#but even knowing it's actually woolen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryspet · 6 months ago

Text

homestead [4] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, jj maybank x reader, kidnapping, DUBCON, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.6k

In which you can't escape from your inner turmoil, even in your dreams.

homestead masterlist

Tending to the entire house was hard work. You thought you’d be bored sooner than you actually ended up. It seemed there was always more to do with all the cooking you were doing and the laundry that Rafe went through. Sometimes, you imagined adding the demands of feeding a newborn every few hours or chasing a toddler around to your already packed routine. The thought was daunting, but you had signed up for it, knowing it would be difficult yet now you were relieved you wouldn’t be financially struggling through it.

Your growing belly had started to interfere with your daily chores. It was harder to breathe when you exerted yourself, and frequent trips to the bathroom were now the norm. Rafe never complained when the house wasn't perfect, but you knew it was because he was trying to regain your trust after losing control in the nursery. He wanted you to come to him willingly, but you weren’t mentally ready for that. When Rafe did touch you, he restrained his darker impulses, and while you never enthusiastically said “yes,” you found yourself denying him less and less.

When Rafe started leaving his bedroom unlocked, you knew it was safe to start cleaning it. You mostly used this time to snoop around. You weren’t sure what contact he kept with the outside world. He made sure you weren’t privy to the details of his business, and he never called his family when you were around.

His room was like yours in many ways, yet distinctly different. You felt a more masculine presence than the rest of the farmhouse. The walls were a deep charcoal gray, and the bed had a thick, woolen blanket that looked inviting enough, but the large wooden bed frame was imposing. Heavy, dark curtains framed the windows on either side of the bed, and there was a seating area on one side of the room with a leather armchair next to a couple of shelves containing a few trinkets and books. Rafe’s closet contained your most considerable curiosity, a substantial black safe.

The way Rafe opened the house to you was purposeful, he wanted you to feel welcome here, but he couldn’t deny he had secrets. You knew at least a few of those secrets were inside that safe.

Every time you went inside the closet to put away Rafe’s laundry or organize his clothes, you thought about the years that had passed and everything you didn’t know about him. You were in one of those moments, standing in Rafe’s closet, when you heard the shower start in the connecting room. Rafe had appeared from an afternoon in the fields. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t realized you were there, but he’d already started undressing, his chiseled frame glistening with sweat and dirt.

“Hey,” You whispered, not wanting to startle him, but he was already grinning at the sight of you.

“Hey, Honey,” He started to undo his belt, and you felt trapped, most of his figure blocking the view of the bathroom doorway, “How you doing?”

You shrugged like you usually did, “Fine, I was just …hanging up your dress shirts.”

“Nice,” He slid off his pants, and you weren’t sure why you didn’t avert your eyes; maybe because you felt yourself starved from any other human connection expect Rafe’s, “I’ll be gone for longer than usual tomorrow.”

“Cameron Development business?”

He didn’t confirm nor deny, “You mind picking out my clothes? You have a better eye for colors and stuff, you know?”

“Sure,” You took that as your opportunity to stop staring at the figure that seemed to be growing even more pristine as the manual labor toned his muscles. You resented it slightly, feeling less and less like yourself as your child grew inside of you.

The closet was a strange mix of outdoor clothing and high-end suits, a signal of the true duality of Rafe’s life. Thanks to you, it was more organized now, and you spent time scanning the rows of clothes. You chose a tailored navy suit, thinking of his muscular build and the deep blue of his eyes. You paired it with a crisp, white dress shirt and a tie with a subtle, sophisticated pattern of navy and silver. Completing the look, you picked out his polished, black leather dress shoes and matching belt.

You hadn’t realized just how much time you spent mulling it over. As soon as you laid it out on top of the closet’s chaise lounge chair, Rafe stood beside you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’m impressed,” He said, leaning over to peck your cheek.

“Thanks.”

“Stay with me in my room tonight,” Rafe said, his fingers trailing down from your shoulder to your arm. He moved in closer, leaning down to kiss below your ear, “Missed you all day.”

“Rafe,” You sighed as he placed a kiss lower on your neck. In saying his name, you said a million different things. It was a warning that you might resist, that you loved his touch but hated how much you did.

“I gave you your own space because of your …condition. But after the baby comes, this is going to become our room. I want you to get comfortable here.”

Again, it felt like he was asking the world of you. You imagined laying next to him night after night and him rolling over, taking what he wanted from you anytime he liked. When you thought about it for a moment longer, it wasn’t much different than how things were now.

“I…I wanted to ask you something,” You placed a hand on his chest and he placed his larger one over yours.

“Yeah?”

“Now that I’m in my third trimester, I’ve been thinking more about, you know, giving birth,” You found it hard to meet his eyes, but you did your best, especially as they started to narrow at you, “With me being here, I guess I don’t know what my plan is anymore.”

“Don’t worry, Honey,” Rafe said, “You think I don’t have a plan?”

“I didn’t know how far we were from the hospital-”

You felt his heart quicken underneath your touch, “A hospital is like, not even Plan C, it’s Plan E. You’ll do it here. People do home births all the time.”

Your face fell quickly, and you pulled your hand from him, “You’re not serious.”

“I’ve been doing my research. As long as we have the proper people involved and the right equipment, it can work!”

“It’s my first pregnancy, Rafe! I want a real hospital with lots of nurses and a real doctor. I want an epidural, and I want my baby to have immediate medical care if he needs it. You’re crazy!”

“It’s not happening.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?�� You cursed, your temper flaring. He grabbed your wrist, keeping you from stepping away, “Get away from me!”

“Calm down,” Rafe grabbed both of your arms, pinning you in front of him, “This is why I didn’t fucking bring it up.”

“Let go of me,” You gritted your teeth, “Please.”

“You have to trust me. I can handle this.”

“I don’t want you … I don’t want just you to handle everything,” you replied, trying to find your calm, knowing you might set him off pretty soon. “Please, just—we have to be able to discuss this more. If you need reassurance that I won’t run or tell anyone what happened, then I will do whatever. I care about the baby more than myself.”

“I wouldn’t put you or the baby in harm's way.”

“I know,” you lied.

“Then don’t imply that I would.”

“Can you just be open-minded about this?”

His eyes held a lot of emotions, but he nodded. As if each of you were frightened of escalating each other further, you pulled away from each other.

“I want to sleep in my bed; I toss and turn so much, and my pillow-”

“Go ahead, I don’t give a shit,” Rafe crossed his arms, giving in so quickly that your eyes widened in shock. You didn’t waste the opportunity, scurrying off as quickly as your legs would take you.

You didn’t see Rafe for the rest of that night and were grateful he wasn’t around the next day, either.

“I like the name Kai,” you said, looking up, your head resting on top of someone’s warm lap, feeling the sun for the first time in a long time. “It means sea in Hawaiian. If they grow up here, they have to like the ocean.”

“I was thinking something edgier,” you heard JJ say, his gaze also moving toward the beautiful sky above. Lush, rolling fields surrounding you, “Maybe like Talon or Blaze? Something cool so, you know, the other kids don’t pick on ‘em.”

“No way,” She shook your head, giggling, “That is exactly the type of kid someone would pick on.”

“Fine …Kai. I don’t dislike it,” JJ seemed to ponder the name longer,.

You sat up from his lap, finally gazing at your handsome boyfriend. “I like it. We don’t have to pick one now, but … I’m just saying.”

The two of you were sitting on top of a plaid blanket you didn’t recognize, and you didn’t recognize what part of The Cut you were in, either. JJ must’ve surprised you for a date. A cheap picnic was always up his aisle, and you never cared for fancy dates.

“I still can’t believe there’s going to be a little Maybank,” you said, reaching out to touch his blonde, windswept hair. “I mean, I already love him. It makes me think my Dad must’ve never felt this way about me.”

He touched your bump, and you felt like you were filled with happiness. Everything was right. Things would be challenging, but at least you’d have each other.

“My parents, too,” the words were solemn, but you felt the opposite, “It’s their loss.”

Neither of you had the families you deserved, but you could provide that happiness to Kai . . . or whatever name ended up suiting your angel.

“Picking a name is hard. What if we look at him, and he just doesn’t match the one we chose?” You wondered.

“Then we change it. He could have no name for all I care. As long as he’s healthy.”

You brought your lips to his and melted into him. Strong arms wrapped around your back as he deepened the kiss further. You were at home.

When you opened your eyes again, breathless from the kiss, you knew you weren’t home at all. Tears filled JJ’s ocean eyes and the sky turned a darker blue.

“Have you asked Rafe what he thinks about the baby’s name?”

“Wha-” Your lips parted, the air growing from warm to humid. A storm was brewing above that field of flowers. Now that you glanced around, those flowers were just weeds.

“You should ask him.”

“Why would I ask Rafe, JJ?”

“Why not? He won. He gets you. He gets the baby.”

“He didn’t win. I just …” It came to you then. JJ never got to feel your pregnant belly. He never knew you were having a boy. How could you feel connected to him from behind the glass in the visiting room? “I-I’m going to figure this out.”

“You’re giving in.”

“I’m not!” You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“You should’ve never let him in.”

“I’m sorry,” You were crying now, “I-I was so lonely, and… you left me!”

He turned his head, and you felt the rain starting to fall, “You’ll forget about me soon enough. He’ll never know me.”

“Please, you have to find us.” The words left your lips just as lightning struck.

You screamed yourself awake.

You pushed around the baby potatoes on your plate, sitting across from Rafe at the dinner table. This entire week, you’d been struggling with eating. You felt the baby resting so high that you felt full quicker than expected. It didn’t help that you were facing the reality of giving birth inside this house and possibly never seeing the outside world again.

You wanted nothing more than to meet your baby, but you felt yourself growing more complacent as your time here and the pregnancy went along. Realistically, how far could you get now that you were this pregnant? And how could you leave with a newborn?

“Is the baby moving a lot?” Rafe brought a piece of steak to his mouth, watching you intently as you played with your food.

“Yeah … a little too much.”

“Hey, an active baby is a healthy one.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, “You read that in one of your parenting books?”

He winked at you, “Yes, I did.”

“I’m glad you know everything now.”

“You’d know more if you spent some of your free time reading. You haven’t touched a single one.”

“I’m exhausted lately, but thanks.”

Rafe nodded, “Well, makes sense; your body is changing so much. I should stay home more so I can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” You said quickly.

His fork and knife clanged against his plate as he placed them down. He leaned forward, eyes gazing sharply at you, “What’s gotten into you lately?”

“Rafe, don’t,” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes now.

“I’m serious …did I do something? Things have been going good.”

You went silent, “Can I be excused?”

“You cannot,” his fist slammed down on the table, making you jump. “I had our whole night planned out, starting with dinner. So you’ll finish dinner with me, we will go on a walk, and then stay in my bed tonight.”

“I don’t feel-”

“I don’t care. I don’t ask too much of you,” Rafe interrupted, “If you can act a little bit more pleasant, I’ll still give you the surprise I was planning.”

“A surprise?”

“You’re going to regret acting like a brat when you see it.”

Your mouth parted in shock, but his deadly look had you crossing your arms and sitting back silently in your chair.

Rafe’s hands were intertwined with yours as you walked down an unfamiliar winding path. Cicadas had begun chirping, and the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the property. This was only the third time you’d physically left the house, Rafe allowing you earlier in your pregnancy to follow him around to meet all of the animals.

Now, due to your swollen feet, you didn’t fit into the work overalls Rafe purchased for you or the boots. You walked in silence for the most part, imagining that Rafe was stewing with anger after your behavior at dinner. You cared little that you’d upset him; your mind was focused on repressing the nightmares you’d be having about JJ.

After a few minutes, you arrived at a small, fenced-in area near one of the barns. Your curiosity was piqued when you saw a little pen set up in the middle of the grassy area. Inside was a bundle of fur that wiggled and barked excitedly as you approached.

“C’mere, Honey,” He pulled you closer to the pin. The small dog was a golden brown color with long, shaggy ears, and you noticed a red gift bow tied around its neck.

“A puppy?” You asked, leaning forward. The puppy stood up on its hind legs, and bounded over the pen's edge, tail wagging furiously.

“She’s cute, right?” Rafe scooped the puppy quickly into its arms.

“You bought a puppy,” you couldn’t help yourself, starting to pet its soft fur as Rafe held her close. “This is the surprise?”

“Part of it,” Rafe smiled, “You could use more company.”

You couldn’t help but notice that your lips started to pull into a smile as the puppy tilted its head closer to you, licking at your cheek, “Oh … look at her,” You said, your heart swelling. Rafe had successfully subverted your expectations. Who were you to deny the cutest animal you’d ever seen? You should welcome any happiness your new world wanted to bring you, no matter how much regret JJ made you feel in your dreams, “You didn’t have to…”

“I want you to have her. She’s a cocker spaniel. Guy who sold her to me said they’re good with kids.”

“I love her,” You spoke honestly, scratching behind her ears.

