his head down to peek at your blissed-out face, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. You can feel his hands run down the curve of your spine, running over your lower back before he settles them on your waist.

“Are you relaxed?” He hums, leisurely rolling his hips against you. His tone is so sultry it causes your muscles to visibly relax under the siren call of his voice.

A hand moves down to where your leg meets the curve of your ass, parting the round flesh for him to comfortably slide in. He had stretched you out enough that it slipped in with ease, hugged by your warm velvet walls.

He sucks in air between his teeth while he steadily rocks his body back and forth, tuning into the wet squelching sound with each thrust.

“Feel it yet?” He chuckles, poking fun at the fact that you've been too dazed to respond to him. You nod against the pillow, your hair spilling over the silk case like spilt water. A small, shaky exhale leaves your nose as he begins to hasten his thrusts. It's almost bruising as he slams himself against your tailbone—you know you'll be whining about the soreness tomorrow morning.

Your voice gradually gets louder as he pounds you into the bed, fingers curled up in the sheets as he slams his pelvis against your ass. You can feel him throb from inside you, twitching and ready.

A particularly deep thrust has you crying out into the pillow but you can't squirm, not when Adrien is pinning you down with his body weight. He's pushing against your prostate over and over again and you can feel that familiar feeling of an orgasm creeping up on you.

“Fuck, Adrien,” You hiccup, muffled by the fluff of the pillow, eyes flickering like you're struggling to keep them open.

“Yeah baby?” You can hear the smirk in his tone as he keeps at the rough pace. He's hitting all the right spots and your dick appreciates. You feel a hand dip under your neck, cupping the curve of your throat as Adrien lifts your head up to face him.

He moves in to kiss you, soft and gentle as he wraps his arms around your whole body, holding you in a tight grip while continuously slamming himself deeper into you. Your loud cries and moans are enveloped by Adrien's mouth, swallowed up.

“You gonna cum? Feels so good you just can't hold it in?” He cooes, chuckling against your swollen lips as he feels you tremble underneath him. You swear stars enter your vision and your eyes roll back, muscles jerking and tensing as you let out a string of whimpers while your orgasm comes crashing onto you.

Adrien buries himself to the hilt before emptying out all he's worth, coating your insides with his dna. He groans as he pulls out halfway just to watch his semen flood out of your hole, still tightly clenched around his cock.

He sits up, raking his fingers through his tousled hair and sighs with satisfaction like drinking an ice cold soda in a hot summer day.

“You tired prez?” He asks, smiling down at you. His eyes narrow and concern settles in when you don't move or answer him.

“Baby?” He quickly leans back down to look at your face only to see your peaceful expression, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He lets out a relieved chuckle before pulling out, sliding off the bed to grab a towel.

He figured he'd get you some fruit to replenish your energy, pulling on some of his clothes after cleaning you up and getting you comfortable in the bed. He makes his way to the buffet, piling all favorite fruits and sweets onto his plate before he spots his family.

“Where's your boyfriend?” Adrien's mother asks, also holding a plate of food. Seemed like the two of you missed lunch.

“He's uh—” Adrien tenses knowing that he can't just openly admit to his mother that he fucked the daylights out of you.

“Taking a nap.”

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #sub male reader #x bottom male reader #x male reader #x male reader smut #amab reader #oc x male reader #mlm nsft #uke male reader #oc x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 11 months ago

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tw - non/con, unbalanced power dynamics, obsessive/possessive behavior, and manipulation.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's the best security you could possibly ask for. You've been told that hybrids aren't very good for protection, that you'd be better off just getting a regular dog or, better yet, not living alone in one of the sketchier neighborhoods of a notoriously unsafe city, but those people haven't meant your Kento. Stern, stoic, and loyal - he keeps you safe, helps around the house, and doesn't need (or want, for that matter) half of the attention a normal dog would need. Really, it's more like having a personal bodyguard than a pet. You're sure he'd prefer if it if you treated him more like the former than the latter, too.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who'd practically be human if it wasn't for the adorably pointed ears on top of his head, the wiry tail at the base of his spine, and the dull canines you sometimes catch a glimpse of during one of his rare smiles. It's clear that he doesn't consider himself to be like most hybrids, so you do your best to treat him like a roommate - giving him his space, making sure he has his privacy, constantly resisting the urge to run your hands through his hair and apologizing profusely when you inevitably fail. He claims he doesn't mind, not if it's you, but you've seen the way his lips curl when strangers so much as approach him, how he rolls his eyes when he sees other hybrids sitting on their owners' laps or begging for treats. You're not eager to get on his bad side, even if you do occasionally catch him slipping into your bed in the middle of the night.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's mistaken for your boyfriend at least once a week. It's your own fault, really. He likes to walk you to work, run errands while you're away, all the things a stay-at-home boyfriend would usually do if he were as loving and as attentive as Nanami. It's always embarrassing, even if all you have to do is nod to one of his less-than-human features to clear up the misunderstanding. Still, it happens so often, and you're not proud to admit that from time to time, you don't have the energy to do anything but smile and nod when your elderly neighbor compliments the 'hunk of a man' living with you.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who's less naturally protective than you think he is. He's concerned with your safety, of course, but that's not a privilege that extends to the male coworkers he catches with a hand on the small of your back, to the friends who drag you out of your shared apartment and don't bring you back until the early hours of the morning. He spends more nights than he's proud of standing outside of your bedroom door, listening for any signs of life, waiting for an intruder, or a nightmare - any excuse to cross that unspoken boundary. It'd be more practical to spend his nights on the foot of your bed like every other drooling, filthy mutt hybrid, but that's not the kind of relationship he wants to have with you. Not if you have to think of him as a dog to get there.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who has to fuck his fist three times a day to offset his humiliating instincts. He tried for complete abstinence at first, not to think about you in that context at all, but there's only so many hours of his day he can spend with his knot pressed into his stomach, his cock twitching every time you bend over or brush against him. Still, it's far from a long-term solution. How could it be, when he still cums untouched every time you scratch the base of his ears?

Guard Dog!Nanami, who volunteers to take care of your household chores so he'll have an excuse to root through your laundry while you're away. He's surprised you haven't noticed just how much of your underwear mysteriously vanishes with every load, but even if you were less oblivious, he'd rather you be suspicious of him than ever find the hoard of tattered, stained, ruined fabric he keeps underneath his mattress.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who knows this can't go on for much longer. He loves you, and he respects you, and he knows that you'll never really see him as anything more than a pet, but he's can't seem to bring himself to see you as a master. And, when he's walking you home late at night after yet another unplanned bar crawl, when he's listening to you whine half-coherently about how hard it is to live with a hybrid that's so close to human, he may pass a darkened alleyway and listen to the long-buried, animalistic mind urging Nanami to claim what belongs to him.

Guard Dog!Nanami, who knows that you'll never make a very good master and he'll never make a very good pet. But, that doesn't mean he can't hope that you'll both be better off after your roles are reversed.

#hybrid au #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere nanami kento #nanami kento x reader

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velvetvisionsaurora · 15 days ago

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Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.

18+ only- Minors do not enter

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Wolves' Den

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed nine as you returned to the drawing room with Hongjoong. The conversation between the men paused, all eyes turning to assess your expressions, searching for signs of reconciliation or further hostility.

You kept your face carefully blank, taking your seat once more. If they were hoping for a miraculous change of heart during your garden chat, they were about to be sorely disappointed.

"Have you two reached an understanding?" your father asked, his tone suggesting he expected the answer to be yes.

"We understand each other perfectly," you replied coolly, not looking at Hongjoong. "We always have."

Mr. Kim cleared his throat. "Excellent. Then perhaps we can finalize the remaining details."

Your father nodded. "As we discussed, the wedding will take place at the Kim estate. Traditional ceremony, followed by a reception for our closest associates."

"And the honeymoon?" Mr. Kim inquired.

"Two weeks in Sicily," your father replied. "At the family villa."

You bit back a bitter laugh. Of course they'd already planned your honeymoon. Why not your entire future while they were at it?

"And in the meantime," your father continued, his eyes shifting to you, "Y/n will be staying at the Kim estate to become better acquainted with her future husband and his... organization."

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I beg your pardon?"

Your father's expression hardened slightly. "It's been decided, Y/n. You'll be moving to the Kim estate tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You leaned forward, dropping all pretense of composure. "You're shipping me off to live with strangers for three months?"

"They're hardly strangers," your father countered. "You've known Hongjoong and his associates since childhood."

"Known and been abandoned by," you corrected sharply. "And you expect me to just... what? Pack up and move in with them? Like some sort of trial run before the main event?"

"It's a common practice for arranged marriages in our circles," Seonghwa interjected smoothly. "It allows the bride to acclimate to her new family and household before the wedding."

You turned your glare on him. "Thank you for the cultural lesson, Mr. Park. I'm well aware of our 'traditions.' I'm simply questioning why this particular one is necessary in my case."

"Because," your father said firmly, "the Ricci estate is no longer secure."

That stopped you cold. "What do you mean?"

A look passed between your father and Mr. Kim—a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine.

"The Russo family has been making moves," your father said finally. "We've intercepted information suggesting they may target you to get to me."

"So instead of increasing security here, you're sending me away?" you asked incredulously.

"The ATEEZ compound is the most secure location in the city," Hongjoong said, speaking up for the first time since you'd returned from the garden. "No one gets in or out without our knowledge."

You turned to him slowly. "ATEEZ?"

"Our organization," he replied, a hint of pride coloring his tone. "Separate from our family businesses, though allied. The eight of us formed it five years ago."

"How entrepreneurial of you," you said sarcastically. "And this compound—who exactly will be there?"

Hongjoong met your gaze steadily. "Myself. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Wooyoung. And Jongho."

You couldn't help the sound that escaped you—something between a laugh and a growl. "All eight of you. Together. How convenient."

"Each has their role," Hongjoong continued, undeterred by your reaction. "We've built something... significant."

"I'm sure you have," you said, your voice dripping venom. "One big happy family. And now you want to add me to your collection."

"Y/n," your father warned.

But you were beyond caring about decorum. "So I'm to be a prisoner in a house full of men who couldn't even be bothered to say goodbye seven years ago? Is that it?"

The words hung in the air, and for a split second, you caught something flash across Hongjoong's face—guilt, perhaps, or regret. Seonghwa's expression remained carefully neutral, but you noticed his hand tighten imperceptibly on the arm of his chair.

"You'll be a guest," Seonghwa corrected. "Protected and respected."

"Forgive me if I don't find that particularly reassuring coming from you," you said, Seonghwa's parting words from seven years ago echoing in your mind: "Find some nice civilian boy to marry, Y/n. Someone more... your speed."

"Enough," your father said sharply. "This isn't a negotiation, Y/n. It's been decided. You'll go with Hongjoong tomorrow and stay at the ATEEZ compound until the wedding. End of discussion."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. You sat back in your chair, fury building inside you like a gathering storm. Trapped. You were going to be trapped with all eight of them, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from the memories and the pain they represented.

"If that's settled," Mr. Kim said, rising to his feet, "we should be going. We have much to prepare for Y/n's arrival."

Your father stood as well, extending his hand. "We'll speak tomorrow before she leaves."

As the men exchanged handshakes and platitudes, you remained seated, your mind racing. Three months in the lions' den—no, the wolves' den. Because that's what they were, weren't they? A pack of wolves who had once welcomed you as one of their own, only to turn on you when it suited them.

"Y/n," your father's voice broke through your thoughts. "Say goodbye to our guests."

You rose mechanically, your smile tight and false. "Mr. Kim, it was a pleasure. Mr. Park, always illuminating. Hongjoong... until tomorrow, I suppose."

Hongjoong inclined his head slightly. "I'll send a car at noon."

"How thoughtful," you replied. "I'll be sure to pack light. Wouldn't want to impose."

His eyes narrowed slightly at your tone, but he said nothing more. As they turned to leave, you caught Seonghwa watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought you saw something like regret in his gaze, but it was gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

Once the door closed behind them, you rounded on your father. "How could you do this to me?"

"I'm protecting you," he said firmly. "The ATEEZ compound is a fortress. You'll be safer there than anywhere else."

"With the same men who abandoned me without a word? Who left me wondering for years what I'd done wrong? That's your idea of protection?"

"We felt sorry for you because your mom was sick, but she's gone now. Maybe it's time you learned to be alone." Wooyoung's last words to you floated through your mind, making your chest tighten with renewed pain.

Your father sighed heavily, suddenly looking older than his years. "There are things you don't understand, Y/n."

"Then explain them to me!" you demanded. "Tell me why my best friends disappeared from my life overnight. Tell me why you're suddenly so eager to marry me off to one of them."

A flicker of something—guilt? discomfort?—passed across your father's face before he carefully composed his features again.

He moved to the bar, pouring himself another drink. "Some secrets aren't mine to tell."

"Convenient excuse," you spat. "Everyone has secrets they can't share, decisions they can't explain. Am I the only one expected to accept everything blindly?"

Your father turned to face you, his expression grave. "In our world, ignorance can be a form of protection. Sometimes, not knowing is the safest position to be in."

"I stopped being safe the day I was born a Ricci," you countered. "At least give me the dignity of knowing what I'm walking into."

For a moment, something like indecision flickered across your father's face. Then he downed his drink in one swift motion. "Pack your things, Y/n. The decision is made."

You stared at him in disbelief, then turned on your heel and stormed out of the room. Your heels echoed against the marble floor as you climbed the stairs to your bedroom, each step fueled by rage and frustration.

Once inside, you slammed the door behind you with enough force to rattle the paintings on the walls. For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, fighting the urge to scream or break something—or everything.