“Look at her collar,” He gave you a suspicious look.

“Why?”

“Just look,” You hesitated but couldn’t imagine him playing a trick on you right now.

After spinning the tiny collar around her neck, you found the second part of your surprise. Hanging on its collar was a ring with a gold band an a huge, oval-shaped diamond. You inspected it closer, not meeting Rafe’s eyes. Your heart was beating way too fast to look at him. You knew little about engagement rings, but you knew what you were looking at would be considered top-tier.

“Here,” he said, placing the puppy back down in the pin and maneuvering its collar to free the ring. He held it out to you, and as you stood there, frozen, he took your hand. You didn’t pull away as he eased it onto your left ring finger, “I know we can’t have a traditional ceremony, but I just thought you might think this was special.”

Your lips parted, but Rafe shushed you, “You don’t have to say anything.”

Rafe’s eyes searched yours, waiting for any sign of acceptance. You looked down, the diamond catching the light of the setting sun.

“Let’s bring her inside,” Rafe suggested after a long moment. You nodded, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead before lifting the puppy again.

Rafe led you back to the house, and his words echoed in your head. What had he done to deserve your attitude? Things were going well. In exchange for caring for the house, you relax in a comfortable environment where your baby can grow peacefully. He’d bought you a gorgeous ring and a puppy to discourage your loneliness. Maybe you were just wholly ungrateful.

You helped Rafe set up an area for her in the living room.

“She’s gonna need a name.”

“What do you think?” You asked him quietly.

You resisted the idea of naming your baby without JJ, but maybe you could share this intimate, normal thing with Rafe.

He propped his fist underneath his chin, thinking, and stared down at the dog, “Are you opposed to a human name?”

“I’m not opposed to anything.”

He seemed a bit surprised by your reaction, but he continued his thinking pose.

“She’s gonna be really sweet, I can already tell. To me, she looks like a Lucy or like a Molly.”

“Molly is cute. Classic sounding,” You nodded, leaning down to pet her, “You’re so adorable. You need wittle pink hairbows, don’t you, Molly?”

You heard him chuckle at your high-pitched tone, “It’s settled then. Welcome to the family, Molly.”

As the evening progressed and after you got plenty of puppy cuddles, Rafe escorted you upstairs. The atmosphere was different than the last time you were together there. It was softer and more intimate. He helped you out of your clothes, gentle and considerate of your bump. You didn’t let yourself overthink any longer for the night.

Your body was so much different from when he first brought you here, yet Rafe’s eyes were hungrier than ever. You couldn’t feel vulnerable for too long because soon he was naked too and pressed against you. The touching, soothing words in your ear and the gentle hands on your belly were almost too much.

When the time came, Rafe guided you on top of him. He kept you steady, supporting your body with his strong hands as you straddled his lap. That night, you controlled the pace, and the position allowed you to ease the discomfort your belly caused. He watched you like a fine painting hanging in a museum, and his hands never left your hips.

“Take your time,” He grunted huskily, “You’re doing so good, Honey.”

You loved the praise. You basked in his words and his gaze. You wanted to feel like you were doing the right thing, that you would be a good Mom, and Rafe was always there to confirm that. Your head rolled back, lips parting, as your movements became more frantic and rapid.

You lost your rhythm, the intensity bringing tears to your eyes.

“Good girl, Honey,” As you grew tired, Rafe moved your hips for you. Hands pressing into his thick chest, you whined, feeling him in the deepest parts of you, “Give Daddy all of it.”

“Fuck, Rafe!” You cursed, shaking, and he groaned in response, “I’m coming.”

He moved your hips faster, the grinding motion sending you over the cliff towards your orgasm. You felt yourself tightening around him, and like a chain reaction, Rafe’s eyes closed tightly as his orgasm came, “Jesus, baby,” Hands still tight on your hips, he finished deep inside of you, but you’d reached the point of overstimulation now.

You climbed off of him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He caught you in his arms, pressing his body into yours, “Thank you,” You heard him say in your ear, his voice raw with emotion, “Fuck, I love you so much.”

You nestled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours and the soft sheets beneath you. When you drifted off to sleep, you saw no raging storms, felt no overwhelming guilt, and JJ never appeared. For the first time in a long while, you slept peacefully, cocooned in the safety of Rafe’s love.

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think!

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #black!reader #obx fic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader

769 notes · View notes

aemondsbabe · 11 months ago

Text

A Kindness

summary: you're finally ramsay's most favorite toy, but is that really a good thing?

pairing: ramsay bolton x reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark content it's ramsay hello, blood kink but no injury/gore, mentioned major character death (again, no injury/gore), slight au (ramsay wins battle of the bastards), choking, rough sex, dirty talk, humiliation/degradation, slapping, piv sex, unprotected sex don't be silly wrap ur willy, hair pulling, creampie, slight breeding kink, puppy play, boot humping idk how to else to phrase it, slight angst but a happy ending for ramsay lmao, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 6.2k

a/n: my first foray into dark or at least semi-dark writing and my first time writing ramsay! i've had this one in my head for such a long time so it feels really good to actually get it out! hope everyone enjoys and please make sure to heed the warnings with this one!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Dip the cloth again, you dolt,” you snap, looking up from the scroll of parchment rolled out before you on the table when you hear the coarse woolen cloth begin to scrape dryly across the silver Ramsay’s… thing was supposed to be polishing, “If I have to remind you of that one more time, I’ll tell him you tried to touch me. I wonder which part of you he’d hack off for that, hm?”

Reek’s eyes go wide at your threat and he nods his head frantically, quickly reaching over and dunking the cloth into the small bowl of vinegar before him. “Yes, m’lady. Apologies, m’lady.”

A small sigh leaves your lips as you rest an elbow on the table, nose scrunching up slightly at the sour smell that seems to hang like a cloud over the room, the small one by the kitchens.

Probably where the staff ate, you think, staring blankly at the fire crackling away in the hearth. You’ve tried hard to picture it – Winterfell in its former glory, trussed up with wolf banners and filled with children’s laughter, how it was when the Stark’s called it home.

Your eyes linger on Reek and for a second, you’re halfway tempted to ask him about it – what it was like living here, being one of them. You don’t, knowing the question would fall on deaf ears at the least, or send him spiraling to the point of being unable to finish his chores, and then it would be your head on the chopping block as well.

Distantly, you hear the familiar baying of Ramsay’s hounds and your eyes flick up to the narrow slit windows on the wall; you do your best to ignore the way Reek’s head swivels to the sound in the same instance yours does, the way that adrenaline so keenly rushes through you – a burst of panic leading the charge before you have the chance to correct it.

Anticipation, you remind yourself, jaw clenched, Passion, excitement.

Your eyes vacantly scan over the parchment you’d nabbed from the library earlier that morning, an account of the birth of Arya, apparently the sister of the one that had actually managed to escape some weeks back, no doubt frozen now in one of the snowy forests that surrounds Winterfell. You don’t really care, your thoughts once again reverting back to Myranda. Bitterly, you remember how he never made her stay behind when he went hunting, never made her watch over his man-servant, never made her second guess.

The last one is a lie, the truth woven deeply into the many nights you’d spent up with her – listening as she fretted about each word she’d uttered to him that day, hoping each one had been right and had been said at the right time, that he wouldn’t find some made-up cause to punish her. Tendrils of jealousy had twisted into you even then, even as she painted a picture of what he truly was.

Just as men’s voices filter through the windows from the courtyard outside, your lips quirk up into a mean, victorious little smirk.

It’s her body he fed to the dogs, you think, the voice in your mind a proud hiss, Just like Violet’s and Tansy’s and Kyra’s. You remember the day well enough, remember the shock of seeing your friend's body laying in the courtyard as you’d run out to greet Ramsay, teal eyes staring at nothing. It had been you that had warmed his bed that very night, and all the ones after it.

“There you are,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you, nearly making you yelp as Reek scrambles to stand up from the table. Before you even have a chance to, a strong hand clasps over your shoulder, stilling your movements, “No, no, don’t get up on my account.” Rusty copper stains color his hand, dried blood outlining each of his nails. You don’t let your mind linger on what the source of it could be.

You whip your head around and swallow nervously as he chuckles lowly, “Ramsay!” You breathe in greeting, the corners of your lips tilting up into a tentative smile, though that’s quickly washed away as you take in the messy splotches of red that stain his coat and tunic, that snake their way up the pale column of his throat and dot the sides of his face.

He looks every bit the hunter and you wonder, not for the first time, what that makes you.

“You seem quite comfortable here, pet,” he drawls, leaning down until he’s eye-level with you, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more at home down here with the help,” he continues, hand tightening to the point of pain on your shoulder, making you grit your teeth, “Than you are in our chambers where you’re meant to be.”

Our chambers. A privilege he never granted her. Stupidly, your heart sings.

His hand tightens on your shoulder once more, finally drawing a pained whine from your lips.

“Y-You told me to watch him! To make sure he –” You’re cut off as Ramsay unceremoniously hauls you to your feet, clawing at your leather doublet. A cry leaves your lips as the hand on your shoulder tangles into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging as he forces your head back, blue eyes flicking to your neck as you swallow thickly.

“I told you to be in our chambers when I return from hunts,” he corrects you, standing to his full height as he holds you tightly, forcing you unsteadily onto your tip-toes, “That I expected you to be at the door, ready and waiting for me.” His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, his voice a low growl that shouldn’t excite you the way it does.

“I’m sorry,” you wince internally at the way your voice comes out as a pained little squeak, your hands scrambling to hang onto his forearm, nails digging into the stained quilted fabric of his jacket.

“You know how I get after a hunt,” he suddenly pulls away from you, his hand pulling out of your hair, a gasp leaving you as your heels drop to the floor. You blink as he reaches up, not flinching from years of practice, though instead of striking you or harshly gripping at your jaw like you expect, his hand cups your cheek. Your chest rises and falls as he strokes his thumb over your cheekbone, blood stained fingers now delicate against your soft skin.

“Today’s was a special one, too. Don’t you remember?” He questions, icy eyes sliding from yours to the red-headed man still standing by the table, glimmering cruelly as he smirks.

Still, you nod your head, knowing Reek won’t answer. “To celebrate killing Jon Snow,” you breathe, gripping at the leather of his tunic, desperate to win even a scrap of approval.

Surprisingly, he grants it – fixing you with a proud little grin, like how an owner would look at a dog that’s just mastered a new trick. “That’s right,” his hand ruffles the hair on the top of your head, a gesture that should feel demeaning, yet it sends a tingle of pride through you instead, “Seems you can remember something after all.” He pulls away and traipses over to Reek, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surely you remember too, Reek? You were in the kennels that evening when the dogs had their treat, were you not?” He taunts, the playful inflection in his voice entirely for show, “Our little problem’s been dealt with and now we hold not only the Dreadfort but Winterfell as well! What do you think about that, hm?” Ramsay studies the other man carefully, eyes flitting over his face as he takes great pleasure in the subtle twitches of pain that still manage to flicker through the harsh conditioning he’d endured. Your eyes stay fixed firmly on the stone floor.

“A… A great victory, master!”

“Yes, a great victory, indeed,” he smiles, watching Reek for another moment before turning back to you. His smile morphs into a cold, callous frown that ties your stomach into knots, each of his steps making your heart hammer faster in your chest. “You know, it’s actually rather amusing,” he starts, bloodied fingers twirling a stray lock of your hair, “How my hounds seem to be continually more well trained than you, pretty little idiot.”

Pretty, pretty, pretty! Your heart thumps dumbly, a rabbit in a snare.

“I’ll do better!” You whimper, shaking your head frantically as your eyes meet his, “I can do better, really, I was just confu–”

The hand in your hair shoots down suddenly, yanking several strands with it as he clamps it around your neck. “Confused?” Ramsay murmurs, watching with rapt attention at how you struggle in his hold, lips quivering as the words die in your throat, “Really? I give you one task, I ask one thing of you, and you can’t even figure that out? You still disappoint me?”

He’s not expecting an answer, you know this, and yet you still try to give one as your mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, only the faintest little whines managing to escape. You feel faint, both from his grip around your throat and from the myriad of emotions coursing through your veins – your heart twists at the thought of failing him, your stomach is in knots as various punishments flash through your mind, and yet your center still sparks, still sends little glimmers of arousal through you.

His grip loosens enough to allow you to suck in several shaky lungfuls of air as he snickers, endlessly amused at how eager you still are, how you still yearn so deeply for him. Again, he pats your head condescendingly, muttering little hushes as if you were a crying puppy. “Lucky for you, pet, I have plenty of experience training stubborn bitches,” Ramsay chuckles, blue eyes glimmering with mirth when he feels you swallow apprehensively, “I think we’ll have your behavior corrected in no time, won’t we? Even the stupidest of beasts can still learn a trick or two.”