Instead, you moved to your closet and yanked out a suitcase, throwing it onto the bed with unnecessary force. The thought of living under the same roof as all eight of them—eating breakfast across from Yunho's too-bright smile after he'd once told you to "Stop crying, it's embarrassing," passing San in the hallway who had called you a "lost puppy," hearing Wooyoung's distinctive laugh echoing through the rooms after he'd said you were "exhausting and needy"—it sent a confusing mix of emotions coursing through you. Anger, yes. Resentment, absolutely. But beneath that, something else—a dangerous flutter of anticipation that you refused to acknowledge.

You began throwing clothes into the suitcase haphazardly, muttering curses under your breath. "Stupid, arrogant, presumptuous men, thinking they can just—"

A knock at your door interrupted your tirade. "What?" you snapped.

Paolo's voice came through the door. "Miss Y/n, your father asked me to tell you that security protocols have been updated in light of tomorrow's move. No one leaves the house tonight without an escort."

"Fine," you called back. "Is that all?"

A pause. "He also said to remind you that the ATEEZ organization has a... reputation. They're not the boys you once knew."

You stilled, a silk blouse dangling from your fingers. "What kind of reputation?"

"They're effective," Paolo said simply. "Ruthless when necessary. But fair, by our standards."

Our standards. The standards of a world built on violence and power, where loyalty was currency and betrayal was punishable by death. A world where childhood friends could tell you that you were "not special" and that they'd been "just being polite all these years," then disappear without a trace.

"Thank you, Paolo," you said quietly. "Good night."

"Good night, Miss Y/n."

As his footsteps faded away, you sank onto the edge of your bed, the blouse forgotten in your lap. ATEEZ. You'd heard whispers of the name over the years—a new player in the city's underworld, methodical and disciplined in a way most organizations weren't. You'd never connected it to them, never imagined that the boys who had once sneaked you ice cream past your bedtime were now the men others in your world spoke of with wary respect.

You looked around your bedroom—the space that had been your sanctuary for years, the one place where you could pretend to be normal, where the weight of the Ricci name sometimes felt a little lighter. Tomorrow, you would leave it behind for a house full of ghosts from your past.

With renewed determination, you returned to your packing, this time with more care. If you were walking into the wolves' den, you'd be damned if you'd go unprepared.

As you folded a black evening dress—the kind that could double as armor in the right circumstances—you made yourself a promise. You wouldn't be the victim in this story. Not again. If they thought you were still that same trusting girl they'd left behind, they were about to learn how wrong they were.

The words that had haunted you for seven years—"You talk too much," "It's pathetic," "We've outgrown this phase of our lives," "Find your own life"—you would force them to eat every single one.

Hongjoong Kim might have agreed to marry you, and your father might have agreed to send you away, but that didn't mean you had to make it easy for any of them.

The game had changed, and this time, you would be the one setting the rules.

***

The morning arrived too quickly, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. You'd slept fitfully, dreams filled with shadows and fragments of memories—eight faces, eight voices, eight different kinds of betrayal.

By eleven, your bags were packed and waiting by the door. You'd chosen your outfit with deliberate care—black high-waisted trousers, a crimson silk blouse, and heels that added three dangerous inches to your height. Battle armor of a different kind.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

"Come in," you called, expecting your father with one final lecture about behavior and duty.

Instead, Paolo entered, carrying a small wooden box. His weathered face was solemn as he approached, setting the box on your dressing table.

"Your father is on a call," he said. "He asked me to see you off."

You nodded, unsurprised but still disappointed. "Of course he did."

Paolo's gaze softened. "Before you go, I have something for you." He gestured to the box. "It was your mother's."

Curious, you approached the box, running your fingers over the polished wood before lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, lay a pearl-handled pistol and an ornate dagger with an engraved hilt. Your breath caught in your throat.

"My mother's..." you whispered.

Paolo nodded. "The Beretta was a gift from your father on their wedding day. The knife was her grandfather's—Sicilian, from the old country." He reached in, lifting the pistol with careful hands. "She called this her insurance policy. Said a woman in our world should never be without options."

You took the weapon, feeling its weight—surprisingly light, perfectly balanced. Despite its delicate appearance, you knew it was as deadly as any of the more modern firearms in your father's collection.

"It's loaded," Paolo said quietly. "And the knife is sharp enough to slice through silk."

You looked up at him, understanding the message beneath his words. "Thank you, Paolo."

He inclined his head. "Your mother was fierce. You remind me of her more each day." His eyes met yours. "The ATEEZ boys—they're dangerous men now. But they were good boys once. I remember."

"People change," you said, carefully replacing the pistol in the box and closing the lid. Mingi's words echoed in your mind: "We're not the same people we were as kids, and honestly? Neither are you."

"Yes," Paolo agreed. "But not always completely." He lifted the box, handing it to you. "Hide these well. And remember—"

"A woman in our world should never be without options," you finished for him, tucking the box into your handbag.

A sad smile crossed his face. "May God go with you, little one."

You reached up, pressing a kiss to his weathered cheek. "Thank you for everything, Paolo."

He nodded once more, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused. "Your father loves you, Y/n. In his way."

"I know," you said softly. "In his way."

After he was gone, you stood alone in your bedroom for the last time, mentally saying goodbye to the sanctuary it had been. Then, squaring your shoulders, you picked up your handbag—now considerably heavier with your mother's "insurance policy"—and headed downstairs to meet the car that would take you to your new life.

* * *

The ATEEZ estate loomed before you like something from a gothic novel—a sprawling modern mansion of stone and glass, set behind imposing gates and surrounded by meticulously landscaped grounds. Security cameras tracked your arrival, and armed guards stood at strategic points along the perimeter.

As the car pulled up the circular driveway, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. Your mother's pistol and knife, now hidden in strategic places on your person, gave you a small measure of comfort.

The driver—a stoic man who hadn't spoken a word during the thirty-minute drive—opened your door. "Miss Ricci," he said with a slight bow. "Welcome to the ATEEZ compound."

You stepped out, surveying the fortress that would be your home for the next three months. "Charming," you murmured. "Does it come with a dungeon, or is that extra?"

The driver's expression didn't change as he retrieved your luggage from the trunk. "Mr. Kim and the others are waiting for you inside."

Before you could respond, the massive front doors swung open, and there they were—all eight of them, lined up in the entrance hall like a receiving line from your nightmares.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. Seven years collapsed into nothing as you took in their faces—so familiar yet so changed. Boys no longer, but men with edges hardened by whatever lives they'd led since leaving yours.

Hongjoong stood at the center, impeccably dressed in all black, his posture rigid. His last words to you hung in the air between you: "Did you really think this was real, Y/n? We have real futures to build now, and frankly... you don't fit into them."

Beside him, Seonghwa watched you with that same unreadable expression from the night before, the man who once told you to "find some nice civilian boy to marry."

Yunho, taller than you remembered, shifted his weight nervously, the same man who had once said, "Stop crying, Y/n. It's embarrassing."

Yeosang's face remained impassive, but his eyes never left yours—the quiet one who had cruelly told you that you "talk too much" and that they "used to draw straws to see who had to listen to you ramble."

San's lips curved in a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, the charmer who had dismissed you as "pathetic" and compared you to a "lost puppy."

Mingi stood slightly apart, his gaze so intense it was almost physical—the gentle soul who had become harsh enough to call you "clingy" and "desperate."

Wooyoung fidgeted, barely containing whatever energy coursed through him, the one whose words had cut deepest when he called you "exhausting and needy" and said they only tolerated you because they "felt sorry for you."

And Jongho, the youngest but somehow looking the most formidable, stood with arms crossed—the protector who had told you that you were "embarrassing yourself and your family" and to "have some dignity."

Eight men. Eight ghosts. Eight pieces of your past, standing before you in the flesh.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words and buried memories.

Then, like a dam breaking, Wooyoung bounded forward with a cry of "Y/n!" before anyone could stop him. He swept you into a crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around just as he had countless times when you were younger.

"You're finally here! I've been counting down the minutes! You look amazing—that red is totally your color—and your hair! I love what you've done with it!" His words tumbled out in a rush, his embrace warm and familiar, smelling of expensive cologne and something uniquely Wooyoung.

For one treacherous moment, you melted into the hug, your body remembering the comfort his arms had once provided. This was Wooyoung, your Wooyoung, who had once held you through the night after your mother's funeral, who had made you laugh even on your darkest days.

Then, just as quickly, another memory surfaced—Wooyoung's face, cold and distant, telling you that you were "exhausting" and that they "used to joke about how suffocating you were." The memory sent a chill through you, hardening your resolve.

You stiffened, planting your hands on his chest and shoving him away with enough force to make him stumble. "Touch me again without permission," you said icily, reaching into your jacket where the knife was hidden, "and I'll shoot you where you stand."

Rather than looking hurt or offended, Wooyoung's face split into a delighted grin. "There she is! Our fierce Y/n!" He turned to the others. "Didn't I tell you guys? Still the same spitfire!"

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong's voice cut through the air, sharp with warning. "Give her space."

Wooyoung pouted but stepped back, still grinning at you like you'd just shared an inside joke instead of threatening his life.

Your eyes swept over the rest of them, cataloging their reactions. Seonghwa's lips had thinned in disapproval—at Wooyoung's behavior or yours, you couldn't tell. Yunho looked caught between amusement and concern. Yeosang's expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had softened. San was openly smirking now. Jongho had unfolded his arms, his stance slightly more relaxed.

And Mingi... Mingi was looking at you with such naked longing that it felt like a physical blow. His eyes traced your face as if memorizing every detail, his expression so full of yearning and regret that for a moment, you felt your resolve waver. How could the same man who had called you "clingy" and "desperate" now look at you with such undisguised need?

You tore your gaze away, focusing instead on Hongjoong. "So, my dearly devoted fiancé," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "please show me to my cell. And I'd also make sure either the guns or bullets are hidden because if I find both, it will be a long night."

A muscle twitched in Hongjoong's jaw, but his expression remained controlled. "Your room is upstairs. Follow me."

You moved toward the staircase, deliberately brushing past the others without acknowledgment. As you passed Mingi, you felt him inhale sharply, as if capturing your scent.

"I'll have your bags brought up," Seonghwa said, his voice perfectly composed.

"How hospitable," you replied without looking back.

As you ascended the stairs beside Hongjoong, you could hear the murmur of voices below.

"Holy shit," San's voice drifted up. "She's even more beautiful than before."

"And deadlier," came Yeosang's quiet observation.

"That mouth on her though," Yunho added with a low whistle. "She's got more spirit than I remember."

"More sad," Mingi's solemn voice cut through the others. "Didn't you see her eyes? She's carrying ghosts."

There was a pause, then Wooyoung's distinctive laugh. "If she keeps being that mean to me, I might fall in love all over again."

"All of you, shut up," Jongho's deep voice commanded. "She can probably hear you."

You allowed yourself a small, bitter smile as you continued climbing. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them feel a fraction of the confusion and pain they'd inflicted on you.

Hongjoong remained silent beside you, leading you down a long hallway lined with modern art and subtle security cameras. Finally, he stopped before a door at the end of the corridor, producing a key.

"This will be your room," he said, unlocking the door and pushing it open. "You have your own bathroom and a small sitting area. The balcony overlooks the garden."

You stepped inside, taking in the spacious room with its elegant furnishings and muted color palette. It was beautiful, tasteful, and completely impersonal—like an upscale hotel suite.

"The key," you said, holding out your hand.

Hongjoong hesitated. "We don't typically lock doors here. The compound itself is secure."

"The key, Hongjoong," you insisted, remembering how he'd once told you that you were just "convenient when we were bored."

After a moment, he placed it in your palm. "Dinner is at seven in the main dining room. Seonghwa will show you the way."

"How thoughtful," you said flatly, closing your fingers around the key. "Anything else I should know about my incarceration?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "This isn't a prison, Y/n."

"No? Then I'm free to leave whenever I choose?"

"You know that's not possible," he said quietly. "Not with the Russo threat."

You laughed without humor. "Of course. Always some convenient reason why I have to do exactly as I'm told." You turned away from him, moving to the window. "You can go now."

You could feel him watching you, could almost hear the words he wasn't saying. Finally, he spoke.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, "this isn't how I imagined seeing you again."

You didn't turn around. "I'm sure it isn't. Your plans probably involved me being much more compliant and much less armed."

"Y/n—"

"Seven o'clock," you cut him off. "I'll be there. Now please leave."

The door closed quietly behind him. Only then did you allow your shoulders to sag, the weight of seeing all of them—of being seen by all of them—suddenly overwhelming.

You moved to the bed, sinking down onto its edge and pulling your mother's pistol from its hiding place. The pearl handle caught the light as you turned it in your hands, cool and solid and real when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

"Insurance policy," you whispered to yourself, echoing Paolo's words. Whatever game they were playing, whatever secrets they were keeping, you wouldn't be defenseless.

You thought of all the cruel words they had hurled at you seven years ago, words that had cut deeper than any knife could reach. Words like "pathetic," "embarrassing," "clingy," "exhausting," words that had made you question your worth, your place, your very self.

But now, sitting in the heart of their domain with your mother's pistol in your hand, you made yourself a new promise: they would never hurt you like that again.

Not this time.

Next>>

Taglist: @imagine-all-the-imagines @green-moon @thelordofshadows21 @yunyunrin @vinylphwoar @thuyting @mdurir @dachshunddame @ninjakitty15 @moonchild-stuff7 @stellmeiv @spenceatiny18 @herpoetryprincess @m00njinnie @starz-choisanii @ateezswonderland @mxnsxngie @purple-bell @awkward-fucking-thing @hecateslittlewitchling @pixie0627 @parkthothwa8 @hwa2tiny @s1ar4s @atinystay-xxx @moonxxlover @babymbbatinygirl @londonbridges01 @miracle-sol @killerwaifu @peachyplumsss

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sigh-tofm · 10 months ago

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if you have anxiety… (some 18+)

… price

- takes charge. understands how hard it is to be a functional human some days. removes all the unnecessary overthinking you do. breakfast? omelette. workout? yes, a run. dinner? steak, and he will do the hard part. you chop the veggies. movie? this cheesy romcom. sex? of course, you just lie back and let yourself get overwhelmed by his tongue. can’t do much overthinking when you barely remember your own name, can you? while you rest against the headboard in the afterglow and catch your breath, he fishes a magnesium pill from a bottle and makes you swallow it, holding a glass of water to your lips. ‘let’s calm that head down, baby.’

… kyle

- talks you down. he’s smooth and he knows it. when you run yourself in circles trying to find solutions to problems that only exist in your head, he has a way of breaking your head open and making you see the light with only a few soft sentences. he lets you ramble on and on about all the things that plague you until he eventually says something that catches you completely off guard and puts everything into a new perspective. suddenly you understand how it’s all connected and what previously felt like world-ending problems now seem like minor inconveniences, if that. he knows that making you putting your thoughts into words and talking about them with him is the best way to dismantle the thought patterns in your head. a simple afternoon walk with him is like a hundred hours in a therapist’s office. and of course you get a quickie on the sofa after.

… johnny

- helps you fight off the restlessness and other nervous symptoms. always catches the signs, your trembling hands and wavering glances, and tries to derail your trains of thought that he knows might cause a panic attack. his first method is always making you laugh, and his stupid jokes almost always do the trick. if that doesn’t work, he knows jumping jacks are a sure way to fire off the stress hormones and adrenaline building up inside you. and if you come home all frazzled, nerves fried after a day of stressful work tasks, impossible clients and rude coworkers, he makes sure to tire you out physically and mentally by way of eight different sex positions over the course of three and a half hours. you sleep long and well that night.

… simon

- is at your service. literally becomes like your service dog. when you’re out and about, you just need to hold on to his arm or put your hand in his pocket. he’ll take you where you need to go, you don’t need to worry about it. if the hustle and bustle of the world around gets to be too loud, he’ll put a heavy arm around your shoulders, literally grounding you. you can hold his large, scarred hand if you need something to focus on, running your fingers over the ridges and bumps on his skin. like any good service dog he creates space for you, simply by existing. no one bothers you when he’s around. if you fidget with the zipper on your jacket or pull on a strand of your hair, he knows before you even notice what you’re doing. he’ll gently redirect you, guiding your hand away from whatever it’s doing. if you’re at home, he’ll sometimes place it blatantly on his crotch instead, to really give you something to fidget with.

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poppitron360 · 5 days ago

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This moment is so SO impactful for a number of reasons.

In any other show, wearing a mask would be shown as something toxic that Hunter needed to move away from, and rejecting the mask would be a sign of him healing. Him using it would be considered a crutch, something he should look past and learn to be confident without. And while that’s good symbolism for his journey of healing, growth, and separation from his trauma… I like this a lot better for the messages it teaches.

Hunter doesn’t feel safe in this moment, and so Luz looks around and tries to find a solution that would make him more comfortable. And it helps! Tactically speaking it won’t actually do anything to hide their identity or protect their faces, but it makes Hunter less afraid. Needing to wear a kids halloween mask might seem silly and childish, but it isn’t played for laughs in the show and Hunter isn’t judged for it. Luz even wears a mask as well so he won’t be alone or feel self-conscious.

As much as being the Golden Guard hurt him, it’s what he’s used to and an identity he could feel confident in.

The message I took away most from the Owl House is that sometimes people need to do things differently in order to get the same results in a comfortable and safe way. This is shown everywhere. Luz uses glyphs and paper to do magic, Gus flies his staff in a different way, Eda takes her Elixir, Principal Bump uses his palisman to help see- and Hunter needs to wear a mask to help him feel confident enough to fight Belos.

Hunter finds things difficult, and so Luz offers a creative solution to accommodate his PTSD and make him feel safe.

This is a great metaphor for disabled and specifically neurodivergent people, and can be applied to things in the real world like mobility aids, medicine, and access arrangements. A kid shouldn’t be judged for needing extra time in an exam, or needing headphones or earplugs in loud spaces, or needing to wear certain clothes and do certain things to make them feel safe and confident.

It’s just such a great moment that didn’t necessarily need to be included to make the story work, but felt realistic for the characters. This scene felt so comforting for me as someone who has in the past worried about being judged and seeming childish and silly for needing accommodations, and has struggled with letting myself do things that make the world more accessible- and make me feel more safe.

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urstruly-ghst · 4 months ago

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the challenge - rook hunt !

in which the challenge you set out for is now in full swing (inspired by epic: the musical with the song, the challenge).

authors note: epic the musical my beloved. i love love love this request submitted by @padf-0-ot ! thank you for waiting; im sorry it took a while, im managing tho

requested ask !

cw: may not understand if you don't know the context of epic/the odyssey

rook hunt

wearing the crown was a heavy responsibility, it had been placed on you since you were born. it was what came to be with the blood you hone beneath your skin. however, that duty carried was always alleviated with rook by your side. he was the one who made your crown a secod thought, contrary to what you grew up with.

but, it soon occured to you it would be heavy on your head once more; rook hunt was lost in a mission, it was supposed to end quickly, but he didn't return. neither did his comrades. there was no word, no letter, not even a sign from any other kingdom. that worried you, that worried the kingdom. each one of your subjects looked at the empty throne beside you, sharing that worry and fear (or perhaps, they all share the glory of seeing you reign alone.)

each men rally up, their thoughts of ascending to the social ranks clouded their empathy. the suitors know how grievous it must be to be alone, holding onto the hope that rook was not dead, but they also seem not to care. there was no king, no one to share your burdens, surely you'd want company?

no matter their attempts to take the throne, you'd stall. it was an array of stalling, you used up every excuse you can try. first it was grief, second was the state was in a crisis, and now.... they've grown impatient. it has been years, yet the throne gets colder as the king fails to return or send a sign. will he ever return?

"i refuse!" you yell as the council all stare. it was you who had the power, why was the council allowing such arrangements to happen?they sat in front of you, the crown, and begged for you to marry a suitor.

how dare they ask that from you? after all your work to keep the crisis at bay, they repay you with a torturous task?

"your majesty, this is what would further benefit our kingdom. you have stalled long enough." the eldest council proclaimed as they showcased data and news from the kingdom. morale is low. especially after the storm that struck your shores.

you glare as you saw the undeniable problem and the solution was clear as day. you couldn't hold onto the thrown nor the crisis forever, but...

you had hope. rook hunt was out there, you could feel it in your bones. there was no way he'd be dead. the council looks at you, waiting on your next word, your plan.

"i have one more challenge. this is the last one. bring me to the armory." you say as you surrendered. but even if you surrendered, you wouldn't allow them, not even for a second, to think they had their wishes granted.

---

you glare as you held your husband's bow as the guards open the gates to your throne room. the suitors chattered amongst themselves but soon silenced as they saw you enter.

"this here is my husband's bow." you say as you raised the bow, it was sturdy, comically large, and a symbol of his prowess. "it has long snapped, but none can restring it. my challenge is this,"

you unveil the axes that were lined up, "whoever strings this bow, and shoot through these axes cleanly..." you hesitate, "will became the new king, my new husband"

"that's what those were for" one suitor said, "it doesn't make sense!" the other proclaimed

the mumurs were loud, each suitor boasting or complaining over the challenge, you glare at them as you see them scramble to get to the bow.

among the crowds was your husband, rook, who stood silent by the pillars. rook laughed at how gullible these men were to believe that they can even string the bow. it takes a wit of the hunt's to know how to string it, it was a family heirloom. it curved weirdly, deceiving those who do not know to string it properly.

but he watched, in amusement. it was all their efforts that made it a comedy. rook watched each suitor try and try as they struggled to even get the string on the end of the bow. rook watched as each suitor soon gave up on even the bow, feeling the dismay build up. in his ragged clothes, rook hid in the shadows noting every weakness and strengths of each man.

“such a shame, these men seem to lack the knowledge to know a deception” rook muttered in sadness as he circled around them. the last suitor dropped the bow and screamed in the room,

“screw this competition. don’t you see we’re being played?!” it was an outraged yell as they point at the throne room, as if they’re trying to yell at you for this competition. and by virtue, they were being played, rook can appreciate this from the man. At the very least, one man knew his queen’s wit.

as the suitors gather around feeling they’re now understanding the consequences of their foolish parade around the bow, rook swiftly takes the bow and strings it with ease. unknown to him, rook was being watched by the sidelines. you were there, seeing him in silence, not recognizing him and had your heart beat in anticipation as the bow was being strung.

thwack!

the arrow flew gracefully to the end, hitting the target on the wall. the chatter died down, as the riot that was bubbling over ended. the arrow stabbed firmly on the end of the target, it made the suitors shut up. rook revealed his identity by letting his hood and shadow go, revealing a disheveled man who’s eyes were tired but victorious.

“mon dieu! it was painful to watch this challenge be failed by my country’s men, it is a simple test of wit.” rook smiled as he waved the strung bow, and the men were confused, it looked so normal in the king’s hand.

“how?!” one yelled, the others were scrambling trying to see if this was a trick, did he hide the other bow? who was he? how dare he win the challenge!

“rook?” you whisper as you open the throne room, the light shining brightly.

“mon amour.” rook replied with a smile.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twst rook

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bluegekk0 · 7 months ago

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AU references for NKG and The Radiance! They both got new looks which I'm really happy with

Some lore below the cut, as usual

Grimm, once known as The Nightmare, was one of the two children of The Dream Lord, born soon before their father perished in a fight against The Shade Lord. As his final wish, they both inherited an equal chunk of his realm and were meant to rule it together. Grimm's sister, The Radiance was tasked with watching over the mortals’ dreams and be their guiding light in hopeless situations. The Nightmare’s role was to guard the mortals’ nightmares and help them overcome their fears.

Grimm was always the more rebellious of the two siblings. He would frequently pull pranks on his sister, and it was clear that he wasn't as interested in the godly matters as she was. But more than anything, he was naive. As he grew up, he believed he could leave Godhome to mingle with the mortals with no consequences, and he ignored the growing tension between him and The Radiance. As time went on, the two siblings grew more and more distant. The Radiance was dedicated to fulfilling her father’s wishes and preserving his legacy, while The Nightmare spent most of his time away from Godhome. While he did his duties and watched over their nightmares, he held no attachment to his father’s legacy, which infuriated The Radiance. She saw him as unworthy of the power given to them, and he responded to it with annoyance. He would continue with his mortal plane activities, seeing it as his playground.

The Radiance, on the other hand, was obsessed with living up to her father's legacy. She saw the old ways of the gods as the correct one, and thus she never created a physical form for herself. Her obsession eventually turned into paranoia, and she saw every disagreement with her brother as a sign that he may be conspiring against her.

Their disagreement culminated after The Radiance created the Moth Tribe - a tribe of bugs who would serve as her main way of reaching the mortals, capable of entering the Dream Realm with the use of a dream nail. To get back at his sister, Grimm decided to disturb the tribe, often interrupting their rituals and even inciting them to rebel against her and her stuck up ways. In his eyes, this was nothing more than a mere prank, he could not care less whether they would remain loyal to her. Unfortunately, as a result, some of them started doubting their creator, which infuriated The Radiance. She found out about her brother's scheming, and after he returned to Godhome, she attacked him without giving him a chance to explain himself, seeing his actions as a direct threat to her authority, and even as an attempt at obtaining complete power over their realm. Ultimately, Grimm lost the battle, caught off-guard by her sudden aggression, and was subsequently banished from Godhome and trapped him in his Nightmare Realm, now separated from Godhome.

Years passed, and The Radiance's influence over the mortals of Hallownest weakened. As it turned out, they were more drawn to beings they could actually see and touch, and by the time she realized her mistake, they all turned from her in favor of the two new rulers of Hallownest, The Pale King and The White Lady. Blinded by her rage and the fear of being forgotten, she retaliated with the terrible infection: a deadly mutation of the dream essence, which took over the minds of those affected and made them susceptible to her voice. Her rampage was temporarily halted by The Pale King, whose Pure Vessel absorbed the infection. Unfortunately, this solution did not last, and she eventually broke down the vessel to the point where they could not contain the infection anymore. Years later, she was defeated by another of Vyrm's offsprings, Ghost of Hallownest, who united the void to form The Shade Lord, ascended Godhome and overpowered her, ending the infection for good.

While Grimm eventually found a way to walk the mortal world with a physical body, his godly form remains in the Nightmare Tealm. The Radiance's eventual death squandered his only chance at reversing the seal which keeps him trapped, though with his new life in the mortal world, he does not care for it. His sister, meanwhile, will be remembered as a ruthless, self-absorbed god who met her end at the hands of the same being that once destroyed her father.

#gekko.art #feral pk au #grimm #nkg #radiance #hollow knight au #troupe master grimm #nightmare king grimm #the radiance #fpk au: designs #fpk au: references

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discordantwritings · 1 year ago

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Creative Cures (Mihawk x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, sex pollen trope (but it’s a devil fruit power), the inherent dubcon of sex pollen but the con is as con as it can get under the circumstances, intercrural sex, PiV sex, creampie, mild cumplay, semi public sex

WC: 3.3k

Summary: As a relatively high ranking Marine doctor you were in charge of Dracule Mihawk’s post mission check ups. Normally you don’t have to do anything- until he shows up sick.