Before you have time to react, the hand cradling the crown of your head harshly grabs at your hair again, tugging you suddenly toward the door. “Ah!” You yelp, stumbling as he all but drags you behind him, your hands shake as they struggle to grab onto his forearm, “Ramsay, pl–!”

“You should be grateful I am allowing you the kindness of walking!” He growls, sparing you a glance over his shoulder as he leads you through the Great Hall, “Pity I’m so protective of you, really, I’m sure it would be quite entertaining for my men to watch you crawl.” His drawled threat sends a spark of fear down your spine and you pant, chest heaving, as you shuffle behind him; your cheeks burn as several of his soldiers sitting at the long wooden tables catcall as you stagger past them.

Finally, the two of you reach your shared chambers, that fact sending a little torrent of satisfaction through you even now. Unceremoniously, Ramsay all but tosses you inside and you whimper as your hip collides with an edge of the decorative table just inside the door, no doubt hard enough to bruise but at least it breaks your fall.

“It’s quite unfortunate, normally find your impudence amusing,” he starts lowly, pressing the old wooden door closed with a thud before sliding the lock into place with a self-satisfied grin, “But I know you know better, don’t you, little one?” He asks as he stalks toward you.

Your breath catches in your throat as he stands before you, studying you silently for a second in the same calculated way he studies a deer through the sight of his bow. Not knowing what else to do, you silently nod your head as your eyes slip down to the floor, like a child being scolded.

“You’ve been with me the longest now,” he murmurs as if you don’t know, one bloodstained hand grabbing at your waist as the other fits around the back of your neck, once again forcing your eyes to his face, “We grew up together, you and I. You know my ways, my rules, isn’t that right?”

Again, you nod your head, bottom lip trembling with the want to explain yourself, although you know that would only make things worse.

“That’s what makes your disobedience so frustrating,” his blue eyes bore into yours as he speaks, his lip sticking out in a mocking pout, “Because you do know better and yet you’re stupid enough to act out anyway, hm?” His tone is sharper now, dangerous like the pointed tip of an arrow.

“I wasn’t acting out!” The words claw themselves out of your throat before you can stop them and instantly you know you’ve made a mistake, but now you’re desperate to remedy it, “I wasn’t, really! I j-just misunderstood you, that’s –”

Your pleas come to a screeching halt as his hand smacks across your face, the other grips at your jaw tightly, tight enough to make you whine softly in his grasp. Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, cheek stinging, before they open and lock with his again, wild and desperately.

I wasn’t being insolent! You scream silently, hoping he can somehow hear you, that maybe all of your years with him would’ve granted that ability, I would never! I was doing as you said, like always!

“I was wrong earlier, wasn’t I?” Ramsay mutters, so close to you that your foreheads nearly touch. Your eyes widen slightly at his words, heart thumping in a hopeful little staccato, though he wrenches that away quickly enough, “You’re not a dog at all, no, a dog would be obedient and docile.”

Your brows knit together with confusion at his words, biting so hard into your lower lip that you’re shocked you don’t taste blood. Although, you can’t help the surprised little gasp that leaves you when his hands begin quickly tugging at the laces of your bodice as your own remain in white-knuckled fists at your sides, the whole of you determined to stay still like a statue, a plaything.

“No, you my sweet little pet,” he growls sarcastically, low voice morphing into a pleased chuckle as he tugs your bodice off; the shirt below it quickly follows and a small part of you blooms with pride at the happy little sigh he lets out at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re just a dumb puppy, aren’t you?” He chuckles against your throat, nipping at your skin more so than kissing it, although you relish the feel of his lips on you all the same. “A dumb, defiant little puppy,” he continues, hastily pulling at the ties of your skirts and you whimper despite yourself when they finally fall to the floor, pooling at your feet, “That’s in desperate need of more training.”

He stops, pausing for a mere second, and pulls back just enough to look at you, no doubt gaining satisfaction from the desperation written so plainly on your face. There’s a hunger in his cold eyes – a predator silently deciding to go for the jugular, nocking an arrow on his bow.

You whine as he properly kisses at your throat now, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs at your hips. One skims higher to cup your breast, the unexpected gentleness of his touches causes you to shiver and whine in his grasp and into his mouth as he kisses you finally, his full lips moving steadily in time with yours.

Harsh pants leave your lips as your heart pumps madly in your chest, his touches always work you up so quickly. The thought of him still being fully clothed as he left you bare and vulnerable made you hotter still; the feel of his warm leather tunic against your exposed skin, of his bloodied hands against your supple skin, drives you mad.

Before you have time to second guess your movements, you begin blindly pulling at the strings on his leather tunic, desperate to feel him against you. Surprisingly, he lets you tug it off of him, granting you a last meal of sorts, and you can’t help but to smile into the kiss, gasping into his mouth as he unbuttons his jacket himself before quickly tossing it aside as well. He’s panting nearly as harshly as you are as the two of you part long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head, your hands immediately go to his chest the second it joins the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Your eyes flicker over him as the two of you pause, the knot in your belly growing tighter at the sight of his taut stomach and chest, the low, warm glow of the many candles dotted throughout your chambers accentuating each muscular dip. Your fingers shake as they trail over him and you feel a sick sense of pride twist in your stomach at the fact that, unlike so many men, his skin isn’t mottled with years of scars and bruises. No, his is flawless, a pale, unmarred, ruthless canvas – a flawless killer.

Of course, he can’t let you have this reprieve for long. A good trainer doesn’t spoil his pet.

A soft, broken gasp leaves you as one hand wraps around your neck again, slotting perfectly against your throat like a collar, as he walks you a few paces further into the room, closer to the small hearth by the bed. “Kneel,” his command leaves no room for anything but obedience; you swallow thickly, nervously, and do as he says, lips parting ever so slightly when your knees rest on plush bear skin instead of hard stone.

A kindness, even now.

Ramsay’s lips twist into a proud grin as you stare up at him, legs folded beneath you with your hands poised perfectly on your thighs, a familiar stance he’d taught you years ago. “Good girl,” he mutters, fingers threading gently through your hair as you moan softly.

“Thank y – Ah!”

“No,” he chides harshly, tugging your head back by the roots of your hair until your neck is bared to him, your back arched, “Puppies don’t talk, dumb little thing,” he growls, shifting more closely to you in order to gain a better hold on your hair, close enough that you whimper as your front is pressed firmly against the length of his leg, the thick fabric of his trousers rough against your skin as one of his feet slots between your thighs, “A well-trained pet certainly doesn’t.”

The knot in your belly seizes at his words, aided by the laces of his leather boots brushing oh-so gently against your center, the knotted fabric sticking against the wetness already leaking from your clenching cunt. You whine, high-pitched and frantic when he clutches your hair tighter still, his fist white knuckled against the crown of your head.

“A well-trained little pet would always obey their master, wouldn’t they?” You can’t miss the breathiness of his voice now, his tone lower and smoother than it normally is, and the sound makes your hips hump against his boot before you can stop yourself, your nipples stiff, nearly aching, as they rub against his trousers.

A low, rumbled laugh echoes through your chambers when your arms wrap around his leg, fingers digging desperately into the firm muscle of his thigh. “Aww,” he coos mockingly, licking his lips as he watches you, his attention making blood rush to the apples of your cheeks, “Is my pretty little puppy getting off on this? Does your cunt drip when I tell you how stupid and worthless you are?”

The sound of your blood pumping furiously through your veins thuds in your ears, Pretty, pretty pretty!

You whine as you try to eagerly nod your head, his hold on your hair preventing you from moving much, though your hips rut steadily against his boot now – pressing tightly against the worn fabric, the knots from his laces rubbing perfectly over the throbbing little pearl at your center.

“You look like you’re having fun,” he drawls, cold eyes shining as he studies you closely, chest heaving in time with yours as his cock hardens in his pants, “Are you having fun, little one?”

Again, you try to nod, keening brokenly as your eyes stay fixed on his. You pant harshly against his leg, breath fragmented as they’re punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter and tighter with each pass of your slick center over the laces of his boot.

He knows, of course. As soon as he ordered you to stay in the kitchens with Reek this morning, he knew – knew you’d follow his orders to the letter, even if they contradicted his previous ones. He knew he’d find you there, knew he’d punish you for it, knew exactly how he wanted to break you down so that it could be him who built you back up. He’s known you the longest, you’d grown up together. He knows, of course he does. He’s nothing if not a thorough hunter.

A loud, broken whine leaves you when he flexes his foot, pressing his boot harder against you still. You’re helpless to do much else aside from stare up at him, gasping, while your hips buck against him as quickly as your sore muscles will allow, your high barreling toward you at a breakneck pace.

All of that comes to a sudden, screeching halt though when he moves again, shifting his weight until his boot is just out of reach. The sudden lack of stimulation makes your back arch further still, your muscles taut like a drawn bow.

“Oh, poor little puppy,” he laughs, watching gleefully as you whine loudly, the peak that had been so close fading away, leaving you aching, “If you thought it was going to be that easy, you haven’t been paying attention.” He taunts, crouching until he’s eye-level with you, smirking as his movements cause his pull on your hair to become tighter, making you wince, though his hand thankfully releases its grasp once he settles.

“Mmm,” you mewl softly as he caresses your breasts again, jumping slightly when he thumbs over your nipple before softly pinching at it, giving the other one the same treatment. Your eyes flutter shut as you arch your back further still, pressing against the palm of his hand as he kneads at your chest, eager for any stimulation you can get.

“Myranda was never like this,” he says suddenly, his voice low, steady, calculated. He smiles cruelly when your eyes snap open at the sound of her name, the back of your throat tight as tears already blur your vision – just like he wanted. “No, Myranda always behaved perfectly, she always did exactly what I said.”

He leans forward suddenly, the side of his face pressed firmly against yours so that when he speaks, you’re sure to hear every syllable, to feel them punctuated against the skin of your neck. “She was perfect. I never had to punish her for the same thing twice, you know. Not like I do with you.”

You shudder as his lips press against your skin again, pressing eager kisses against the wet trail of tears running down your cheek. He admires the way your shoulders shake as you sob, the way the subtle movement makes your breasts bounce, the way your cheeks flush so prettily, how your eyes always shine so brightly with fresh tears in them.

Ramsay loves breaking you – adores the moment when his arrow is finally launched free from his bow, adores the moment he sees it pierce your little heart. He loves you, in his way.

Not that he’d tell you that.

He lets you sob for a moment longer, all the while pressing hot kisses against your cheeks, relishing the salty taste of your tears as the little droplets of blood still caked to his skin mar your pretty face, staining it with delicate streaks of red. His cock twitches at the sight, black pupils nearly drowning out the blue of his eyes – maybe one day he’d bring you hunting, what a sight you’d be covered in the bright blood of a fresh kill.

“Myranda never needed training, puppy, not in the way you do,” he nearly whispers, the corners of his lips twitching up into a small smile as he leans back enough to grab at your chin, tilting your face up to his, “That’s what made her so boring.”

“Huh?” You breathe, sobs stalling for a second as you process what he’d just said, your obvious surprise making him laugh lowly again.

“What? Does that shock you? That I found her boring?” He questions, eyebrow raised, “Why would perfection be interesting?”

Your eyes search his face as he shifts, kneeling rather than crouching. A little glimmer of pride sparks to life within you as he kisses you again, your lips moving against his frantically, mewling when he pushes his tongue into your mouth and nips at your bottom lip.

“I never got to train her,” he breathes against your lips, grunting at the way your hands skim over his chest and stomach, grabbing at him so frantically, “I hardly got to punish her; if I gave her an order, she would follow it blindly – it made her predictable, it made her boring.”

“N-Not like me?” You whisper hopefully, meeting his gaze through half-lidded eyes as you pant, your chest pressed tightly to his.

“No, sweet pet, not like you,” Ramsay smiles, making your heart sing as it leaps beneath your ribs, “I get to train you, don’t I? And punish you when that little puppy brain can’t follow the simplest of orders.”

You should be offended, should feel mocked and belittled, but you don’t. Instead, you nod your head eagerly, preening like a proud little bird at his praise, because that’s what is, really. Ramsay will never be one to sing your praises softly like other men, but he admires you all the same.

Before you have time to reply, he grabs at your waist and abruptly maneuvers you, manhandling you until you’re poised on your hands and knees, cheek pressed firmly against the fur rug beneath you.

“I get to play with you, pet,” he drawls lowly, pressing a hand into the small of your back and grunting appreciatively when you arch down like he wants, licking his lips as your cunt finally comes into view, shining already in the low candlelight. He smirks at the way you moan when he presses his hard length against you, grinding against your slit, chest heaving at how warm you are even through his trousers, “Don’t I?”

“Yes!” You nod eagerly, pressing back against him like a wanton whore, nearly dizzy with need when his fingers bump against you as he quickly undoes the laces on his pants, “Yes, yes, yes, please!”

“Ohh, so you can be good, hm?” He teases, groaning in relief when he pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock, too impatient to remove them entirely, “Seems my training’s working nicely.”