The only solution both you and him can agree on is a little… unconventional

Notes: I (lovingly) blame @fanaticsnail for this. All of her lovely sex pollen fics pushed me over the edge to write this one so go check hers out. Go.

Tagging: @keiva1000

Most Marines didn’t like it when Mihawk had to come check in and give his after mission report in person. But you barely considered yourself a Marine anyways, always thinking of yourself as a doctor first before anything. A doctor who just so happened to be in charge of doing all of Mihawk’s post mission check ups.

Of course it took him a while to actually agree to do any sort of post mission work, but despite his generally sour attitude inside the Marines base he was never mean to you. Dismissive? Sure. Non-compliant with any medical advice you’d give? Yes. But that’s what you dealt with on a day to day basis. He was one of the few people you could have intelligent conversation with- he would listen to you and you would cherish the snippets of traveling stories you would get out of him.

Your check ups were never more than a handful of minutes, you had never seen him get more than a scratch, but he always let you run down your required checklist. Despite this you always cleared out half your day, just in case. So today, a day he was set to check in at your base, you sat patiently in your office until he was done talking with your superiors.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Until, finally, there was a frantic knock on your door before a frazzled looking cadet burst in. You immediately stand up and get serious- mass injuries were unfortunately commonplace for you to deal with and he had the scared look of someone who just saw a ship roll in half destroyed.

“Doctor-“

“How bad.”

“It’s Mihawk.”

That caught you entirely off guard and your stomach drops. “How bad?”

“We don’t know. He was giving his report and then he looked flushed and that’s when he ran out. Apparently he’s locked himself in some spare office and won’t come out.” He explains and you slowly get more and more concerned.

You quickly grab your bag and sling in over your shoulder, practically pushing the cadet out the door with you as you order him to show you where Mihawk is. It’s a quick jog down hallways and stairs but eventually you get to a door with two cadets on either side. One of your captains is leaning on the wall across from the door looking exasperated.

“The only thing he’s telling us is to leave him alone.” The captain explains, gesturing to the door.

You sigh and walk up to the door, rapping on it with your knuckles. “Mihawk, you’ve got everyone worried out here.”

A few seconds pass before you hear Mihawk’s voice, muffled from behind the steel door. “Doctor?”

“Everyone said you looked sick.” You explain.

There’s a long pause and you’re about to speak again before you hear his voice. “You all need to get out of here.”

You see the captain throw up his hands in your peripheral and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Turning your attention back to your fellow Marines you gesture down the hallway.

“Give me a few minutes alone with him.” You don’t need to tell them twice, and they eagerly take the relief.

You wait a few beats for them to clear out and then turn your attention back to the door. “Alright, it’s just us.”

“I thought I made it clear that all of you needed to leave me alone.” You can tell he’s close to the door, which you take as somewhat of a good sign.

“Look, if it’s something contagious I just need to know. If it’s something embarrassing I’m a doctor and I take confidentiality incredibly seriously.” There’s silence and you lean on the door. “Just let me help you.”

You hear him moving behind the door and then the heavy sound of the lock turning. You give him a few seconds before you enter, closing the door after yourself immediately.

All the lights are off, only the small amount of light through the high circular windows illuminating the space. It takes you a second to locate Mihawk but eventually you find him, shoulders hunched as he leans on an abandoned desk. It’s jarring to see his normally perfect posture gone and even in the low light you can see the intense flush over his face and exposed chest. You don’t need a thermometer to see that his temperature is dangerously high.

“What happened?” You don’t approach him, hoping the space gives him some comfort.

“It was-“ He breaks off as he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Some Devil Fruit user. Don’t know what the power was but I inhaled some smoke and then-“

He trails off and you know you’re probably in a bit over your head. Devil Fruit powers could be quite literally anything. You shove all that down though and hope your nervousness doesn’t show. “What are your symptoms?”

Mihawk shakes his head. “This was a mistake I shouldn’t have let you in you need to-“

“Mihawk I need you to tell me.” You’re unsure where this confidence is coming from, there’s not a world in which you would ever be in a position to tell a warlord what to do. But to your surprise, it works.

“I’ll kill you if you tell anyone.” He practically growls.

“You have my word.”

“Fine.” You see him shift and it looks like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. “I have a fever, I am experiencing some mental fog, and my senses seem to be heightened.”

It’s your years as a doctor that let you immediately know he’s holding something back. “And?”

His gaze darts up and he glares at you making your blood run ice cold. If looks could kill you would be a pile of viscera on the floor. Despite this, he does give you and answer.

“I am in an… unnatural state of arousal.”

Oh.

That would certainly explain a few things.

You let your doctor brain take over as you set your bag on the ground, opening it and looking through what you have. Medication wouldn’t help since the cause was a Devil Fruit power but…

“Okay. I have a few ideas.” You reach into your bag and pull out an ice pack, throwing it over to Mihawk who easily catches it and presses it to his forehead. “The first is what you are doing, which is isolate until the effect stops. I’m not sure this is the best idea since you seem to be incredibly uncomfortable.”

“What else.”

“I could sedate you and hopefully have it flushed out of your system by the time you wake up.” You offer, showing him the vial of clear liquid.

“Absolutely not. I refuse to be further incapacitated around you Marines.” He spits out the last word and you would be offended if you actually considered yourself a Marine.

“Alright. Those are my… sensible ideas.”

“Which implies there are insensible ones. Spit it out.”

You can’t blame him for being short but it didn’t make your next concepts any easier to say. “I could find you someone to… ride it out with.”

That idea hangs in the air and you watch Mihawk screw his eyes shut, clearly struggling. “I don’t- it’s insufferable enough to be vulnerable on a Marine base but you want to bring in some stranger-“

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

A thought pops into your head as you scramble for more ideas as Mihawk’s composure slowly keeps slipping. It’s a stupid thought, one a doctor like you shouldn’t have even had. But in the moment, pressed for ideas, it tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think properly about it.

“I would help you.”

You realize what you’ve said a moment too late and wish that somehow the floor would swallow you whole. It’s not like you don’t want to- it’s clear that your stupid monkey brain has always held on an attraction to the incredibly handsome warlord- but offering yourself up like this?

Beyond wildly inappropriate.

“Don’t say things like that.” Mihawk says as he backs up a few steps and shame hits you like a brick wall.

“I’m so sorry- it was- you shouldn’t be with anyone when you’re compromised like this I’ll just-“ You fumble over your words and quickly turn to unlock the door and get out of there.

Before your hand can even reach the handle an arm comes out from behind you and slams on the door. Suddenly you feel the intense heat of Mihawk’s body behind you, heavy breath fanning over the back of your neck. He doesn’t press into your body but instead hovers and your mind can’t quite keep up with the sudden change in events.

“Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.” His voice is low and dripping with lust.

Your gaze is locked forward as you try to control your breathing. “I meant it.”

“Last chance.”

The professional part of your brain gets smashed to smithereens as he presses his body against yours. “If you’re sure you want this then-“

The air is knocked out of your lungs as he steps forward, pushing you harshly into the door. One hand knots in your hair while the other snakes around your waist and pulls you in impossibly closer. The grip on your hair forces your head to the side, giving Mihawk the space to attack your neck, teeth digging into your skin immediately. As he does so he grinds his hips up and you can feel just how painfully hard he is against your ass.

The hand on your waist pulls at your uniform pants and you quickly get the idea, using your free hands to shove them down. You’re only able to get them just over your ass with how your legs are pressed apart by Mihawk’s but that seems to be enough for him. His hands leave you for a second and you hear the clatter of his belt before both hands tightly grip your hips.

You feel his cock slide between your folds, not entering you but instead sliding between your lips. His shaft is almost scorching hot as it slides against your clit, slick dripping from you and easing his shallow and fast thrusts.

“I just- fuck I just have to take the edge of your so-“ The grip on your hips is bruising as he holds you still to use you.

“It’s alright just-“ You can practically feel every vein against your sensitive clit and you bring one of your hands up and back to dig into his hair.

The scratch of your nails in his scalp is all Mihawk needs to tip over the edge, grunting as he spills onto the door and your thighs. You feel his heavy breath on your neck as he collects himself but the hardness against you doesn’t fade. You hear frustration in a low growl against your back but despite this he places kisses over the deep bite marks he created on your neck.

Slowly Mihawk pries his body away from yours and you take the opportunity to quickly toe off your shoes and slip your pants all the way off. When you turn around you see Mihawk watching you from a large chair, slowly pumping his cock, soaking from you slick.

“Get the rest of that god awful uniform off doctor.” You quickly discard your jacket and pull your shirt over your head, earning an appreciative hum from Mihawk. “What a pity you have to hide all that.”

You flush under his compliment and piercing gold gaze. With his free hand he beckons you over and you obey without hesitation. The second you’re close enough he pulls you into his lap, your thighs pushed apart by his spread ones. Your hands grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself as his hands find your hips once more.

“Normally I would work you open darling but-“ He nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before one incredibly strong hand pushes you down while the other lines himself up with your entrance. You don’t fight him as his tip presses into you, stretching you out. You curse as he pushes into you a bit faster than you can adjust, but probably significantly slower than he wants to fuck into you. The sting feels good mixed with the way Mihawk curses and praises you under his breath, words barely understandable as his fingers bruise your waist.

“Just like that- so fucking tight-“ He mouths at your collarbone as you sink down and your head falls back as he splits you open.

Soon enough your hips meet his and you moan and dig your nails into Mihawk’s shoulders. He can’t help but shallowly thrust up into you, hot breath fanning over your skin as his instincts seem to overwhelm him. Once you feel ready you work to move your hips in time with his, pulling yourself up and down further on his length.

“That’s it- you’ve been waiting for an excuse to fuck yourself on my cock huh? Proper little doctor- I’ve seen how you- fuck- how you look at me.” You flush with embarrassment and look down to see his golden eyes blown out by darkness.

Maybe you should have some shame, knowing you were seen through so easily, but when he looks up at you like that you can’t think of anything else. You quickly press your lips to his and he seems caught off guard for a second- only to quickly overtake the kiss. One strong hand grips the back of your neck and holds you in place as his tongue slips between your lips. You stay like this until your lungs scream at you and you push yourself back and gasp for air.

You’re about to lean in for another kiss when you notice Mihawk’s gaze quickly dart to the door. You’re confused for a second but soon a loud knocking bounces off the steel door.

“Doctor- status report?” One of the cadets yells through the door and you swear under your breath.

You stop your movements, hoping to catch your breath and sound somewhat put together but Mihawk has other ideas. The second you falter he grabs your hips and starts moving you up and down effortlessly and when you glare at him he only grins up at you.

Seems he still has the mental capacity to be an ass.

“We are-“ You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop a moan after a skillfully directed thrust. “We are quarantining until some of my tests are- are done processing.”

There’s a pause before the cadet responds. “Okay… are you alright? You’re not sick are you?”

When one of Mihawk’s hands leave your hips you know something is up and you’re able to bite down on your hand in time to stifle the moan that leaves your body when his skilled fingers find your clit. You’re so close to an orgasm but you fight it back just long enough to get this stupid cadet out of here.

“Quarantine this hallway until my further say- that’s an order!” You yell out and you hope and pray the cadet doesn’t hear the pleasure in your voice.

“Y-Yes!” The voice shouts back and you hope he’s running down the hall because you can’t take this anymore.

“What would your fellow Marines think?” Mihawk’s voice, cruel and playful, rings in your ears. “They’re precious doctor getting fucked stupid by a pirate- fuck you like that don’t you?”

You can only nod, overwhelmed by hick cock and fingers skillfully taking you apart.

“You’re squeezing me so tight- just- need you to cum all over my cock- you can do that can’t you? Cum for me-“ There’s a hint of desperation in his voice and his command breaks any last tethers you were using to hold off your orgasm snap.

Mihawk swears loudly as your walls convulse around him and it’s only seconds later he’s holding your hips down hard against his and spilling inside you. You lay your forehead on Mihawk’s shoulder as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Even after you catch your breath he’s still hard inside you and you know you’re not done yet.

“I just want to see- hold on.” Is the only warning you get before Mihawk is standing up.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips but his strong hands on your ass are more than enough to keep you up. He moves a few feet to the desk, setting you down on it and tapping your thigh once you’re settled. You get the idea and unlatch your legs, letting him slip out and away from you.

“Let me see.” Mihawk says as he pushes your knees apart, eyes transfixed between them. “Fuck.”

He watches as his cum leaks out of you, his fingers quickly scooping it up and shoving it back inside of you. In any other headspace you might think that was disgusting but the way he watches you and is claiming you makes it incredibly arousing. Once he’s satisfied he brings his fingers up to your mouth and you automatically take them between your lips, tasting the mix of your fluids.

“I’m- fuck- you’re perfect.” He seems reluctant to take his fingers from your mouth but the second both his hands are free he’s easily flipping you around and pushing your chest into the desk.

There’s no warning before he’s plunging into you again, your hips roughly meeting the edge of the wooden desk. You don’t really feel the pain amongst the pleasure, oversensitive from your previous orgasm. You feel open mouth kisses pepper your spine as he thrusts into you from behind. While one of his hands stays on your hips- your skin practically indented in the shape of his fingers there now- one reaches down to your thigh, giving it a squeeze before he pushes your leg upwards. The new angle is heavenly as you just let yourself be used- sliding forwards and backwards on the desk with each powerful thrust.

“Need you to- fuck darling I just need you to cum on me again- please I need to feel it-“ Mihawk sounds so desperate, a whine to his voice that he no longer can hide. “Just a little bit more for me-“

Your body seems to crave following his commands and another orgasm is ripped from your sensitive body. Only a few moments later you feel him cum inside you again, and you’re confident at this point he’s dripping out of you onto the floor.

“So good for me- taking all my cum-“ He’s breathless as he pulls out of you again and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s staring at your fucked out hole.

When he actually give you space for a minute you turn your head, still using the table to support your weight. “You feel better?”

“Hm…” His hand skates up your back, soothing you. “Feeling just sated enough to get you back to the room I’m staying in.”

The prospect of going more rounds was overwhelming but you can’t deny that you wanted it more than anything. One problem.

“If anyone sees me I think they’ll figure out some of what happened.” From your messed up hair, the bruises forming on your neck, and the fact that there’s no way you’ll be able to walk normally- yeah it’ll be obvious you were just fucked within an inch of your life.

“Oh doctor.” He pulls you up off the desk and places a surprisingly tender kiss on your forehead. “If anyone else sees you like this I’ll kill them.”

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #x reader #discordantwritings

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former-incel · 1 month ago

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Do you believe that you're a victim of an injustice because women won't have sex with you?

Well, you're probably right, at least to an extent. An individual woman rejecting you is not committing an injustice, even if it happens frequently and even if you get rejected more often than other men do. But there can still be an injustice happening. If the media or society as a whole are encouraging people to not find you attractive and to see you as a laughing stock, that's an injustice. If someone acts like you should be ashamed of yourself to even think you had a chance instead of simply rejecting you, that's an injustice. If you were never taught how to socialize because everyone expected it to come natural, that's an injustice. If people throw off your ability to read signs of interest by pretending to like you as a joke, that's an injustice. And that's very likely happening.

So yes, you are the victim of an injustice.

But you have to act like it. Pay attention to how victims of other injustices act. You'll notice a few things:

They have to be strategic. They don't just loudly scream and get their way. Calling it an injustice doesn't instantly cause people to care.

They have to ally themselves with other victims of injustices. "Stop caring about that injustice and start caring about mine" doesn't work.

They can't throw other oppressed people under the bus. What helps them but hurts another oppressed group is the tool of the enemy and must be avoided.

It's okay for them to feel uniquely oppressed, in ways that even other similarly oppressed people wouldn't understand. But having a "I'm the only one who's mistreated" attitude isn't helpful.

They have to genuinely act like other people's oppression is important. "Other people's oppression should be accepted as a fact of life, but mine is a tragedy that must end immediately or else," is just pure selfishness.

No one "deserves" the injustice they face. Separating victims of injustice between "deserving" and "not deserving" is only further promoting the injustice.

They have to fight back against the system as a whole. They can't pick one time that someone disappointed them and act like that's their #1 concern.

They do talk about how hard it is to find romantic or sexual partners. But they don't expect any individual person to have sex with them who's not attracted to them. Systematic exclusion is an injustice, but individual rejection is not. Pay attention to how gay men or conventionally unattractive women respond to their struggles.

They don't assume right off the bat that everyone is contributing to the injustice. While they have to be constantly on guard, they also have to give people a chance. They'll never get anywhere if they assume that everyone is going to mistreat them.

They often go their entire lives fighting back against the injustice, hoping that future generations will be free from it. They aren't only motivated by freeing themselves.

They want a solution to the injustice. They don't want to just be perpetually angry. It's okay to be angry every once in a while, but the main goal has to be finding a solution.

They often expect a little leeway when coping with their trauma from systematic oppression and exclusion. But they don't get a free pass to be assholes. If they act like assholes, people are justified in avoiding them.

#former incel #incel

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chervbs · 10 months ago

Note

Hiii can I get a spencer x reader smut where spencer just goes feral for reader when he sees her in a skimpy two piece swimsuit

this was supposed to be just a little drabble to get me used to writing for criminal minds, but here we are at 1k+ words so enjoy 🫶🏻

warnings: SMUT (18+), MDNI, sub!spencer, fem!reader, reader wears a bikini but there’s no body descriptors, heavy petting, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, spencer doesn’t understand the concept of a quickie

You didn’t know what had gotten into Spencer, and to be completely honest, Spencer didn’t either.

The relationship between you two was still fairly new, but you’ve had the opportunity to explore each other before. Maybe that’s what drove Spencer insane so quickly–knowing exactly what was under the triangles of fabric barely covering your most precious parts.

A pool day at Rossi’s seemed like the perfect solution to the sweltering Virginia heat, but even the water was doing little to cool Spencer down.

He’s just glad the depth of the pool was hiding his lower half, because the second you stepped onto the patio, every inch of bare skin glowing in the sun, his poor swim trunks were no match for the size his cock grew to in record time.

Spencer feel like he blacked out, trying to play it cool enough to make it out of the pool without anyone noticing his issue one second, and the next you were both in one of Rossi’s guest bathrooms, his large hands pawing and at your body like an animal.

“Spencer!” You gasp, trying to keep him at bay, which is difficult when his tongue is down your throat and you can feel his erection against you.

The man whines into your mouth, letting his hands slip under your top. His palms against your hardened nipples almost made you forget what you were going to say, a choked moan escaping your lips.

You’re finally able to get your hands on his cheeks, forcing his face away from yours. “Baby,” You pant, paired with a breathless giggle. “What’s gotten into you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, to busy pressing kisses against your neck, his hands still fondling your chest like it was his first time all over again. “I’m sorry,” He whines. You feel him rut against your leg, and you can feel the arousal pool into your bottoms. “I can’t help it. You just look so beautiful.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “Aw, is that right? You got so hard just looking at me in a bikini, you had to take me right now?” The condescending tone you adapt goes straight to Spencer’s cock. You two hadn’t yet explore different roles in the bedroom, but he had a feeling these would stick. He moans into your neck, his hands switching from fondling to twisting your nipped between his fingers.

“Yeah, yes,” He nods enthusiastically, only growing harder at the signs of pleasure you display.

You press your lips against his, this time more in control now that you’re not caught off guard. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you want. But we have to be quick okay? Before anyone comes looking for us.” Your voice is low and sultry as you speak, your own hands sliding down to mess with the band of his shorts.

Your friends are all profilers, they probably already know exactly what you’re doing. You just hope they don’t tease Spencer too much after this.

“Okay, yes ma’am,” Spencer pants, wasting no time as he dives into your chest. His lips wrap around your nipples, sending your head falling back in pleasure.

You use this time to shove your hand into his trunks, pulling out his throbbing length, pumping your hand lazily. If you hadn’t stripped him of his innocence yourself, you’d have thought he was still a virgin with how he thrusted into your fist.

“C’mon, baby,” You feel yourself growing impatient and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were dropping down your legs. “We gotta speed this up.”

As if reading your mind, Spencer pulls at the strings keeping your bottoms on, letting them fall to the floor where your top had landed. He doesn’t bother stripping his own, helping you up onto the sink and spreading your legs.

He whimpers at the sight of your pussy, glistening with arousal that seems to be inviting him in. He can’t help but ask. “Can I taste you? Please? Just really quick?”

You can’t exactly deny him the privilege when you know from experience how good he is with his mouth. So you agree, “Quickly.”

His mouth is on you in less than a second, slurping up your juices like a man starved. You clamp a hand over your mouth when his tongue finds your clit, flicking back and forth before it’s being sucked between his lips. You can’t help your hips rutting up, chasing the feeling of his mouth even when he hasn’t detached from you yet.

You have a second of clarify where you realize you’ve been gone longer than five minutes already, and you know you don’t have long before Morgan or Emily start banging on the door.

Reluctantly, your fingers lace themselves into the mop of brown curls on Spencer’s head, using the strands to yank him away from your heat. He’s breathless, pouting like you’ve taken away his lollipop.

“I’m sorry, my love. But you need to be inside me, now.” You demand. Spencer can’t be too upset so he nods, hurrying to line his cock up at your entrance.

He pushes himself in slowly, a whimper falling from his lips at the delicious feeling of you surrounding him. “Oh–my god.” Your arms rest on his shoulders, fingers finding his locks once again. Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head, releasing a moan as he sinks into you.

Suddenly it’s like he’s feral, hips thrusting into you so quickly you almost fall off the counter. Hushed moans are shared between you, your lips meeting to hopefully muffle the sounds of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Spencer mumbles, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries not to come so fast. It’s difficult when it feels like his head is clouded with ecstasy, the ridges of your walls massaging his shaft just right.

You pull his head back by his hair, relishing in the little moans escaping him with every thrust. “Is it that good, baby? Is my pussy that good that your big brain doesn’t work anymore?”

His eyes screw shut, mouth falling open as his thrusts become so hard, his balls begin to slap against your ass. Your words effectively turn his brain to mush, the only thing left on his mind is being able to come.

“P-please, please–let me come. Can I? I need to, I need to–” He whimpers, his pubic bone snapping against you so violently you think you may have bruises tomorrow.

The tip of his cock hits the spongy spot inside of you, your mouth falling open. It’s hard to formulate words when it feels like Spencer’s cock is splitting you in half. You reach blindly for his hand, directing it down to your clit. “Yeah, baby, you’re gonna come with me, okay?”

Spencer doesn’t bother to nod, first using his thumb then his middle three fingers to swipe across your clit with eagerness. The action combined with him hitting the spot sends you hurdling towards the edge, you hips spasming as stars flood your vision.

Your walls clamping down on him send Spencer off right behind you, the rhythm of his hips becoming erratic as he spills his load inside you. You’ve both forgotten to muffle your noises at this point, whines and whimpers spilling from you both as you come down from your highs.

He ruts into you a few more times before the stimulation becomes too much, and he gasps as he forces himself from the warmth of your walls. You moan at the loss of him filling you, still trying to catch your breath.

Spencer and you are silent for a minute, minds finally wrapping around what just happened. He’s still breathing a little heavy when he takes a piece of toilet paper and cleans up the mess between your legs.

“This was…eye opening.” He chuckles, making you giggle as well.

“I’ll say.” You pull him in for another kiss, this one much softer than what you’d shared just moments ago.

Spencer sighs, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. “We’re never gonna hear the end of this, are we?”

“No,” You scoff, “Not by a long shot.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction

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jhyoos · 5 months ago

Text

Of Roses and Steel

chapter nine : love isn’t perfect, but you are

knight!sevika x queen!reader

summary : sevika takes you out on a date night and you two discuss your future together also talk a bit of the past.

mentions : fluff, heavy smut at the end, I didn’t prove read shit. So don’t say nothing if you see an error.

↲ previous chapter | next chapter ->

You sat in the grand office that once belonged to your father, a room steeped in history and power. The scent of aged parchment and polished wood lingered in the air, untouched by time. The heavy mahogany desk before you was meticulously organized, every document and quill in its rightful place—a testament to the discipline of the ruler who came before you.

Your eyes drifted across the surface until they landed on a familiar object: a framed portrait of yourself from your teenage years, captured in delicate brushstrokes. You picked it up carefully, noting the absence of dust. He must have held it often. A lump formed in your throat as you traced the edges of the frame before placing it back where it belonged.

With a deep breath, you settled into the high-backed chair, the weight of your new title pressing down on you. The rich fabric of your gown pooled around you—midnight black with intricate gold embroidery, a symbol of both elegance and authority. The high collar and structured bodice commanded respect, while the sheer, flared sleeves added a touch of ethereal beauty. Every stitch, every bead reflected your regal presence, ensuring that no one would mistake you for anything less than a queen.

At your signal, the massive doors swung open, and a long line of nobles and townspeople entered one by one. The first few hours passed smoothly—requests for home reconstruction, improved education for children, and solutions to homelessness. Each concern was met with your careful consideration, your quill scratching against parchment as you signed decree after decree, your golden wax seal stamping your authority onto the kingdom’s future.

“Yes, ma’am, of course we can change the rules of divorce,” you assured a young woman standing before you. “From now on, every woman will receive half of her husband’s estate.” With a flourish, you signed the document, sealing a change that would alter lives.

The woman’s eyes glistened with gratitude as she bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She was the last. As she exited, you glanced up at the ornate clock above the fireplace—6:15 PM. Nine hours had passed in a blur of duty and ink-stained fingers.

With a sigh, you rose from your chair, pushing it in with deliberate care. The weight of the day settled upon your shoulders, but as you stood in the quiet grandeur of your office, you knew—you had begun carving your legacy.

You left the grand office with your guards trailing behind you, their heavy boots echoing against the polished marble floors. The weight of the crown still sat on your head—both physically and metaphorically—but at the moment, your mind was preoccupied with something far simpler: hunger. Your stomach had been protesting for hours, but between meetings, decrees, and endless signatures, you hadn’t had a single moment to eat. That needed to change.

Descending the grand staircase, you veered away from the opulent halls lined with gold-trimmed paintings and instead took the narrow passage leading to the kitchen. The scent of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and simmering stew filled the air as you stepped inside. The servants bustled about, kneading dough, chopping vegetables, and stirring steaming pots over the hearth. Conversations halted the moment they noticed you. A rare silence fell over the kitchen, save for the crackling fire and bubbling pots.

“Hello,” you greeted warmly.

A few of the maids exchanged startled glances before hastily bowing their heads. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” some murmured in unison.

You took a step further in, your fingers trailing along the cool wooden counter. “How is the new equipment? I hope it doesn’t burn your hands anymore.”

A middle-aged woman with flour dusted on her apron straightened up, offering a small but genuine smile. “We’re very grateful for it, Your Majesty. The new gloves and tools have made our work much easier.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Your gaze drifted to a basket of ripe apples sitting by the window. Reaching over, you plucked one and rolled it in your palm before taking a bite, the crisp flesh bursting with sweetness. “Thank you all for your hard work,” you said, chewing as you turned to leave.

As you walked back through the corridors, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble was accompanied by whispers and scandalized stares. Nobles and ladies-in-waiting paused in their conversations, their eyes widening as they watched you freely bite into your apple. The sight of a queen eating so casually in public seemed to unsettle them—an action far too unrefined, too unladylike for someone of your station.