Mindlessly, you nod, willing to agree with whatever he says so long as he gets inside you.

Mercifully, you don’t have to wait long. A loud cry fills your chambers as he presses into you, the slight sting of his thick cock stretching you open making you shiver, a familiar sensation since he was rarely ever patient enough to work you open on his fingers.

Immediately, he sets a brutal pace, his hips pressing against yours tightly each time he pushes forward, the head of his cock nearly kissing your cervix with each harsh thrust. Your cunt clenches at him greedily and your hands scramble against the rug beneath you, fingers tangling into the furs, desperate for something to anchor yourself.

“Fuck, tight little cunt,” Ramsay grunts harshly above you, his hands gripping meanly at your hips, hard enough to leave bruises.

“R-Ramsay, fuck… fuck,” you whimper beneath him, your eyes squeezed shut tightly as the knot in your belly threatens to unravel, your walls pulsing rhythmically around his length each time it spears into you.

He chuckles breathlessly at your little murmurs and runs a hand up the length of your back before grabbing at the hair at the nape of your neck, relishing the little cry you give as he pulls you up until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. “Are you close already?” He mocks smugly, his fingers untangling from your hair to wrap once more around your throat as his other paws at your breasts, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples.

You swallow thickly, throat bobbing under his grip, and nod your head the best you can, grabbing at his thick forearm.

“Do you think I’m going to let you?” He teases, biting harshly at your shoulder as his hips keep up a punishing rhythm.

You nearly sob at the question, so desperate, but still you shake your head, cunt pulsing around his length. “No, n-no…” You moan mournfully, voice hoarse from his hold.

He chuckles behind you, his chest rumbling against your back as he kisses and bites at your earlobe, your shoulder, any part of your neck not covered by his hand, each touch driving you mad. “Finally, that little brain seems to be working,” he grunts, laughing lowly as he abandons your breasts long enough to slap your cheek, blessedly soft this time, “I’m having too much fun playing with you to let you go that easily,” He drawls, chuckling once more when you whine.

“In fact,” he continues, reaching down and rubbing his fingers roughly against your aching bud, just enough to make you cry out before he suddenly pulls away again, tugging his length from you as he lets you flop to the floor with a little grunt, “I want to see you do a trick,” he whispers, rubbing over your ass before smack it roughly, making you jump, “Roll over.”

“Wha –” You start to question, only to be cut off with a loud cry as his hand spanks you once more.

“Be a good fucking puppy and roll over.”

His order leaves no room for questioning and obediently, you listen and roll over onto your back with a little whimper. You keep your legs bent up when you settle, keeping yourself on display for him, clenching around nothing as you eye his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, the tip red and leaking.

“Good little pet,” he praises, his words going straight to your pearl as you shudder. Hastily, he pushes your legs up further, one hand holding you open as he presses his cock back into you, savoring your loud whine, the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He resumes his harsh pace, slamming into you as he chases his high now, blue eyes trailing appreciatively over your trembling body, watching as your breasts bounce with each unforgiving thrust he gives.

“Please, please, Gods, please!” You whine frantically as he presses his hips against yours, grinding into you, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your bud perfectly, “Ramsay, p-please! I – fuck!”

He laughs breathlessly at your cries and leans down when you arch your back toward him, mouthing savagely at your chest, teeth nipping at the fat of your breasts before he licks over your nipples. He knows each touch is only driving you closer and closer to your release, yet he still doesn’t give you permission, a part of him meanly hopes you’ll slip over anyway and give him another reason to punish you, like he actually needs a reason.

Still, you have been good today and he does love how willing and docile you become when you peak, so malleable – entirely submissive, entirely his.

He bites and kisses his way up along your chest and neck before licking into your mouth for a moment, eagerly swallowing each desperate little cry before grabbing at your neck once more. Greedy, he turns your head to him, needing to see that empty-headed, hazy look in your eyes when he lets you finish.

His cock jerks at the sight of you, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try desperately to hold off, cheeks flushed, reddened lips parted. He grunts, feeling his balls tighten, his thrusts beginning to lose their rhythm.

“Cum, puppy,” he growls, forehead pressed against yours.

Your lips part in a silent curse as your high slams into you, each muscle in your body contracting at once. Your eyes bore into his wildly as your cunt spasms tightly around his cock, eyes rolling back as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck!” He grunts, growling lowly as his cock spasms within you, your walls all but milking his own high from him as well. His hips slam into you a few more times before he stills, gasping as he fills you with his spend.

The two of you lay together for a moment, panting loudly against one another. Ramsay is the first to move, shushing you as he pulls his softening length from you, making you whine.

Distantly, a part of you twists gleefully when you feel his seed drip from you, another thing he never dared do with her.

“Here,” he says softly, offering you a hand, which you gladly take, letting him help you stand since you doubt you’d be able to on your own. Finally, you stand on your feet, albeit unsteadily, and grab onto the foot of the carved wooden bedframe to steady yourself. Strangely, he stays with you, neither of you saying anything as he holds you, blue eyes studying you as they gleam with some unknown emotion.

After a moment, you try to pull away, meaning to leave as you always do, not one to wait around for his order anymore.

“Stop,” he murmurs, only pulling away once you still, “Stay.” He orders, an unfamiliar softness to his voice. Your head reels, eyes staring unfocused as you try to make sense of… whatever this is, whatever his game may be now.

He returns quickly enough, a damp cloth in his and from the small wash basin he keeps on the vanity. You reach out to grab it, to clean yourself off like you assume he wants, and yet he stops you, holding the cloth out of your grasp until you lower your hand again.

“Obedient puppies get rewards,” he says softly, all of the harshness from before absent from his tone as he answers your silent questions. You nearly freeze when he presses one small, gentle kiss against your forehead. Finally, he makes quick work of wiping between your legs, taking care to wipe away any of his spend that leaked from you.

“Thank you…” You nearly whisper, voice scratchy from his earlier treatment. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to say but if it isn’t, he doesn't say.

Silently, he cups your chin, lifting it enough to give him room to check your neck, trailing his hand over it lightly until he must be satisfied that you’re okay, that he hadn’t treated you too badly.

Kind, even still.

A few moments later, you recline in the plush bed, watching as he kicks off his boots before joining you, lying with you under the soft blankets. This part, at least, you’re used to – lying together like this but not touching, not cuddling, that’s too intimate, too close.

He hadn’t said that, wouldn’t say that, but you knew.

A surprised little gasp leaves you when he pulls you close, hands, clean now that he’d taken a moment to wash them, resting on you gently. One smoothes up and down your arm as he lets you lay against his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, his chin resting on your head; the other grabs at your thigh, pulling you to him until you’re tucked into his side, one leg propped over his hips.

“You did well,” he says softly, chest vibrating under your cheek as he speaks, “With your training, I mean. You did well. I’m… proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

The two of you are silent after that, neither of you knowing how to handle this new territory that you seem to be spilling into, but you don’t care, not with your heart pounding quickly in your chest. You’d think you were dying if it weren’t for the savage sense of victory threading through every inch of you.

Proud, proud, proud! The word echoes in your head with each pump of blood through your heart. It was so small, the barest of compliments, but from Ramsay it meant the world. It was something he’d said to you, only you, never to her, not once. Never to anyone else.

His chest rises and falls under your cheek, breath steady and even. He always falls asleep quickly, normally you do too. But not this time, not tonight, not wanting to let this moment fade just yet.

He loves you, in his way.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @iamawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstaarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino @targaryenbarbie @fan-goddess

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

1K notes · View notes

astrophileous · 1 year ago

Text

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

3K notes · View notes

mysteria157 · 7 months ago

Text

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary:

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe.

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs.

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.”

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself.

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas.

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice.

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance.

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely.

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you.

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed.

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself.

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you.

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon.

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress.

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you.

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call.

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need.

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder.

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone.

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself.

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants.

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's.

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed.

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness.

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely.

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass.

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him.

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take.

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier.

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck.

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

617 notes · View notes

ahqkas · 7 months ago

Note

Theodore with gf!reader who’s eyes are easily teary. For example she’s laying down and the side of her eye just tears up. Like her eyes just get teary for no reason and she’s trying to tell someone she isn’t crying. It’s very embarrassing for her as Theodore get protective of it seems like she’s crying.

STRAY TEARS ; theodore nott

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

YOU WERE LYING ON ONE OF THE PLUSH COUCHES IN THE SLYTHERIN COMMON ROOM, NESTLED UNDER A SOFT, WOOLEN BLANKET. The day's stress had left you feeling drained, and you found comfort in the gentle murmur of the crackling fire. As you lay there, staring at the ceiling, you felt an all-too-familiar feeling: a single tear slipping from the corner of your eye and trailing down the side of your face.

It wasn’t unusual for your eyes to water without any particular reason. They had a mind of their own, and tears often came without your permission to do so, a simple quirk of your physiology. Yet, every time it happened, you felt a wave of embarrassment. People often misinterpreted your teary eyes as a sign of distress, and explaining that you weren’t actually crying became a tiresome routine.

As you brushed the tear away, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Your boyfriend’s presence was unmistakable — there was a certain quiet confidence in the way he moved. He entered the room, his eyes immediately finding you on the couch. His brow furrowed slightly as he noticed the tear-streak on your face.

“Hey,” Theo said softly, coming to sit beside you. The concern in his eyes was visible, a deep-seated protectiveness that made your heart ache with both gratitude and frustration. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly wiped at your eyes, a weak attempt to stop the tears that weren’t really there for any particular reason. “Nothing,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of exasperation. “It’s just my eyes. They do this sometimes.”

Theo’s frown deepened, his protective instincts flaring. “Are you sure?” he asked, gently lifting your chin to get a better look at your face. His thumb brushed away a stray tear with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

Trying to reassure him, you offered the boy a nod. “I promise, Theo. It’s just how my eyes are. They get teary for no reason.”

Despite your words, you could see the concern lingering in his gaze. Theo had always been fiercely protective of you, his natural inclination to shield you from any discomfort or harm. It was one of the things you loved most about him, but in moments like these, it also made you feel a bit self-conscious.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s nothing serious, I don’t like the thought of you being upset.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his. The warmth of his skin against yours was a grounding presence, a reminder that he was there for you, no matter what. “I know, and I appreciate it,” you said softly. “But really, it’s nothing to worry about. My eyes just have a mind of their own.”

Theo’s expression softened, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess I’ll have to get used to it,” he said, his tone lightening. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in the room. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased gently, squeezing his hand.

As the evening wore on, you both settled into a comfortable silence, Theo’s protective presence a constant reassurance. He stayed close, his hand never leaving yours, a silent promise that he would always be there, ready to offer support and comfort whenever you needed it.

And as you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on his shoulder, you felt a profound sense of peace. With Theo by your side, you knew you could face anything — even the inexplicable tears that sometimes fell from your eyes.

639 notes · View notes

sehnsuchts-trunken · 8 months ago

Text

Pinch Me

Gally x reader summary: Gally isn't dead after all. In fact, he's very much alive. And so is that weird feeling in your stomach whenever you look at him.

a/n: god the lack of maze runner fics on my blog is unbelievable!!! needed to change that desperately

maze runner masterlist | main masterlist

You eye Gally carefully from the side as you wait. There's only one telescope and it's not like you're gonna line up behind Thomas to use it - no, you take the time to sit down on the ground and narrow your eyes at the newly un-dead glader next to you instead.

He's taller than when you'd last seen him. You'd noticed how much he'd grown the very first second you'd lain eyes on him. But he's got broader, too. He looks older, much older. More like an adult now. And that hoodie suits him. A little too well, actually.

"You're staring", Gally says, pulling you from your silent assessment of him. He doesn't even turn to look back at you. Some voice in the back of your head pipes up, tells you that you should probably feel embarrassed that he's caught you - but you don't, somehow. Instead, you hum in agreement. Yeah, you had been staring. You are staring.

"Are you trying to check if I'm real or what?", he asks with a chuckle, one that's surely supposed to cover up the fact that he sounds quite a bit nervous underneath. It doesn't really help. You hear the shake in his voice anyway.

It has you grinning just a little.

"Honestly?", you smile, trailing your eyes along him once more. "I kind of am."

He looks back at you then, finally, turns his head to yours and meets your eyes.

"You wanna pinch me to make sure?", he asks, seemingly serious with his eyebrows raised, but with a twinkle in his eyes that you've rarely seen in them. Your grin widens even further.

Without another word, you lean forward and pinch his arm. Just like that.

He doesn't even flinch.

He's warm under your fingertips, warm despite that thick, woolen hoodie he's wearing that looks so comfortable you honestly want to steal it from him. You pull back with a satisfied grin.

"Very much real", you approve, and then the corners of his lips tug up and you almost black out. Your heart really skips a beat. Just because he's smiling back at you. Oh, lord.