You ignored them, making your way toward the grand hall, where Sevika stood leaning against a stone pillar. She was staring out the window, her arms crossed, the dim evening light casting sharp shadows across her features.

“Good evening,” you greeted her as you approached.

Sevika turned her head slightly, arching a brow. “Why greet me with such formality? As if we don’t sleep in the same chambers.”

You exhaled through your nose in amusement, lowering your voice. “Because everyone keeps looking at me as if I’m an alien. Don’t want you to be considered one also.” You took another bite of your apple, but before you could chew, Sevika reached out and plucked it from your grasp.

“Maybe it’s because you’re eating very unladylike in front of everyone,” she mused, inspecting the apple before taking a bite herself. “Why not have an actual meal?”

“I went downstairs to the kitchen,” you admitted, watching her with amusement. “And I… didn’t think of that.”

Sevika huffed a quiet laugh. “Always doing things out of the ordinary. As usual.”

You tilted your head at her, smirking. “I’m with you, and I find that quite unusual.”

Sevika shot you a look. You leaned in, lowering your voice further. “But as you say, I love doing things that are out of the ordinary. Like last night… or this morning.”

Her grip on the apple faltered for just a moment before she took another bite, chewing slowly as her eyes burned into yours. “You’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Will you come with me to town tomorrow?”

Sevika took her time responding, shifting her weight. “Can’t. I have duties you assigned me to.”

You shrugged. “That’s your duty tomorrow—to come with me into town.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Before you could respond, she leaned in, pressing a firm but brief kiss to your lips. You sighed, tilting your head up. “Mmm… one more.”

Sevika rolled her eyes but indulged you, kissing you again, this time lingering just a second longer before pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner,” you murmured with a smile, brushing your fingers against hers before turning away.

Sevika shook her head as she watched you go, muttering under her breath, “Trouble.”

As you changed for dinner, you slid into a black velvet gown that hugged your curves perfectly. The fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight of your chambers, its sleek silhouette exuding elegance with a touch of allure. Delicate spaghetti straps held up the bodice, which was sculpted to accentuate your figure, while the dress itself cascaded down to the floor in a graceful mermaid flare. It was a simple choice, understated compared to the lavish dresses you usually wore, but it was comfortable—and, truthfully, you liked how it made you feel.

As you adjusted the fit, smoothing the fabric along your waist, you felt two strong hands settle on your hips, their warmth sending a shiver down your spine. A slow, deliberate kiss pressed against your bare shoulder, and a deep voice murmured, “We’re doing dinner somewhere else. I made something for us.”

You smirked, turning slightly to glance at her. “You? My big, serious woman making something for me?” you teased. “Don’t tell me I’ve made you sweet.”

Sevika rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “Put your shoes on and get a light coat.”

You obeyed, slipping on a pair of black heels you had set aside to match the dress. Then, you reached for a long coat lined with fur at the collar and cuffs, the soft trim brushing against your skin. Before you could ask where you were going, Sevika took your hand and led you out through the dimly lit halls of the castle.

Stepping into the garden, you were met with the sight of a beautifully arranged picnic beneath the soft glow of lanterns strung from the trees. A blanket was spread across the grass, an array of desserts and finger foods displayed neatly on silver trays. The scent of fresh bread and sweet fruits lingered in the cool night air.

Your heart swelled at the sight. “Oh, Sevika. This is gorgeous.”

She sat across from you, gesturing to the food. “Well, dig in.”

You picked up a small sandwich, taking a bite. It was delicious—and familiar. “This is great… and it’s my favorite.”

Sevika’s gaze was steady as she spoke. “I want you to marry me.”

You nearly choked. Setting the sandwich down, you blinked at her. “A little too soon, don’t you think?”

She leaned in slightly. “We’ve been lovers for almost a month,” she said, her voice firm yet vulnerable. “And I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get the chance to put a ring on your finger.”

The thought made your chest tighten with emotion, but then, like an unwelcome ghost, another memory surfaced—Mel. You thought about the ring Sevika had once given her, about the love they had shared.

“Did you actually love Mel?” you asked quietly. “You almost married her…”

Sevika’s expression darkened for a moment before softening into something unreadable. “I did love Mel. We had… relations a few months before you found out, and I caught feelings in the process. I didn’t want to believe the things she did to you, but I also didn’t believe her either, because I loved you. When I put that ring on her finger, I wasn’t happy with my decision. Because I realized she was using me to get to you.”

Her voice dipped lower, a quiet confession laced with lingering anger. “I fell fully out of love with her that day. I wanted her dead. Her face annoyed me.”

You studied her carefully, searching for any trace of regret—but there was none.

“What do you think my father would say about us getting married?” you asked.

Sevika exhaled, leaning back on her hands. “I got his blessing before he died. The day Vi and I got into that fight. He gave us both his blessings to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t known that.

Swallowing hard, you steadied yourself before speaking. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Sevika’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but before she could react, you held up a hand. “But only if you promise to always communicate with me. Tell me your feelings, tell me about your day every single night before we go to bed. I want you to give me those shoulder kisses whenever you see me because I love them so. And I want you to say ‘I love you’ every single chance you get—whether it’s before bed, waking up, during breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Because I know that you actually mean it when you take the time to say it, and I love it when you do.”

Sevika stared at you, her dark eyes softening with something you could only describe as adoration. Slowly, she nodded. “I will.”

Then, without hesitation, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. She flipped it open, revealing a diamond ring—large, sparkling, and undeniably beautiful. Your breath hitched as she slid it onto your finger, pressing a kiss against your hand before settling back.

You admired the way the gem caught the light, but before you could say anything else, a thought crossed your mind. “And I want three children.”

Sevika blinked. “And where will you get these three children from?”

You smiled. “The orphanage. That is where we’re going tomorrow. I want to start the paperwork for one—our first child—and have them in time for our wedding.”

Sevika narrowed her eyes playfully. “You knew I was going to propose? And that’s why you want me to go into town with you?”

You laughed. “The box was poking in your pocket all day. And I saw the jewelry maker talking to you at my coronation. I knew it was soon.”

Sevika groaned, rubbing her face. “Jesus, woman. Well, did you see—”

“Yes.” You smirked. “Can’t wait to use it tonight.”

Sevika’s eyes darkened as she exhaled through her nose. “I need to hide things better from my curious wife.”

“There’s no way that’s fitting in me, Sevika. Where did you even get that from?!,” you tell her as you sat on the edge of the bed naked.

This was the other thing she was hiding from you, but being an expert seeker you quickly found it the other night. A huge dark purple silicone dildo with harness attachments in a box.

You closed it as soon as you saw what it was.

She’s crazy.

The thing was 9 inches there was no way you this thing could fit into you. Where in the hell did Sevika find something like this?

“I got it from Vi. She said it would be useful something Caitlyn introduced her to, she gave it to me as an engagement gift at your coronation,” Sevika says.

“You told her?” you asked

“Yes. I thought I was gonna die from the injuries I had after the battle. Had to tell someone,” Sevika says.

“Jesus…,” you say.

“Let’s at least try it, love,” Sevika says.

Sevika was prepared, she had a thing of “lube” that was also included in the box. She told you it’s used to make the dildo go inside of you easier. She’s made you cum three times with her mouth and fingers, making sure your hole was ready.

“Sevika…that’s not going in me,” you say.

After a few minutes, it was in fact in you.

Deep in you.

Sevika made sure everything was comfortable for you, checking on you after each inch that went inside. She would be lying if she said this didn’t make her wet, seeing your tight cunt take in so much.

“Shit…,” you whine as the final inch went inside of you, the tip was practically making out with your cervix. It was painful, but the pain felt so good.

Sevika didn’t want to immediately start thrusting, so she reached down and started to rub your already abused and sensitive clit.

You jolted a little in response as she earned a small moan from you. Sevika leaned down and planted soft kisses on your neck. “Let me know when you want me to move, beautiful,” she says as she continues to rub your clit.

Your walls fluttered around her fake cock, you didn’t know if it was from instinct or from wanting…honestly it was both. “Move,” you say as you wrapped your arms around her neck, preparing yourself.

Sevika grabbed your legs with both of her hands and lifted them up, using them as leverage as she started to slowly thrust into you. The sound of your juices, swishing around filled the room.

Your fingernails found its way into Sevika’s back. She groaned in response, but she was just as much of a masochist as you were because she enjoyed it.

“Fuck…sev,” you moaned in her ear. The sound of your moans only signaled her to go faster. She moved her hands from your legs to the side of your head as she looked down at you, making eye contact. Your hands moved down to the sides of her waist, rubbing your thumbs against her reassuringly.

“You’re so tight. I can barely move,” she says before leaning in and kissing you. You kissed her back, moaning into her mouth.

“Please harder,” you begged and she immediately responds. The sounds of your flesh pounding together in a clapping rhythm along with your loud moans.

Sevika’s hands moved down to your waist as she continued to basically pound into your cunt. The new location of her hands made your back arch, making the tip of her cock hit your g-spot. You twitched at the feeling as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

Sevika looked at your face. Your eyes were glossy from the tears building up and they almost went into the back of your head a few times. Just from that she knew you were close. “Come on baby. I got you,” she grunted out.

After a few more thrust, you released cumming all over Sevika’s cock. “Sevika!,” you moaned out.

The orgasm was in intense as your legs was shaking for the impact of it, but Sevika slowly fucked you through it.

After you calm down from your high your hand went to abdomen wanting her stop. She got the message and slowly pulled out. She sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing your thigh.

“Oh god…,” you said breathlessly as you sat up, looking at the mess you made of the sheets.

“You did so good, beautiful,” she says before grabbing onto your ankle and pulling you down to the edge of the bed.

She flipped you over on your stomach and she smacked your ass, making you yelp. “Come on ass up. I’m not done yet. We gotta try every position I can think of,” she says.

Fuck you, Vi.

taglist <3 : @tinycherry0 @thesecondhandwoman @artfairyyyyy @bunninel @furrytaesss @savedforlaterr @veladeangl @5t4r1i9ht @imheadintothemountains @adora-moonshine @sevikasrightboob @80saturn @littlerainsprite @runawaybaby3 @rhian88 @athena-winters13 @boom58 🫶

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velvetvisionsaurora · 9 days ago

Text

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior, suicidal thoughts

18+ only- No Minors

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Masterlist

Chapter 5: Target Practice and Proximity

Off limits. Like you're property. Like you're a possession to be controlled and monitored.

They hadn't just trapped you in this house, they'd cut you off from the outside world entirely. From your friends, your support system, your entire life beyond these walls.

The audacity. The absolute fucking audacity.

They want to play games with your life? They want to isolate you completely?

“KIM HONGJOONG!”

Your voice echoes through the house like a war cry as you storm toward the gym, bare feet slapping against marble with each furious step. The rage coursing through your veins has reached a boiling point that makes your earlier knife-throwing incident look like a mild disagreement.

You slam the glass door open with such force that spider web cracks spread across its surface, the sound of fracturing glass punctuating your entrance like an exclamation point. Seven heads turn toward you in various states of surprise and alarm.

"Well, good morning to you as well, my lovely fiancé," Hongjoong says with faux sincerity, not even pausing in his workout routine. Sweat glistens across his torso as he continues his reps, treating your explosive entrance like a minor inconvenience.

You respond to his saccharine greeting with a perfectly articulated middle finger.

"I'm off limits?" you spit, the words dripping with venom.

“Because you’re mine now.” Hongjoong doesn’t even look at you, his focus remaining on his weights as if you’re nothing more than background noise. “And what’s mine doesn’t associate with other men.”

“Yours?” You let out a harsh laugh that echoes off the gym walls. “I’m not your fucking property, Kim Hongjoong.”

He finally stops his workout, setting down the weights with deliberate care before turning to face you. There’s something predatory in his gaze as he steps closer, invading your personal space.

“Aren’t you?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “Your father signed the contract. Your name will be Kim in three months. That makes you mine in every way that matters.”

“A piece of paper doesn’t make me yours,” you spit back, refusing to back down even as he towers over you. “And neither does some archaic notion of ownership.”

His lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “We’ll see about that, little one.” The casual dismissal, the way he speaks about your future as if it's already set in stone, as if your opinion matters less than appearances, sends your anger to stratospheric levels.

"So I truly am a prisoner?" Your voice rises with each word. "So that means what—I won't be allowed to see any of my friends? Will I have to move so I won't be around any of the guys here?" The implications hit you, looking around. "Are you planning to isolate me from everyone I care about?"

Hongjoong stands to his full height, his expression infuriatingly calm. "Maybe so."

Your nostrils flare at his words, the casual cruelty of them stealing the breath from your lungs. The gym falls deadly silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

"Hongjoong, you know she has an attitude problem," Wooyoung stage-whispers from across the room, clearly trying to ease the tension with his trademark humor. "Why would you anger it?"

Your eyes slice toward him like laser beams, and Wooyoung suddenly becomes very interested in his water bottle, examining it as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

"Oh, would you look at that," he says dramatically, holding up the obviously full bottle. "Completely empty. I should really go refill this. The kitchen water is so much better than... here."

He takes a step toward the door, but your voice stops him cold.

"Don't you dare move, Jung Wooyoung."

Hongjoong sighs, finally seeming to realize that his dismissive attitude has pushed you past your breaking point. "You can't be seen with other men, or texting Chris Bang. It wouldn't make our marriage believable."

"What I do with my personal business is—" You stop mid-sentence, a horrifying realization dawning. Your eyes narrow as you look between all of them. "How did you know I was texting Chris?"