You settle a little further back and let out a breath.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Gally", you mutter, trying to keep your voice down so Newt and Thomas won't necessarily hear you. It's not that you want to keep it a secret, you just want to keep it private. It doesn't concern them. This is something between you and Gally. Something personal. Something that tugs at you and pulls you to him.

You don't know what it is exactly.

Maybe just relief, relief that at least one other glader is alive after you've already lost so many others. Maybe it's happiness, happiness to see an old friend. Or an old acquiantance? An old.... God, you don't even know what you and Gally were back then. Two people who threw glances at each other, who smiled at each other, who... Did barely anything else for the three months you'd spent there before Thomas had come up the box. Two people, three months and absolutely nothing that happened.

Ever.

But now he's back. And that something that never happened? That's back now, too.

...

You're nowhere near safe, really. You're anything but safe. You're the absolute, complete opposite of safe. You're running through a city on fire, your legs burning, burning, burning with the strain of carrying yourself- Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You can see the aircraft already. It's right there, you just need to run a little faster. If you had any oxygen left in your lungs, you'd shout for Minho and Gally to check if they're still right behind you - but you don't have the oxygen and you don't have the time either, so you push on, on and on until you're close, closer and closer and then, finally, inside the aircraft. You collapse onto the floor and gulp down what feels like a litre of air.

"Serum", you wheeze. "Serum. Newt."

You hear a body collapsing close to you, then another. You force your eyes open and turn your head to one side - Gally, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to calm down.

You're safe.

He's safe.

And you're both still alive.

Your ears ring so loudly that you barely hear how Jorge starts the aircraft. You don't care, either.

You're safe. And alive.

For the moment.

And that's all that matters.

So you steady a palm against the floor, heave yourself up and reach over him. Your hand comes down next to his head just as he opens his eyes.

Fuck.

Your heart is racing. You don't know if it's him or the adrenaline. You're not really bothered to think about it either, to be honest. He's too close to think. So close. Closer than ever before.

And you truly are drunk on adrenaline. Which is definitely the only goddamn reason for why you lean down, just like that, and press your lips to his.

You catch him off guard. You catch yourself off guard, too.

He tastes like sweat and blood, bitter and metallic and absolutely perfect considering you're still very much in a life-threatening situation, blood rushing in your ears and minds reeling with the heaviness of everything that's happening.

You shouldn't be kissing him. You shouldn't be planted half on top of him, with your hands shaking and your body so heavy you almost collapse. And then his fingers close around your waist and you do collapse, right on top of him.

He's broad and tall and most definitely more comfortable than the floor. Fuck, his hands on you feel so good. They're so wide and big and he's such a good kisser, his lips against yours so perfect.

God, how have you never done this before? He's always been right there, you've always felt that tug. And now that you've given into it, you never ever want to stop again.

He's heavenly. And he's holding you so firmly, so easily on top of him. He's so broad and tall and comfortable and firm and perfect and-

"Shit!"

Jorge's voice startles you so hard you flinch away from Gally, your head jerking up, your eyes searching the inside of the aircraft -

Everyone's staring at you.

Absolutely everyone.

Oh, god.

Oh, lord.

Oh, fucking hell.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. With a start, you push off of Gally and turn onto your back again. Your eyes squeeze shut as your breath evens out. Slowly, but steadily. Ever so steadily.

You can't think.

You're exhausted. Simply and just exhausted. This entire day has been too goddamn exhausting. And it's not even over yet. It's nowhere near over.

But as Gally reaches out for you, as he slips his hand into yours and interlocks your fingers... Yeah, you'll be fine. You'll be just fine.

#x reader #gally x reader #gally tmr #tmr #maze runner #the maze runner #gally maze runner #tmr gally x reader #maze runner gally x reader

810 notes · View notes

hiddenonyx · 5 months ago

Text

Borrowing Their Clothes | Obey Me! Brothers

A/N: I have some writing done of this for the side cast, but it's not finished and I wanted to put something out. This is several months old and I think edited, but no promises lol written in second person, no mention of gender.

--------------

Lucifer honestly, didn't even notice that you had swiped something from his closet until he saw you in it. It was late at night and Lucifer, still ever working, decided to stop by the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When he saw the light already on, he had assumed it was Beel getting a head start on his midnight snacking. He was surprised to see you, getting yourself a glass of water when he turned the corner. He was even more surprised (and a bit flustered) to see that your choice of sleepwear is a too-big black dress shirt and matching underwear- wait a minute.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he slowly (either from the late hour or being flustered or both) figures out that it's one of his dress shirts you're wearing. You have to bite the inside of your check to resist snickering as he simply stands there, looking dumbfounded. Does he chide you for taking something of his? Does he fuck you? Does he say anything at all?

Mammon is the type of person who never remembers what stuff he has or where it is until he suddenly remembers and wants to wear it. Thus he's angrily digging through his closet for this one grey long-sleeved shirt. He could've sworn that he still had it and that it was here, with all the other shirts he had barely worn. Did Asmo comb through his closet again and take stuff? After almost ten minutes of angry searching, Mammon decides to hell with it - he'll just sulk all day, it's fine. He makes his way to the music room - maybe watching some TV will make him feel better. That's when he notices you, already watching TV, wearing that same exact grey long-sleeve shirt with black leggings.

"Oi!" he snaps at you, drawing your attention to him, "That's my shirt. Where'd ya get it?!"

You tilt your head at him slightly, "Your closet?"

"And what makes you think you can just root around in the Great Mammon's closet without permission, huh?"

You shrug, "You weren't wearing it."

"So?!" He gives his dumbfounded look as if he can't believe your logic.

"Well if you want it back that bad, you can come take it off me."

Levi keeps careful track of all his anime and fandom hoodies (they are one of his top three favorite merch items after all). So one could imagine his panic at the realization that he's missing one. At first, Levi hopes that he just forgot to hang it in its proper spot. But after going through every single one, the anger of the realization that it’s actually gone sets in. Did Mammon take it and sell it? He better not have or not even Lucifer will be able to help him! He storms out of his room, his demon form standing out from the other seeming humans in the house.

"MMAAMMOONN!"

"He already left for the casino," the voice that makes him pause is yours. You look up from the sitting room couch setting your book and mug down, "What happened this time?"

"That bastard took one of my hoodies and probably sold it —" he stops mid-sentence as you stand up, wearing the very same hoodie he's been looking for, "Where did you get that?"

"Huh?" You look down at yourself, "Oh this ended up in my laundry basket. It's cute so I figured I'd wear it, but I don't know who’s...it's yours, isn't it?"

A blush starts to creep onto his face as he nods and bites at the back of his hand to stop from squealing: you look so cute in it.

Satan is used to having his clothes "borrowed" by Asmo. He's used to walking into his room and seeing Asmo going through his closet to find something to finish his outfit or to peruse the fourth born’s shocking amount of sweaters. What Satan is not used to is walking into his room and seeing you trying on a thick, oversized, woolen sweater. He stands at the entrance of his room, watching as you hum thoughtfully to yourself as you twist back and forth in his full length mirror. He holds his breath, you haven't noticed him, nor did you hear him come in, and he doesn't want to startle you. He watches on in silence, a soft smile warming his face as he takes in just how cute you look. Maybe he'll let you keep it.

Asmo has no problem sharing clothes. Any kind, any style, he has at least five options for you. Mini skirts? Check? Ripped denim jeans? What wash would you like, darling? Honestly, it feels like half your closet is his closet - he doesn't have any problem just giving you his clothes. Asmo often buys clothing that he knows that both of you would like just so you two can share. You also find yourself sharing or even wearing clothes from Satan and Solomon, and even Mammon sometimes (huh who knew Mammon owned long-sleeved shirts?)

Beel will absolutely hand you his jacket because you mention that you're a little chilly and then completely forget that he did. He frowns a little as he looks around his room, confused as to where it's gone. Belphie didn't borrow it and isn't using it as a blanket...so did Asmo take it? But why would he? Asmo said that his jacket "wasn't quite his style" so where did it end up? Perhaps he left out in one of the common spaces? Beel hunts through each room before finding you in the planetarium, sitting on the floor, looking up, and wearing his coat. He snickers quietly - it's far too big for you; it swallows you up so that only your head pokes out. He rests against the doorframe, watching you watch the stars. He'll let you wear it for a moment longer.

Belphie is a little miffed when his daily sweater goes missing. It's not the first time something like this has happened - laundry occasionally gets swapped around in the house, but he could've sworn that he had gotten his sweater back this past laundry day. Maybe he left it in the attic? One tiring climb up the stairs and search around the attic later, Belphies sighs and pulls out his phone.

[House of Lamentation]

"Hey has anyone seen my sweater? I can't find it anywhere." -Belphie

"Did you check the laundry room?" - Lucifer

"Yeah, it's not there. Checked the attic too." -Belphie

"Actually you left it in my room the other day." -MC

"Oh. I'll come get it." [Thanks sticker] -Belphie

It's only a few minutes before Belphie knocks on your door. He blushes once you open your door, surprised to find you swearing his sweater.

"Thought I'd keep it warm for you," you tease.

----------------

The Master List

Sort By Character

335 notes · View notes

muntitled · 8 months ago

Note

Oh my!! I just read your lee know req and god please spare me my knees are weak. Can i request a lee know dilf? I’m sure its perfect!! 💗 btw i love you take lots of rest! Mwah!

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞

Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dating a single dad who coincidentally happens to be your next-door neighbor does not come without its fair share of hardships (and fun)

Warnings: Language, Humor, Domestic Fluff, Single Dad AU, Secret Relationship, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), implied age gap, Brat!TamerMinho, Bratty!Reader, Oral, Dacryphilia, Needy!Minho, Slight DDLG, Dom/Sub undertones

Seriously so domestic, you have been warned <3

Dating had always been difficult, and up until very recently, you had been perfectly content as an unwilling participant of crush culture. Seldom men have grappled your attention, and the ones that do are often doomed to give you the ick. Every man was either too loud and obnoxious or too nonchalant and non-empathetic. You had given up on dating altogether until fate sunk its talons into your love life.

What're you wearing?

The message came at the dead of night while you lay supine on your couch. Minho rarely sent text messages, preferring to call or email like the archaic man he was. It sent you crazy with admiration.

Wouldn't you like to know?

You grinned as you sent the message back, chewing anxiously at the ends of your sleeves like you were a child awaiting their scolding.

Yes I would. That's why I asked.

Almost immediately, you could tell Minho was needy. He was naturally very blatant and authoritarian, but he became even more so when he found himself slipping into arousal. You could picture him through the screen, and the mental image had your stomach warming with delight: his hair shaggy from his hands running through it all day. His dress shirt, unbuttoned. And perhaps maybe he was reclined backwards on his big leather couch. Nursing is phone in one hand a whiskey tumbler in the other.

What are you wearing.

Comes Minho's message a second time. This time, the tone felt far more demanding despite being the exact same words. You immediately knew that if you would not comply quickly, you might be in for a punishment. Oh how you adored punishments.

Wrong punctuation. It's 'what are you wearing?' No full stop. And you have an adult job? Smh...

You're so undeniably tense that you fear your jaw might crack from the pressure that it's clenched and you hold your phone close to your screen. For 60 agonizing seconds there is not response and you can definitely picture the look on Minho's face with his tongue poking tje inside of his cheek while he shook his head and murmered a quiet and appalled "진싸" to himself.

Come over. His next text reads. The kid's asleep. Come over.

You dreaded taking the very short walk to your next door neighbor and boyfriend's apartment and yet, the opportunity to piss Minho off even more is just too difficult to pass up. A slow smile grace's over your face as you send back an 'aye aye captain' before slipping on your slippers to make the short journey to his apartment.

Before your fist even hits the surface of the wood, the front door is ripped open and Minho's pulling you inside. "You've been holding out on me?" He grumbles, before forcing kisses down the side of your neck. "Why?"

In a flurry of trying to kick your shoes off at the front door as Minho leads you both to the couch. You try to control Minho's frantic groping at your sides and try to ignore his bulge pressing against your thigh. When pulling you onto his lap, you're not quite sure what to make of your thoughts and emotions.

All you feel is a sharp pinch on the skin underneath your woolen sweater and you yelp, "What the hell-"

"Answer me?" He says, glaring at up you with an aura of seriousness. Your legs ached as you straddled Minho's lap, and conversation seems impossible. "I wanna know why you suddenly think it's okay to start being a fucking bra-

"You brought it!? I can't believe you actually brought it-"

A small, excited gasp cuts through what was to be the most embarrassing scolding of your life.

Like the breaking of an ancient spell; you and Minho push back from each other on the couch, you detangle your limbs and you keep a distance. You're almost grateful for the little boy padding into the living room, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

Minho watches his son run towards you on the couch with furrowed eyebrows. Nothing but confusion swims across his darkened irises, and you shrug slightly before uncovering the thing that has apparently been in your hands this whole time. Minho had been so clouded by his own lust that he barely saw the children's book you had clasped in your hands. He watches how you and his son exchange pleasantries like long-lost friends. The both of you practically beaming.

He is only able to intervene on your very important conversation when he notices you handing his son the book.

"Woah- hey, what's going on?" Minho's hand instinctively goes to the back of his son's head as he looks down at you curiously, "What's this?" Minho asks.

"The reason I'm here," you make awkward little jazz hands which Minho's son finds very amusing before you clear your throat. You give Minho an inconspicuous wink.

"Your son... he-"

"I just can't stand how you read bedtime stories to me, Dad."

Minho swings his head downards, his eyes wide.

"You said you liked how I read-"

"No, Dad," theres a roll of his 4 year old eyes and you smile, "You like how you read. Its not very fun for me-"

And that's how you spent a majority of the evening reading a bedtime story for a sleepy little boy until he finally slipped away. You didn't mind it. The story was buying you some time from what you knew was a very aggravated Minho, and all you could do was chuckle to yourself as you read.

This was all so incredibly short-lived because the kid eventually did fall asleep, and you could feel your insides twist as you closed his bedroom door, making your way back to the living room. Every step you took felt like you were skinking deeper and deeper into the earth, and you swallowed very thickly when you rounded the corner to find Minho staring idly at the wall. He was slouched slightly on the couch with his shirt unbuttoned even further.

As you rounded the couch, you spied an empty whiskey tumbler on the coffee table. You shiver.

"Had fun, then?" Minhos hisses almost petulantly.

You roll your eyes as you lower yourself onto the couch beside him.

"If only you weren't such an incompetent bedtime reader then I wouldn't-"

But his hand was already squeezing at the base if yojr throat and you gasp, raising and lowering your body as your lips parted in what was very clearly excitement.

"You and this fucking mouth-"

"A-Are you going to punish me?" Minho regards you for a split second underneath the shadow of his lashes before he breaks out into a chuckle. You tilt your head in confusion, which is only tripled when his hand goes from your throat to the top of your head. "Good girls aren't supposed to like their punishments, are they?"

He knew what diction to use to have you slipping into subspace, and all you're able to do is nod as you shift closer to him. You lick your lips, so completely rattled with tension of all the endless possibilities. Would he spank you? No, perhaps that would cause far too much noise... would he edge you-

"Only slutsnlook forward to their punishments, you know that?" Your nipples tighten against the fabric of your sweater and you nearly moan again. Minho's hand on your head is so heavy, so unmistakably manly it has you spiraling.

"And punishments are no fun if you enjoy them." The hand on your head gets heavier and heavier.

"Minho-"

"Knees." It's all he says before you're toppling to the ground at his feet. Your heart is pounding out of the confines of your very chest, and you lick your lips suddenly feeling so incredibly dehydrated as Minho drags you to his knees. He sits back, letting his head rest on the back of the couch as he says, "You know what to do, don't you?"

The weight of your punishment suddenly hits you tenfold as you bring your shaky hands to undo Minho's belt. It wasn't a 'punishment' at all. Not in the way you wanted.

Instead, Minho was quite content letting you pull out his cock and service him. Making you wait as long as he was forced to.

Minho's jaw clenches when you pull his cock out of his briefs and the sound has your bottom lip trembling.

"P-Please, Minho,"

"Shut up," he mumbles into the air with his head still thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut.

Consequently, you nod into the open air as you spit into your hand and begin to pump his hard length with every bit of precision. You can feel your clit beg for some kind of friction to the point that your need becomes painful.

"You're too slow," he whispers, clenching his eyes shut in frustration, "Too fucking slow." You speed up the pace, watching his lips fall open and feeling utterly intoxicated by all the pretty sounds Minho makes for him all from the both of your hands wrapped around his cock.

"F-Fuck-" You twist your wrist, suddenly spurred on by his reaction.

"I don’t want your hands," Minho huffs, "I want your mouth" and you bend your head dutifully before closing your warm mouth around the head of his cock. Minho's head immediately snaps up from the couch, and he is completely and utterly wrecked. He digs his fingers into your hair, forcing you down onto his cock, "Make a mess. You know I like it when you make a mess, Dove," You're practically whining around his cock and he hisses.

Trails of spit and precum drip out of your mouth along with nasty tears that run down your face, reddening your eyes. Minho's cock twitches in your mouth at the very sight of you. "Look at you," he whispers, "Fucking look at what a mess you are for me," You're nodding frantically, his large cock hitting the back of your throat now-

"I'm gonna fucking cum in that pretty mouth of yours and yojre gonna take it, aren't you, baby?" He frantically moves your braids out of face, all the more the see your completely fucked out expression despite not even receiving any stimulation. It has him lifting his hips to rut into your mouth and just as you choke, Minho's voice cracks, "Shut a good girl," he praises as he looses control, "Shut as good fucking- FUCK-" His cum fills the back of your throat at an alarming rage and yourenforced to clench your toes and swallow, there was no other option. He pats down your head lovingly as his hips snap up against you and you whimperbsnd moan around his cock, only prolonging his orgasm

"God, you're so good to me, baby," he whispers, coming down from his high but not without any aftershocks, "You're so fucking good to me,"

#lee know #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know smut #lee know x y/n #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lee minho #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader

418 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 20 days ago

Text

In The Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, social dejection, mentions of religion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your Christmas is set to be a lonely one, but you do your best to share the cheer with your only friend.

Character: Arvin Russell

Day Seven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - cottage!core

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The tension is something you’ll never be used to. The silence is as bad as the hushed voices and the sneering side looks. It's all so suffocating.

So much as you might’ve earned your judgement, it cannot make them righteous. What was it the pastor extolled; ‘let he who be without sin...’ And why is it that the stones they cast are aimed at you and not the man who joined you in your misdeed? The very one who cozened you into the act?

Henry still sits on the town council, he still goes home to his wife and other children, he still gets a ‘good morning’ or a ‘good day’, and none bat a single eye along the pew. You can’t even get the same from him these days. He’s a stranger now that your dresses are too tight and your gait is wider and wobbly. Now that his adultery has grown inside of you and continues to, he runs from it.

You pay at the counter for your meagre fare. Janie fired you not long after the minister’s scolding and none-so-subtle remonstrance of straying innocence. Like your mother and father, she abandoned you to your dejection. You would not stain her Christian mantle.

The shopkeep, Ted, packs up your goods in the bag without a word. He drops your change on the counter and turns away as you gather it up. Despite that, you still thank him. You lift the bag and hug it above your bump.

You keep your head down as Esther steps up to the counter with her basket. She makes a comment about the holiness of the coming holidays. Of how Jesus’ birthday should be kept sacred. You know she means you to hear but you don’t show that you do.

You step out into the chilly winds as they swirl around with a gust of powder. You nearly collide with another as you do. The chuckle that comes with the near-catastrophe eases your nerves. In an instant, the weight is scooped out of your arms.

“There ya’are,” Arvin greets. He’s the only person in town who talks to you.

In fact, he’s the only reason you have a place to lay your head. He did up his old shed so you could live there for a while. A barter you insisted on. What would people think if you accepted his invitation to stay in the spare room? Surely worse than the already do. He does not deserve to be tainted by you.

“You all done for the day?” You ask as you keep your arms crossed.

“Oh yeah,” he answers brightly, “what’d you get? Anything good...” he sniffs the top of the bag, “I smell cinnamon.”

You chew your lip, “yeah...”

You glance at him. He wears his fleece lined denim jacket, the collar greyed with age and a button missing on the right chest pocket. It’s not really enough for that kinda cold. Knockemstiff lives up to its name quite often and the winter will be sure to freeze your bones.

“Sorry, I’m being nosy,” he chuckles. “You want some candy? Got some in my pocket. Mr. Callahan sent them in with Edwin.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” you blow into your woolen mittens. It’s bitter these days. “Um, I was hopin’... I could make ya dinner tonight. Since ya done so much for me. ‘Fraid I don’t got much else to give right now.”

“That’d be awfully nice,” he accepts with a bounce in his step, “here.” He shifts the weight of the bag into one arm and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a long shape wrapped in brown paper, the top twisted and tied with ribbon. “Butterscotch.”

“Arvin, I told ya--”

“I got lots,” he insists.

You take it with a thank you. You continue down the packed snow. He’s entirely oblivious to the way Charmain passes with a glare but you feel it in your chest.

“I was thinking, before the baby comes,” you swallow as the thought bubbles up from the pits of constant dread. “I should leave.”

“Leave?” He wonders aloud. He looks over at you as snow gathers in his hair, the cold nipping pink his cheeks. He’s two years older than you but looks and seems much younger than you. “Where to?”

“I got an Aunt a few townships over. She’s the only one still answering my letters. She never had no kids of her own. They all... none of ‘em made it, ya know? I been writing to her and that.”

“Oh,” his disappointment tweaks in his throat. “Well, you don’t gotta, you know? I don’t mind ya stickin’ ‘round.”

“I mind. You been so kind already. Once I got the babe, no one gonna take me then neither. No work here, and I’ll be lucky to get a pew on Sundays.”

“Yeah, well, all these folks be saying they’re godly and how do they act?” His tone edges hotly. “Ain’t godly to turn a soul out. My mama always said so. No soul’ll make it through this world with a dent or two, but the lord’ll forgive.”

“Mm, she sounds like a nice lady,” you say.

“She was,” he sniffs. “And so I wouldn’t be puttin’ no shame on her memory by bein’ selfish, ya know? So’s as long as you need it, the shed is yours. I told ya, though, there’s a room inside.”

“No, no,” you loosen the ribbon and peek inside the paper. The candy stick of twisted sugar is all shades of caramelly brown. You smell it and it plucks at your bottomless hunger. “I don’t mind it. Pa never had the stove goin’ less the snow was past our knees. He always says, if you’re cold, put another sweater on.”

“Huh,” he scoffs darkly.

“What?”

“Yer pa’s the reason you’re in my shed,” he harrumphs. “Sorry for sayin’ it, but I wouldn’t take no advice from a man who’d disown his own blood. He’s the one brought Henry ‘round. They still gettin’ drinks down at the tank.”

That information is more chilling than the cold. You didn’t know that. You try not to hear things about your father or the man who put this curse in you.

“I...” he begins crisply, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t gonna tell ya.”

“Woulda found out soon enough,” you shrug and shove the butterscotch stick in your mouth. You suck on it pensively. It’s sweet but you can hardly enjoy it as your eyes burn with a glaze of tears.

“So,” he coughs, “what’s for dinner?”

You pop your lip off the candy, “it’s a surprise,” you say.

“Oh, I like surprises,” he smiles, not that he ever really stops. Not around you.

“Well, I hope you like this one,” you drone.

💝

You wash the plates from dinner as dessert bakes in the oven. The smell of cinnamon fills the house as you hear Arvin tinkering in the next room. He’s always messing around with something mechanical. You’re not always sure if he’s fixing them or just taking them apart.

You dry and stack the dishes away. The old house is cozy, quaint. You know it belonged to his parents. It’s still strewn with their memories. As if he’s preserving them in those walls. So you do your best not to disturb it.

You take the pan out of the oven. The rolled-out dough is perfectly baked and the colour is pristine. The shape resembles their namesake; elephant ears. It’s only dough, sugar, and cinnamon, but so so delicious. Your grandmother used to make them. Despite your current predicament, you’re nostalgic for the simper days.

You put one on a plate and peek at the doorway. You pause to dig out the parcel you hid under the sink then bring both items out to the front room. You keep the latter behind your back as you approach Arvin. He sits on the floor in front of the burning firestove as he pokes at an old clock with a screwdriver.

“Here ya go,” you offer him the dessert. “I could make some coffee or tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he puts down the clock and tool, then wipes his hand on the cloth draped over his knee. He reaches up to the take the plate. “Smells good.” He brings the dish down to examine the pastry, “what is it?”

“Called an elephant ear. Not super fancy.”

“Looks good,” he grins. “And what’s that?”

He lifts the baked dough and bites into it as he angles his head as if to see around you. You bring your hand out and present the parcel.

“Merry Christmas,” you say. “I know it’s not much, and a bit early but it’s gettin’ real cold.”

He places the plate on the rug and claps his hands off as he chews. His dark eyes sparkle as he takes the bundle wrapped in brown paper. He brings it over his lap and carefully unties the twine. You sway on your feet and rub your stomach as you watch anxiously.

He uncovers the knitted scarf and cap. He already has thick gloves that he wears for his work. He feels the wool and examines it quietly. You’re suddenly very unsure.

“You made these? For me?” He looks up. You nod. “Wow, it’s... you lined the cap?”

“I had a few old pieces I repurposed,” you shrug.

“It’s...”

“Not too much. I know. I’m sorry. I don’t make too much these days. People only hire me if no one knows and it’s gettin’ harder to sneak around.”

He huffs and shakes his head. He lowers his chin and pets the scarf. “It’s everything.” He continues to examine your work. “I hope you don’t mind, my gift’s not ready yet.”