Hongjoong just stares at you, his expression giving away nothing. The silence stretches uncomfortably until Wooyoung starts fidgeting, looking increasingly nervous.

"Well, the water in the kitchen really is much better," he babbles, taking another step toward the exit. "Much more... hydrating. I should really—"

You move faster than anyone expects, grabbing him by the shirt collar and yanking him back. Your faces are inches apart as you look directly into his wide eyes.

"Are you running surveillance on my phone?" you ask, your voice deadly quiet.

Wooyoung swallows hard, his usual confidence evaporating under your intense stare. "Well... I mean... I'm personally not..."

The admission hits you like a physical blow. They've been watching you. Reading your private conversations. Monitoring your every interaction with the outside world. Yunho. You look at the resident hacker and tech nerd, who has the decency to look sheepish.

A growl of pure fury escapes your throat. "I would say I'm going to shoot Yunho, but we all know it was your leader's idea."

You release Wooyoung's collar with enough force to send him stumbling backward. Your gaze sweeps the room, taking in their various expressions—guilt, defiance, nervousness, and in San's case, what looks almost like admiration.

But it's Wooyoung's reaction that catches you off guard. Instead of looking ashamed or apologetic, he's staring at you with a dreamy expression, his eyes slightly glazed.

"God, you're so hot when you're angry," he breathes, apparently forgetting that he's supposed to be nervous. "Like, seriously. The way your eyes get all fierce and your voice gets that growly thing... it's doing things to me."

The entire gym falls silent. Even Hongjoong stops his posturing to stare at Wooyoung in disbelief.

"Did you just..." Yunho starts.

"He did," Yeosang confirms quietly.

"While she's threatening to shoot people," Jongho adds, sounding almost impressed.

San starts laughing—not his usual charming chuckle, but full-bodied laughter that echoes off the gym walls. "Only Wooyoung would get turned on by a death threat."

"It's not just the death threat," Wooyoung protests, his cheeks flushing but his eyes still fixed on you with unmistakable desire. "It's everything. The fire in her eyes, the way she's not backing down, how fierce she looks. She's magnificent."

Your anger falters for just a moment, derailed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here you are, discovering that they've been violating your privacy, threatening violence, and Wooyoung is having what appears to be a very public moment of arousal.

"Are you insane?" you ask, genuinely bewildered.

"Probably," he admits cheerfully. "But you're still gorgeous when you're ready to commit murder."

The comment draws a snort of unwilling amusement from Mingi, who's been silent throughout the entire confrontation. Even Seonghwa's lips twitch slightly, though he tries to maintain his diplomatic composure.

But your momentary confusion quickly gives way to renewed fury as you remember why you're here.

"Do not," you say, pointing a finger at Wooyoung, "think that your inappropriate attraction is going to distract me from the fact that you've all been spying on me."

"It's not spying," Hongjoong interjects, apparently deciding to rejoin the conversation. "It's security."

"Security?" You whirl on him. "Reading my private messages is security?"

"When those messages involve contact with potential threats, yes."

"Chris isn't a threat! He's my friend!"

"He's an unmarried male heir with his own agenda," Hongjoong counters. "And you're going to be my wife. That makes you off-limits to men like him."

The possessiveness in his tone, the casual way he claims ownership over your social life, sends you spiraling back into rage.

"I am not your property," you snarl. "I am not a possession to be controlled and monitored. I am a person with my own thoughts, feelings, and relationships."

"You're a Ricci who's about to become a Kim," he replies coldly. "Your relationships affect our family's reputation. Everything you do reflects on us now."

"Then maybe you should have thought of that before agreeing to this farce of a marriage," you snap back.

The words hang in the air like a challenge. Around the room, the other members watch the standoff with varying degrees of tension and fascination. This is clearly a battle of wills that's been building since your arrival, and now it's finally come to a head.

Hongjoong steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This marriage is happening whether you like it or not. You can make it easy on yourself by accepting the rules, or you can make it difficult and face the consequences."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

The words crackle between you like electricity. In this moment, with fury radiating from both of you, it's impossible to tell if you want to kill each other or...

"Oh my God," Wooyoung whispers reverently. "The sexual tension in here is incredible. You two are like fire and gasoline."

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa warns.

"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking. Look at them—they're practically breathing fire at each other. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Your face burns with a mixture of anger and something else you refuse to acknowledge. "You're all insane," you declare, backing toward the door. "Completely, utterly insane."

As you reach the cracked glass door, you turn back to face them one last time.

"And Hongjoong? The next time you want to know who I'm talking to, try asking instead of spying. You might be surprised by how cooperative I can be when treated like a human being instead of a prisoner."

With that, you storm out, leaving eight men in various states of arousal, amusement, and stunned silence.

Behind you, you hear Wooyoung's dreamy voice: "I think I'm in love."

"You've been in love with her for years," comes San's dry response.

"Yeah, but now I'm in love and turned on. It's a dangerous combination."

You slam the door to your room hard enough to rattle the windows, but even through your fury, you can't quite shake the image of Wooyoung's glazed expression or the way Hongjoong's eyes had darkened when you'd challenged him.

Dangerous indeed.

* * *

You storm back to your room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the windows. The confrontation in the gym replays in your mind—Hongjoong's possessive declarations, the casual way he discussed monitoring your communications, the infuriating smirk when you'd challenged him.

Your phone lays on the floor where you'd dropped it after Chris's devastating revelation. With shaking fingers, you scroll through your contacts until you find Marco's number. He picks up on the second ring.

"Sorellina? You're calling early today. Everything alright?"

The concern in his voice nearly breaks your composure. Marco has always been your anchor, the one person in your family who sees you as more than just a political asset.

"No," you say, your voice cracking slightly. "Nothing is alright."

"What happened?"

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. "Hongjoong declared me off limits to all unmarried men in the alliance. Chris can't even talk to me anymore. None of my male friends can."

Silence stretches across the line. When Marco finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. "Y/n..."

"They've been monitoring my phone, Marco. Reading my private messages. And now they've essentially announced to everyone that I'm property of the Kim family." The words tumble out in a rush, years of frustration and fresh rage mixing into a volatile combination.

"Shit," Marco mutters, and you can hear him moving around, probably pacing his office like he does when he's thinking. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday, apparently. Chris just told me. He said word came down from the Kim family directly."

Another pause. "Y/n, I need you to listen to me, okay? And I need you to stay calm."

Something in his tone makes your stomach clench. "What do you mean, stay calm? They're treating me like a possession, Marco. Like I'm some medieval bride being traded between kingdoms."

"Because in our world, that's essentially what you are," he says gently. "Sorellina, this wasn't Hongjoong specifically. This is standard protocol for the Kim family—for most of our families, actually."

You sink onto the edge of your bed, feeling like the floor has shifted beneath your feet. "What?"

"It's like an engagement announcement, but more... comprehensive. When a family announces that their heir is marrying someone, especially someone from another powerful family, they declare that person off limits. It's about respect, territorial boundaries, preventing conflicts."

"But Chris said—"

"Chris is Bang family. They've been allies with the Kims for decades. Of course they'd receive the notification." Marco's voice is patient, explanatory, like he's teaching you something fundamental about your world that you should have already known. "Y/n, every family in the alliance probably received the same message within hours of your engagement being finalized."

The implications crash over you like a cold wave. This isn't Hongjoong being possessive or controlling—though he certainly is both of those things. This is protocol. Tradition. The way business is conducted in your world.

"I didn't know," you whisper.

"Why would you? Papa never explained these things to you because you were never supposed to be the one getting married. That was supposed to be my responsibility." There's a note of guilt in Marco's voice. "But with the Russo situation escalating and the need for immediate alliance..."

"He chose me instead," you finish hollowly.

"The Kim family specifically requested you, actually. Hongjoong's choice, from what I understand."

That stops you cold. "What?"

"Papa didn't tell you? The marriage proposal came from Hongjoong directly. He could have chosen any unmarried daughter from the allied families, but he asked for you specifically."

Your mind reels, trying to process this information. Hongjoong had asked for you. After seven years of silence, he'd specifically requested you as his bride.

"Why?" you ask, though you're not sure you want to know the answer.

"My guess? Papa has been thinking of marrying you to one of the mafia families for protection for a while now. Papa and Mr. Kim are close, so I assume Hongjoong got wind of it."

"Possessive," you say flatly.

"Protective," Marco corrects gently.

You snort. "If I have so many protectors, why am I always the one getting hurt?"

Marco is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Because none of us are very good at protecting against emotions, sorellina. Just against violence."

The truth of that statement sits heavily in your chest. Marco was eight years your senior, your father's son from his first marriage. Elena, your mother, hadn't been his biological mother, but he had loved her just the same—and he had been there for you when everyone else had disappeared.

After your mother died and the boys abandoned you, it was Marco who had picked up the pieces. Marco who had held you through nights of endless tears. Marco who had made sure you ate when food seemed pointless. Marco who had literally stood between you and the balcony railing one particularly dark night when living had seemed too painful to continue.

He was the reason you were still breathing. The reason you had found your strength again.

‘No, you're the only one who actually protects me,’ you think to yourself.

Marco chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "At the end of the day, Y/n Ricci doesn’t need protecting. Still throwing knives at him?"

"Just the once. Though I'm considering making it a daily occurrence."

"My money's on you if it comes to actual violence," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "But Y/n, try to understand—this off-limits declaration, it's not necessarily about controlling you. It's about protecting the alliance, preventing misunderstandings, making it clear that you're under Kim protection now."

"Protection," you repeat flatly. "It feels like imprisonment."

"In our world, they're often the same thing," Marco says quietly. "You know that."

You do know that. You've always known that. But somehow, experiencing it firsthand feels different than understanding it in theory.

"I hate this," you admit, the words barely audible.

"I know, sorellina. I know." Marco's voice is soft, sympathetic. "But you're a Ricci. We adapt, we survive, and we find ways to win even when the game is rigged against us."

"And if I can't adapt to this?"

"Then you'll do what you've always done—you'll burn everything down and rebuild it your way." There's pride in his voice now, the kind of fierce affection that's sustained you through the worst moments of your life. "The Kims think they're getting a compliant mafia princess. They have no idea what they've actually signed up for."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly. "You really think I can handle this?"

"Y/n, you've been preparing for this world your entire life, even if you didn't know it. You're sharper than most of the men in these families, you're ruthless when you need to be, and you have a moral compass that will keep you from becoming a monster." Marco pauses. "Plus, you're scary as hell when you're angry. That's going to serve you well."

"The scary part seems to be working," you admit, thinking of Wooyoung's reaction in the gym. "Though not in the way I expected."

Marco laughs. "What do you mean?"

You find yourself telling him about the confrontation, about Wooyoung's completely inappropriate response to your threats, about the way the others had reacted. By the time you finish, Marco is laughing so hard he can barely speak.

"Oh my God," he gasps. "Y/n, you have eight of the most dangerous men in the city wrapped around your finger and you don't even realize it."

"That's not—they hate me, Marco. They abandoned me seven years ago, remember?"

"Sorellina," Marco says, his voice turning serious again, "men don't monitor someone they hate. They don't specifically request someone they hate for marriage. And they definitely don't get turned on by death threats from someone they hate."

The words settle in your chest, creating an uncomfortable flutter that you don't want to examine too closely.

"Maybe," you say finally. "But that doesn't change what they did to me."

"No, it doesn't," Marco agrees. "And you have every right to make them pay for that. Just... try not to actually kill anyone. I don't want to have to explain to Papa why his daughter is wanted for murder."

"No promises," you say, but you're smiling now.

"Fair enough. Listen, Y/n, I have a meeting I can't postpone, but call me tonight, okay? And remember—you're not as powerless in this situation as you think you are."

After he hangs up, you sit in the quiet of your room, processing everything he's told you. The off-limits declaration wasn't personal—it was protocol. Hongjoong had specifically requested you as his bride. The Kim family, like most families in your world, operates by rules and traditions that value protection and territorial boundaries above individual freedom.

None of that makes you feel less trapped, but it does help you understand the game you're playing.

And if you're going to be stuck in this situation, you might as well learn to play it to win.

You look out the window at the oak tree, remembering Yeosang's words about Mingi and Wooyoung, remembering the careful way Hongjoong had watched you during your confrontation, the way Yunho's eyes had held desperate hope.

Maybe Marco is right. Maybe you have more power here than you realize.

The question is: what are you going to do with it?

* * *

The meeting room was thick with tension as all eight members of ATEEZ sat around the polished conference table. Hongjoong's jaw was still tight from the confrontation in the gym, while the others wore various expressions of concern, guilt, and in Wooyoung's case, lingering arousal.

"We need to discuss what just happened," Seonghwa began diplomatically, his fingers steepled as he surveyed the group.

"What's to discuss?" Hongjoong replied curtly. "She needs to understand her position."

"Her position?" Mingi's deep voice carried an edge of disapproval. "You mean as a prisoner?"

"As my future wife," Hongjoong corrected sharply.

"Same thing, apparently," San muttered, earning a glare from their leader.

Yunho shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The phone monitoring... maybe we should have told her upfront."

"We went too far," Mingi said firmly, his usually gentle demeanor hardening. "Reading her private messages, isolating her from friends—we're treating her like the enemy instead of someone we're supposed to protect."

"Protect?" Jongho scoffed. "We're the ones she needs protection from at this point."

"She threw a knife at my head," Hongjoong reminded them.

"And you smirked about it," Yeosang observed quietly. "Almost like you enjoyed it."

"Because I did," Hongjoong admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Seeing that fire in her eyes, that defiance... it reminded me of why I—" He stopped himself abruptly.

"Why you fell in love with her in the first place?" Wooyoung finished with a dreamy sigh. "God, did you see her today? The way she grabbed my shirt, looked me right in the eye? I thought I was going to spontaneously combust."