“Oh, Arvin, you don’t gotta get me nothin’. You done enough.”

“I want to,” he says. “Now,” he lays down the wool on the rug neatly and grabs his plate. He uncrosses his legs and stands. “Why aren’t you havin’ some dessert? You need to sit down. Let that baby rest. He mustn’t sleep very much with you titterin’ around all the time.”

“He’s already titterin--” you go to argue and stop with snort. “I think he knows we’re talking about him.”

You feel your stomach as the baby kicks. Arvin watches your hand on your belly as his brows rise up his forehead. “You think it’s a boy?”

“Could be. Not too sure. Oof.” You twitch as the baby kicks harder. Then wince again as Arvin puts his hand on you without warning. It’s surprising but not unwelcome. His warmth seeps through your dress.

“Oh!” He exclaims as the baby beats on your insides. “I can feel him.”

“It’s a bit early,” you reach back to brace your hips, “he usually waits ‘til I’m in bed.”

He keeps his hand on you, watching your belly as the baby continues his dance. He seems awestruck by the ripple under your skin. You’re more exhausted of it.

“I’ll have your present ready soon,” he says. “Promise.”

💝

Arvin’s truck rumbles up to the house. You were surprised when he drove it into town today. He doesn’t usually start it unless he’s going to fetch firewood or going off for long trips.

You open the shed door, a blanket around your shoulders as you peek out. His headlights shine through the greyness. It’s still early by your count, unless you lost track again.

He hops out and stomps through the snow. He waves at you as his hair curls out from under the cap you made him. He wears it every day. You’re happy for that.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls out.

“Christmas... it’s still two days away,” you stay behind the door to shield yourself from the winds.

“Two days!” He claps as he approaches. “Since you gave me my gift early, I got yours ready too.”

“Mine?”

“Mmhm. You’re not the only one who can do surprises. So pack a bag.”

“Pack...” you wonder.

“Ah, ah, just get a bag, alright?”

You can see him jittering in excitement. You hate to dampen that but you also feel bad. You made him a hat and scarf. He’s got something planned out that’s gonna at least cost him gas and his time.

“Oh...” you murmur.

“Don’t,” he wags a finger. “Really, come on! I wanna get there by dark.”

“Alright, I’ll be fast.”

You gently close the door and retreat. You can’t deny him. His words trouble you though. By dark? How far are you going? You don’t want him to do too much.

You don’t have a lot to take. A few dresses that still fit, some stockings, your sole pair of boots, your coat, and other things just in case. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be coming back tonight.

You come out in your coat and boots as Arvin keeps the truck idling. He meets you near the hood and takes your bag before he helps you up into the front seat. He gets in the other side and puts your bag between you.

“Do I get a hint?” You ask.

“Nope,” he shifts into gear. “Just hold tight.”

💝

It’s a few hours before Arvin stops. Your eyes scour the sentinel pines all around and fall upon the painted wood of the cabin’s face. The porch pillars are stained a dark blue as the siding stands as white as the snow. It’s only the edgework along the window frames and door that make it visible amid the winterscape.

You gasp, “Arvin?”

“Surprise,” he exclaims.

“What...”

“My grandfather built this place. Ma’s dad. I been workin’ on it,” he proclaims.

“Workin’ on it?”

“Yep! Ma wouldn’t want you raisin’ that boy in a shed.”

You mull his words and stare at the cabin. “Arvin, my aunt--”

“I know, she’s a nice woman by the sounds of it. She can always come see us but you know, not many place around that’ll be as nice as her. Not when’s they see a mother with no husband.”

You shrink down. He’s right.

“But I’m not--”

“Like I was saying,” he interjects, “you’re gonna be a mama. Means you need a proper house.”

He doesn’t wait for you to argue. You don’t have any to offer as you reel in disbelief. Why would he do all this for you? It’s not his baby. You’re not his problem.

He comes around and offers his hand. You climb out, gripping him tightly, as you flick away your tears. You sniffle and keep your head down as he leads you across the snowy yard.

“You’re upset?” He asks as he kicks snow off the steps.

“I’m... surprised,” you croak, trying to hide your face. “Arvin, it’s too much.”

“Not much at all,” he counters. “But I got a new stove in and the fireplace real nice since I redid the bricks. And I got it all wired up to a gas generator.”

“Oh,” you puff out as you climb the steps, still latched onto him. You hiccup as your tears flood over.

“Oh?” He echoes.

“Arvin,” you babble behind your hand. “Why-- why would you go and do all this for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He tugs you toward the door.

“But...” you choke on your words.

You kick off your feet before you enter. He moves behind you, guiding you from behind with his hands on your arms. He stops you in a dark doorway. He lets go of you and you listen to him shifting around the dimness. He shines a flashlight into the front room.

“Once I get the lights on, it’ll look better,” he assures.

You shake your head, “it’s too much.”

“Nothin’s too much,” he argues again. “Look, you need this place and you need me. You need a husband, don’t ya?”

“Husband? Arvin, you can’t--”

“I wanna.”

“But--”

“Baby boy’s not mine. No one else needa know. Them folks in Knockemstiff, the don’t go so far. And the next one will be mine. Maybe a girl--”

“Next one?”

“Uh huh, gonna give this one lots of brothers and sisters,” he puts his hand on your stomach.

“I...” your heart sinks from on high.

He’s quiet, measuring the silence as you do too. You peer into the front room then wince as he turns the light in your direction. You shield yourself as it shines in your eyes.

“Well, you gonna tell me no?” His voice is low and silty. “Cause I don’t think no one’s gonna take you away from me. Ain’t no one else want you.”

It’s like a knife sinking into your gut. Your frown and grab his hand, trying to shove it off your stomach. Why would he say that? He twists free of your grasp and clings to you instead. He turns the light under his chin so it casts his features in a sinister glow.

“Without me, you and that baby’d be frozen to the side of the street,” he sneers. “All’s I’m tryna do is give you everything, you could at least do the same.”

#arvin russell #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #arving russell x reader #the devil all the time #fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #dark fic #dark!fic

159 notes · View notes

itsabouttimex2 · 4 months ago

Text

How Can We Use Y/N?

So I’ve been watching Delicious in Dungeon, and… thinking about Beastman!Y/N. Or, rather- how the party consumes them.

Maybe outright eating them is off-limits, because, you know, Y/N is still a person, and cannibalism tends to bring about some pretty nasty stuff. Marcille is hard on that stance. She’s opened up to a lot of different foods, sure, that’s true- but she’s not eating a person! The potential for diseases and sickness is too high, no matter how you prepare the food, after all.

But eating isn’t the only way for someone or something to be consumed! Time is consumed! Energy is consumed! Labor is consumed! Products are consumed!

So what can we make out of Y/N?

Maybe you’ve been fused with the soul of something like a Firefly Squid, shifting your flesh to bear a pleasing bioluminescence- and if sometimes a tentacle falls off or is chopped clean in combat? Well, Laios doesn’t really see the issue in skinning the rubbery tendril to make glow-in-the-dark hilt wraps and canteens… even if his friends think that it’s a little gross.

Or maybe you’re some form of Cervidae, bearing a soft, short pelt and a pair of antlers to boot, which means… you’ll end up shedding at the end of the year, and the team now has a fresh set to utilize! The keratin is good for carving, especially if you’re making arrowheads or figurines. If nothing creative comes to mind, they’re at least good for trading to orcs or kobolds.

But I’d like to think that you’re a cute little Valais Blacknose, who hasn’t quite learned to trim your own fur, so it’s up to the Touden Party to take up the shears and chop those woolen locks! Chilchuck is a little estranged from his family, admittedly, but he’s still a father of three, and has learned a bit about haircare in the process. Expect lots of reminders to “hold still, dammit!” and maybe a few “oh, shit”s along the way, but the Half-Foot will get you fixed up.

Once he’s trimmed you into a presentably adorable little lamb, it’s finally possible to walk around without tripping over your own fluff, and see without a collage of thick headbands pinned in place to hold back a storm of woolen locks… and the team is left with several pounds of fluffy wool.

And team Touden does not waste resources- especially if those supplies are coming from their precious little Y/N!

So the team scrambles to find a way to use all of the floof, each one taking a portion to use in some way, at least.

Laios knows that winding his cooking ware with spun wool will only make them harder to clean, especially if blood or fat soak into the threads, and he really doesn’t want to waste such a soft part of his dear Y/N by having to throw them out over something like a minor spill… which also rules out his sword’s grip, because, again, wool holds nasty fluids really well. Probably he’ll settle for something extremely practical that can be used many times over, like a pair of socks or gloves. It’s not impossible for the monster enthusiast to keep a handful of unprocessed fluff in his pocket, just so he has something to grab and squish during stressful or boring trips… or so he can “prove” to nearby parties/“friends” how soft you are. (Shuro and Kabru are on the receiving end of more than a few rants.)

Ever practical, Senshi probably makes cheesecloth from your threads, albeit over the course of several days spent knitting the yarn together. If he doesn’t have that sort of time, or maybe just not the motivation, he’ll bind himself up a washcloth or two- perfect for sopping up cooking spills, or scrubbing the inside of a pan. And, now that you can actually see without constantly peeling pounds of fluff from your eyes, expect to given more tasks during cooking. Anything to keep you close and safe. It’s also very probable that he’ll have you on a “Beastman-friendly” diet comprised heavily of leafy meals and chopped veggies. Maybe he’ll even scrounge up some hay, or cut and bind up some grass to have on hand for you as a snack. He won’t even consider this strange- to Senshi, it’s just the proper way to take care of someone that he obsesses over the safety of cares for.

Happy to have “monster” supplies that she doesn’t have to eat, Marcille binds a few of the finer threads into a set of little ribbon for her hair. I also imagine that she’d be primarily responsible for taking caring if your hair after the cut, so she’ll make a few extra in order to style yours like she styles hers. If there’s plenty extra when everyone else is done taking their share, the elf girl just might make herself a little plushy version of you to sleep with… and one of Falin, too.

Divorced father of three, deft of hand Chilchuck has learned his way around a needle… mostly. It’s not above him to maybe weave something nice up for his daughters, like matching bracelets. He’ll want six in total, one for him and his ex, three for his daughters, and one for you- just so everyone in the “family” has a common thread to bind them. A particularly young Y/N will most likely be adopted by the Tims family at the end of their journey, providing a safe and happy (if viciously protective and smothering) space for them to grow. His daughters receive letters every now and then, each one waiting anxiously to meet the individual who is; unbeknownst to them, being propositioned as a brand new family member. Even his ex is mildly excited at the thought of someone brand new to raise, given that all her daughters are grown and moving on in the world. Maybe it’s what they need to get back together… or maybe that’s just the possessiveness talking.

And for Izutsumi… she wants a new scarf. Not that she knows how to knit, or has any interest in learning, but still. The cat girl will scrounge up a hefty handful of wool and toss it into Marcille’s lap with a huff, demanding a properly knit scarf to add to her arsenal. And although she’s not exactly above whining or making threats to get her way, there’s no need- the mage is totally on board to have every member of the party decked out in the softest parts of their collective favorite member. So, Izutsumi gets her scarf, and then everyone finally has a part of Y/N to keep close and hold dear.

Not that anyone is going to start ignoring the real thing, unfortunately for you.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Dungeon Meshi #Yandere Delicious in Dungeon #Yandere Laios #Yandere Marcille #Yandere Senshi #Yandere Chilchuck #Yandere Izutsumi #Beastman Reader #Okay so I’m not finished reading/watching yet #But clearly ‘consumption’ as a whole is a theme and I’m loving it honestly #the starkly grounded depictions of interspecies racism is a major plus tbh #Izutsumi is literally everything I wanted from Macaque

153 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

#cw: dark content #meeting on the turret stairs but with more dubcon #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #knight!ghost #medieval au #sansan vibes

984 notes · View notes

peoniesnro · 2 months ago

Text

In Another Universe

#9. Make It Right

Synopsis – When you are just another iteration of Park Jimin’s girlfriend in a different universe.

Park Jimin × Reader

Genre – parallel universe / kind of fantasy/ strangers to ??/ SMUT/ maybe romance/ angst/ fluff /Infidelity

Warnings- Language/SMUT- Making out/ Dirty talks/ Brief breast play/ Protected sex/ Unportected sex/ Cockwarming/ Riding/ Car sex/ Word 'slut' (I don't know if I've missed any)/ Angst / INFIDELITY

Word count- 15k

a/n- Another very late update... I'm so happy I was able to finish this. Hope you'll find this exciting. And like always thank you for reading and then for your patience. Luv u.❤️

Taglist?

Chapter Index

Previous - Next

You stare into the faces that stare back at you. Innocent. Curious. Afraid. Blinking at your stupid figure just standing there. When Jungkook called you an alien, it didn’t feel like it. Now though, you do feel like an alien with ten tentacles, five antennas, and two heads. That’s how they stare at you. That’s how you exactly look in your cozy pajama shorts and an oversized tee. Your feet are only covered by knee-high woolen socks. No shoes. No jackets. Shivering. But above all, scared and confused like an abandoned puppy in the middle of Seoul.