"You have a problem," San told him flatly.

"The problem is that we're all still in love with her," Mingi said heavily. "And she hates us. We broke something precious seven years ago, and now we're making it worse."

"We didn't have a choice then," Seonghwa said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"And we do now?" Yunho asked. "Because we're still making choices that hurt her."

The room fell silent as the weight of their situation settled over them. They'd saved her life seven years ago by breaking her heart, and now they were slowly destroying what remained of her spirit.

"Maybe we should—" Hongjoong started.

*BANG!*

The sharp crack of gunfire cut through his words, sending all eight men to their feet in an instant. Training kicked in as they moved as one toward the sound, hands reaching for weapons

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

The shots were coming from the garden, rapid and precise. They burst through the patio doors to find you standing in the far corner of the grounds, your mother's pearl-handled pistol extended in a perfect two-handed grip.

You were still in your outfit from the gym confrontation—the crisp white blouse now rolled up at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. But it was the deadly grace of your stance that made them all stop in their tracks.

*BANG!*

Another shot rang out, the bullet finding its mark in the center of an improvised target you'd set up against the garden wall—what looked like a photo taped to a piece of cardboard.

"Jesus Christ," San breathed.

You lowered the weapon, examining your handiwork with critical eyes before reloading with practiced efficiency. Only then did you notice your audience.

"Don't mind me," you called out with false sweetness. "Just working on my stress relief."

Wooyoung's face split into the widest grin any of them had seen from him since your return. "That was incredible! Did you see that grouping? She's a natural!"

"Her form is off," Mingi observed, his trained eye catching the slight imperfections in your stance.

You turned to face him, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "Your form is off," you replied with cutting sarcasm, though you made no move to correct your position.

Instead of being deterred by your attitude, Mingi stepped forward with characteristic determination. "May I?"

Something flickered in your eyes—surprise, perhaps, at his calm persistence. After a moment, you gave a short nod.

He approached slowly, respectfully, until he was standing just behind you. "Your stance is good, but your grip could be tighter," he said softly, his deep voice rumbling near your ear. "And you're tensing your shoulders."

His large hands came up to hover near yours, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "May I adjust your grip?"

The question was asked with such gentle formality that you found yourself nodding again, though your breath caught as his fingers finally made contact with yours.

Mingi's touch was surprisingly gentle for such large hands, his fingers carefully repositioning yours on the weapon's grip. "Like this," he murmured, his chest nearly brushing your back as he leaned in to check the sight line. "Feel the difference?"

You did feel a difference, though it had less to do with the gun and more to do with the way his proximity was affecting your ability to breathe properly. He smelled like sandalwood and something uniquely him, warm and comforting in a way that made your treacherous heart skip.

"Now, relax your shoulders," he continued, his hands ghosting over your shoulder blades without quite touching. "The tension travels down your arms and affects your accuracy."

Despite yourself, you found your body responding to his calm instruction, muscles you hadn't realized were tight beginning to loosen.

"Better," he said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Now try."

You raised the weapon again, hyperaware of his presence behind you, the way he seemed to radiate calm strength. The shot that followed was noticeably more precise than your previous attempts.

"Perfect," Mingi said, and the pride in his voice sent an unwelcome warmth through your chest.

From their position by the patio, the other seven watched this interaction with varying degrees of fascination and envy. Wooyoung looked like he might vibrate out of his skin with excitement, while Hongjoong's expression had darkened considerably.

"Should we interrupt?" Yunho whispered.

"Absolutely not," Yeosang replied quietly. "This is the first time she's let any of us close since she arrived."

"Look at her," San murmured, noting the way your rigid posture had softened under Mingi's gentle guidance. "She's actually relaxed."

"Mingi always was good with her," Seonghwa observed. "Even as children, he could calm her down when the rest of us couldn't."

In the garden, you lowered the weapon again, turning slightly to look at Mingi. He was still standing close—closer than you'd allowed anyone since arriving—and for a moment, something passed between you that had nothing to do with firearms training.

You glanced at Yeosang who gave you a nod. You remember your conversation. "Mingi and Wooyoung—they don't show it the way the others do, but they were affected the worst by leaving you."

"Thank you," you said quietly, the words carrying more weight than a simple acknowledgment of instruction.

"Anytime," he replied, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The moment stretched between you, fragile and tentative, until Wooyoung's excited voice shattered it.

"Can I try next? Please? I promise I'll be good!"

You stepped away from Mingi abruptly, the spell broken, your defenses slamming back into place. "I think that's enough for today," you said curtly, engaging the safety and tucking the pistol into your waistband.

As you walked past them toward the house, you paused beside Wooyoung. “Maybe next time.”

With that, you disappeared into the house, leaving eight men standing in the garden, each lost in their own thoughts about the woman who continued to surprise them at every turn.

"Did anyone else notice," Wooyoung said dreamily, "that she said 'next time'?"

"I noticed," Mingi said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the door where you'd disappeared. "I also noticed she didn't flinch when I touched her."

"Progress," Yeosang murmured.

"Dangerous progress," Hongjoong added, though his tone held more thoughtfulness than anger.

In the distance, they could hear a door slam—your door, most likely—but for the first time since your arrival, it didn't sound quite so final.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

Next>>

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ice-man-goes-bwoah · 6 months ago

Note

I don’t even know if it’s a request but I’ve been thinking about Pato crushing on or dating an autistic driver reader who he doesn’t realize is autistic but he still happily does things to help and make her feel comfortable

-💙🩵

It’s easy when it’s you||Pato O’ward x fem!Autistic!reader

Word count—654

The paddock was alive with noise—engines roaring in the background, team radios buzzing, and the general hum of race day chaos. You liked to stay on the fringes, close enough to soak in the energy but far enough to avoid being overwhelmed.

Today was no different. You had your favorite pair of noise-canceling headphones on, a small buffer between you and the world, as you studied the data on your tablet.

“Hey, you planning on giving away all the secrets before the race?”

You startled slightly at the familiar voice, turning to see Pato standing nearby, his signature grin in full force.

“I don’t think my data is that valuable,” you replied, the corners of your mouth quivering despite yourself.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he teased, leaning casually against the barrier. “Besides, you’re the only one around here who makes sense half the time.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but quickly brushed it off. Pato had a way of making everyone feel at ease, but his attention always felt a little… different when it was on you.

It started with small things. Pato would always make sure to ask if you wanted to join the group after races, but he never pushed when you declined. If you sat alone during a particularly loud debrief, he’d pass by and drop off a bottle of water without a word, his presence calming without being intrusive.

One day, you found him crouched next to your chair, holding out a bag of your favorite snacks.

“I noticed you don’t always eat much during the post-race chaos,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured this might help.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You… noticed that?”

He shrugged, his easygoing demeanor masking what felt like genuine care. “Yeah, I notice a lot of things.”

The moment everything shifted came after a particularly grueling weekend. You’d been caught off guard by a sudden schedule change, and the resulting chaos had left you overstimulated and barely holding it together.

You’d retreated to a quiet corner, your breathing uneven as you tried to ground yourself. The hum of fluorescent lights felt too loud, the texture of your fireproof suit too scratchy.

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Pato crouching in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice betrayed the opposite.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he set down a small item in front of you—a soft, squishy stress ball in the shape of a car.

“Thought you might like this,” he said gently.

You stared at it, then at him. “How did you—”

“You seemed off earlier,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured maybe this could help. If not, we can just sit here for a while.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn’t just that he’d noticed—it was that he’d cared enough to do something about it without making a big deal of it.

“I’m autistic,” you blurted out, the words slipping past your lips before you could second-guess yourself.

Pato blinked, then nodded slowly. “Okay. What does that mean for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “It means I get overwhelmed sometimes. By noise, changes, people… everything.”

“Got it,” he said, his tone casual but warm. “So, how can I help? Besides this little guy,” he added, gesturing to the stress ball with a grin.

Your chest loosened, the weight of the moment lifting. “This is a good start.”

From then on, Pato made it his mission to quietly support you in ways that felt almost effortless. He learned to spot the signs of your discomfort before you even said a word, offering subtle solutions that never felt patronizing. And when you finally worked up the courage to tell him how much it all meant to you, he simply smiled and said, “It’s easy when it’s you.”

#pato o'ward #pato o’ward x reader #indycar #f1 x autistic!reader #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one imagine #formula one x y/n #faiths inbox #💙🩵.anon

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kaayyyys · 1 month ago

Note

OMG 😳😳😳

Can we get more Daryl and Female OC had a fight and he is trying to make up or how he deals with it,

Is she a arguer as in she doesn't let shit slide she says what the audience wishes she would just say, screaming it ( " you don't get to be mean to me just because you had a bad day, I do not allow you!")

Or is she quiet, doesn't say anything at all

Thank youuu for the request ❤️

@bethylforlife

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls of their cabin, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within. You watched Daryl sharpen an arrow, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone a familiar comfort usually, but tonight, it grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He hadn't said a word to you in hours, his silence thicker than the smoke that curled from the dying embers in the hearth.

You knew Daryl. You knew the tell-tale signs - the tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to bore holes through whatever he was focused on, the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils. He was simmering, a pressure cooker ready to blow, and you were dreading being the one to feel the brunt of it.

"Daryl," you began softly, your voice barely a whisper above the crackling fire. "Is everything alright?"

He didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge you were there. The scraping continued, a relentless, irritating sound that amplified the knot forming in your stomach.

"Daryl, come on," you persisted, a hint of frustration creeping into your tone. "You've been like this all day. Just tell me what's wrong."

Finally, he stopped. He looked up, his eyes, usually a soft, comforting blue, now hard and cold. "Nothin'," he grunted, turning back to his arrow.

"Don't give me that 'nothin'' bullshit, Daryl," you snapped, the dam finally breaking. "I know you better than that. Something's clearly eating you up inside, and I'm tired of being ignored."

His head snapped up, his eyes flashing. "Maybe I just wanna be left alone!" he retorted, his voice rough and laced with an anger that wasn't directed at you, but you felt it nonetheless.

"Well, that's just too damn bad, isn't it?" you fired back, rising to your feet. "We're supposed to be partners, remember? In this life, in this world, we're supposed to have each other's backs. But how can I have your back when you shut me out like this?"

He scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You wouldn't understand."

"Then make me understand!" you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. "Tell me what's going on! Don't just take it out on me!"

He slammed the arrow down on the table, the force of it making the few remaining candles flicker violently. "It's this damn place, alright?" he exploded, finally unleashing the pent-up frustration. "This whole damn community! They're weak, they're soft, they ain't got the stomach for what's comin'."

You took a step back, surprised by the intensity of his anger. "What are you talking about?"

"They're trustin' people they shouldn't be trustin'," he continued, pacing the small space like a caged animal. "They're lettin' their guard down. They're gonna get us all killed."

Now you understood. The new group that had arrived at Alexandria, the one Rick was so keen on trusting, had clearly rattled Daryl. He saw weakness where Rick saw potential, naivety where Rick saw hope. But his anger, his fear, was misdirected.

"So, because you're scared, you're going to be an ass to me?" you asked, your voice laced with hurt. "That's your solution? To punish me for something I have no control over?"

He stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I ain't punishin' you."

"Yes, you are, Daryl!" you insisted, tears stinging your eyes. "You're shutting me out, you're being mean, and you're acting like I'm the enemy. I'm not the enemy, Daryl. I'm on your side. Always."

The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the crackling fire. He looked at you, really looked at you, and you saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes. He knew he was wrong. He knew he was being unfair. But admitting it was never easy for Daryl Dixon.

Finally, he sighed, the fight draining out of him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the words barely audible.

"That's a start," you said softly, but you didn't move. You needed more than just a mumbled apology.

He ran a hand through his greasy hair, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I just… I don't know what to do," he confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "I see what's comin', and I don't know how to stop it. And I just… I get scared."

Hearing him admit his fear, seeing that chink in his armor, made your heart ache for him. You crossed the room and knelt in front of him, gently taking his hand in yours. His hand was calloused and rough, but you knew the warmth and strength that lay beneath.

"I know," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "I get scared too. But we're in this together, Daryl. We always have been."

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. "I don't deserve you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"Maybe not," you said, a small smile gracing your lips. "But you got me anyway."

You stood up, pulling him with you. He followed you to the bed, where you sat down, pulling him down beside you. You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body.

"Talk to me, Daryl," you murmured, closing your eyes. "Tell me what you're afraid of. Let me help you carry it."

He was silent for a long moment, then he began to speak, his voice low and hesitant at first, but growing stronger as he talked. He told you about his fears, about his doubts, about the weight of responsibility he felt to protect the people he cared about. He talked about the ghosts of his past, the scars that still haunted him, the memories he couldn't escape.

And you listened. You held him close, offering him comfort, understanding, and unwavering support. You reminded him of his strength, his resilience, his unwavering loyalty. You reminded him of the good he had done, the lives he had saved, the hope he had inspired.

As the hours passed, the storm outside subsided, and the storm within him began to dissipate as well. The flickering candlelight still cast dancing shadows on the walls, but now they seemed less menacing, more playful. The air in the cabin felt lighter, filled with a sense of peace and understanding.

Finally, he fell silent, exhausted but calmer. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Anytime," you replied, snuggling closer. "That's what we do, remember? We're in this together."

He kissed the top of your head, a silent promise of his love and his commitment. As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that the fight had been worth it. It had been a painful reminder of the challenges you faced, but it had also reaffirmed the strength of your bond, the depth of your love, and the unwavering commitment you had made to each other in this broken, unpredictable world. You were Daryl Dixon's anchor, and he was yours. And together, you could weather any storm.

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