In hindsight, you have no idea what the hell is happening. Just like the first day you woke up next to Park Jimin. Only that you didn’t wake up on a cozy bed this morning. And instead of a godly looking shirtless man, you faced at least 30 young people. Staring you down. In fact, a couple of harsh nudges on your ribcage were what woke you up. Probably a five minutes ago. When you opened your eyes, you experienced the same level of feral panic. Like the day you saw Park Jimin for the first time. You screamed. They screamed too. You got up to your feet in light speed. They stepped away from you in light speed. Then you stared, stared, and stared. Still, staring. At the bunch of kids in front of you. With their mouth hanging open. One look at your surroundings is enough to tell you that you’re definitely standing in a classroom.

Holy fucking……

You take an uncertain, scared step back. You’re standing in a classroom. You woke up in a classroom!

How?

Where are you?

Are you in your world? Jimin’s?

Your panicked brain doesn’t get enough time to wonder over what’s happening when hurried footsteps reach you. Followed by several voices. Belonging to adults. Not to kids who have to crane their neck upward to look at you.

“Who are you?” An innocent, adorable voice asks that question at the same time some strange man barges inside. Then another one enters the room. Then another. You assume they are teachers. You can hear some whispering going around. Soon turn out to be mumbling and a noisy babble. Funny questions and assumptions start to flow as you look at the newcomer with wide eyes. You swear you hear someone say something about you being a witch from a movie you’ve never heard of.

“Stay put. Don’t move.” One of the men stretches his hand into a defensive position. Taking a cautious step forward. You listen. Not daring to even move a finger. Catch several women enter the room as well. They are here for the kids. Evacuating. Practically dragging kids out. You just watch. Raise your hands in the air to let them know you surrender. Cause no harm to anyone. They don’t believe you, however. It seems. That’s how you find yourself dragged out by two men in blue uniforms no more than three minutes later.

It happened all so fast. One moment you were trying to explain that you’re not a threat to anyone. That you’ve no idea how you ended up here. The people you assumed to be teachers didn’t really listen to you. Only parting their ways for the police officers. Then you’re dragged away.

What the actual fuck?

In your confused state, you can’t even bring yourself to say anything. Just letting them take you away. Looking at the eyes staring at you in shock.

……………………………………………….

You spent the whole day being restless and antsy in your apartment yesterday. With Key by your side. She was restless too. For a whole different reason. You were worried to death because you didn’t know if your wish had really worked. Because you didn’t know if you would see Park Jimin again. He asked you to stay after all. No scratch that ─ he begged you to stay. And you’re weak. He wanted a chance to make it right. You don’t know how. Hell, you don’t even know what you’re doing. It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was being able to see him once again. So, of course, you were afraid. Afraid that you might not wake up in his bed again. Then Key was afraid whatever you did, won’t work. You went to sleep late last night. After praying for every higher entity that you would be waking up in another world in the following morning. Ridiculous, considering you were asking for the complete opposite few months ago.

Then when you know your prayers had been answered, shouldn't you be the happiest in every damn universe? Well, you are. Or you were. For a split second when you noticed a license plate. Just like how you knew something was wrong that day inside Park Jimin’s car. But that happiness was very short lived. It popped out like a bubble. You were forced inside a police car for the first time of your life. While you were in your pajama shorts, for fucks sake. And now you’re sitting in a very uncomfortable plastic chair in front of a messy desk. A middle-aged bald man glaring at you like you’re Rafael Caro. Or any other dangerous criminal that exists in this world. You sigh heavily.

“Listen officer, you have to trust me when I say I’ve no idea how I ended up there.” You reason. Leaning forward over the messy table. He scoffs.

“Yeah? So what? Someone drugged you and took you inside a middle-school?” Questions. Entwines his fingers. “You listen to me, filth, you could very well be a sick headed psychopath that we need to lock up immediately─” You try to protest but he holds his hand up stopping you. “─then you refuse to tell us your identity. What’s that make of you?” Points out. Well, you don’t exist in this world. You made the mistake of giving your real identity which they couldn’t find. Then you had the option of using the name Kim Liya. The thing is you’re simply worried what problems it’ll cause later. So, you stay put. Keep it shut. And by the look of it, it’s not going in your favor. You are angering this man before you. You by no means know how these things work. Will they put you behind bars just like that? Only if you can call someone and let them know. Ask for help.

The thing is, yet again, you don’t have a method of communication. Your phone, the one that works in this world, is not in your possession. It wasn’t there when you woke up yesterday. You must’ve fallen asleep after tiring yourself to sleep with Jimin. You can’t remember how that night ended. Only that Jimin asked you to stay, and you agreed. Told him your stupid theory of making a wish. Of course, he became difficult. Because he is Park Jimin. You had to talked it over until your eyes were droopy. So, he just laid back in the couch. Dragged you with him. You didn’t protest. Last thing you remember is him asking you to try the only way you know. And maybe him begging you not to leave once again. You obviously didn’t remember to take your phone with you. Now, you don’t have it.

The sigh police officer lets out brings you to the present. “Well, at this rate this is not a simple breaking in, you’re intentionally hiding your identity, you’ve no documentation you could provide us. In that case, I’m sorry, lady, I would have to follow the regulations.” He more of mumbles to himself. Your eyes go wide. What regulations? What is he going to do? Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. You really don’t want to experience a single second inside a holding cell. You’re not a criminal.

“No, no wait! Wait.” You nearly stand up as you practically yell. Making the officer throw you a disapproving glance. “I can prove my identity. But, uh... can I call someone?” You look at the man uncertainly. Worried that he would say no.

“Call who? Your lawyer?” He questions after a minute of silence.

“No. But someone who can vouch for my identity. And vouch that I am no criminal, and all of this is a huge mistake. C’mon, I know you can’t deny my rights. I’m allowed to call someone.” You regret saying the last part the moment it leaves your mouth. It’s not like you’re trying to make this person more pissed at you. But then even though his face turns stony, you’ve said the truth. After another sigh he points you the phone. Tells you something about it being recorded. And something about a time limit. You just nod. Jumping at the chance and already dialing Jimin. See, each and every experience in this world has prepared you for the unexpected. The day you bleed through your vagina and had to ask Jimin’s neighbor for a call. You made sure to memorize Park Jimin’s number like it’s your own name. Everything, in the end, comes in handy.

You keep the receiver presses into your ear. Heart pounding as you worry that he wouldn’t pickup. Then after the fifth ring he does. His groggy voice reaching you. Probably still sleeping.

“Hello?” Asks slowly. You feel a rush of relief wash over you.

“Jimin.” You say eagerly.

“Lil?” Suddenly, there’s not a trace of sleepiness in his voice. If anything, you can hear the alarmed quivering.

“Yeah.” You glance at the police officer. Don’t know if he’s being kind or not.

“Wait? Where are you? How?” There are sounds of rustling following his sound. There’s no time to explain things over the phone.

“I’ll explain. But can you come?” You ask calmly as you can. Not wanting to panic him as well. Which turns out be a complete waste of effort once you say where you are.

The last thing he says sounds like a ‘hold on baby, be right there’. You couldn’t tell since he has already hung up.

………………………………

“Are you fucking kidding me? You just dragged her here? And what? You assholes couldn’t even give her a fucking jacket?” Jimin bangs the desk with his palm. You flinch. Oh, this is not a very polite behavior. Especially since you’re in the wrong. Not that you intended to trespass, but the police did their job. Just that. They haven’t even pressed charges against you. You were the one who couldn’t prove your identity. And Jimin here is causing unnecessary trouble. Why would he be so mad? Apparently, it’s because they’ve not given you a jacket. Isn’t that silly?

“No Sir, but I need you to calm down.” The same police officer who stared you down for the past thirty minutes, called you ‘filth’ and a ‘psychopath’ shows his palms. Trying to calm Jimin down. The bugger is bowing down to you now, all because he thinks you’re the CEO of The SE. You’re playing Liya it seems. Yet again. That’s your identity. He is bowing to Jimin deeply because there’s money involved here now. Power. Well, simply how the world works. Or all the worlds in that case. Officer had already apologized to you for causing trouble. And he didn’t even care how or what you were doing at a middle school anymore. The problem is resolved now. It should be if it isn’t for Jimin throwing tantrums here.

This scene is getting attention and you’re becoming embarrassed. You tug at his jacket. “That’s fine Jimin.” Mutter under your breath. He gives you a look. Scowling deeply.

“That’s not fine.” He shoots a glare at the officer. Then looks at you again. Eyes cast down to where you’re still sitting. Slightly shivering. He sighs in resignation. Gaze softening as he takes his jacket off. Wraps it around you. Ignores the little sounds of protest you let out. Crouches down in front of you, taking your hands in his. Squeezes. “You okay Lil?” Wonders. Voice so soft. You nod. Not that you’re completely okay, but ever since your first day, you learnt to expect the unexpected.

“Can we leave please?” You mumble that out. Watching Jimin’s eyes reflecting something you can’t quite decipher. He smiles softly. A crooked one. Then gives you a few nods in agreement.

“Yeah, c’mon.” Takes your hand in his. You stand up. Finally, feeling relaxed.

You bow to the officer and mutter an apology at the same time Jimin shoots another glare at him. You can hear the officer apologizing once again as you leave.

……………………………………………….

“What happened? How? Did you wake up early and left? How did you end up at a darn school?” There are so many questions spilling out through Jimin’s plump lips. While you’re now comfortably sitting inside his car. Warm, thanks to the heater and his puffy jacket. You look at Jimin’s wide eyes.

“No. I mean, do you think I’m crazy to leave like this? That’s a stupid guess.” You gesture at yourself. Jimin follows your movements. Eyes darting from your head to toe. That familiar amused smile paints his lips.

“Exactly! Why are you? Gosh, Lil, you were like what, wearing clothes that covered every inch of your skin while you were waking up with me, and today out of all the fucking days you decided wear that? And why are you wearing those socks?” He looks away from you as a chuckle rumbles his chest. You gasp.

“Okay first, Mr. Park, I won’t sit my pretty ass here and listen to you criticize my clothing choices─”

“Who said you have a pretty ass?” Jimin interrupts your venting. You feel your face heat up. A moment of insecurity gets to you before you see his coy smile.

“Yeah? I don’t? If I can recall correctly, last time you saw it you couldn’t keep your hands away and─” You nearly smack his head when he opens his mouth again. You point a finger at him. Not letting him interrupt you again. “─listen to me. This is not about my ass anyway─”

“You have a pretty ass.” Just like that you’re interrupted again. This time though you’re really blushing hard. Oh, fucking Park Jimin. “I mean it.” He says as you look away through the window. Can hear the amused tilt in his voice. Can’t even understand if he’s teasing you or being truthful. Decide you need to let the subject slip.

“Thanks! But it doesn’t make me forgive you for saying my socks are ugly.” You throw a brief glance at his grinning face.

“Never said they are ugly.”

“You don’t have to use the exact words all the time. And I didn’t wear this knowing I would wake up in a fucking school.” You successfully turn the conversation.

“Yeah, about that. How did that happen?” Grin that’s adorning Jimin’s face disappeared. Replacing his expression with a serious scowl. You shrug simply. Sigh. Throw your head back against the headrest. What a parallel this is. Just like that day where you sat in this same car. With Jimin. Feeling frustrated as you do now. Confused. Not understanding a single thing. Only now it’s morning and you’re not trying to rip your throats off by shouting at each other. It’s not been long but how far you’ve come.

“I have no idea. All I know is I was sleeping on my bed and then instead of waking up next to you─ like I always did─ I woke up on a cold floor and…” A sigh again. Turn your head lazily to catch him already staring at you. “I don’t know Jimin. It probably didn’t work you know. The wish thing and maybe….” You don’t know what you should say. There are no answers again. You don’t think you had them at all. So, you simply downcast your gaze. Looking at your bare thighs, peeking through Jimin’s large jacket. It’s Jimin’s time to sigh. But instead of just giving up like you, he simply gains your attention by placing his hand on your thigh. Over his jacket. You snap your head toward him.

“Hey...” He mutters softly. Leans forward a bit. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe, that’s enough. It worked or not I’m glad you’re here. Like you promised and as long as this doesn’t happen again, I’m fine.” Squeezes your thigh. “Okay?” Asks. Well, he is right. So, you say what he wants to hear. And when he is just about to take his hand back, decide to shoot a sudden question. Just pops in your head.

“Why aren’t you at work? You normally leave early?” Your curiosity is piqued by his attire. Is in those darn sweats. You like them on him. Then you like him in his suits. Like him on his boxers. In a towel and naked. He looks good on anything. Or nothing at all.

“Ah, yesterday was a rough night.” He shrugs. Brushing you off. You, however, are feeling suspicious. Mischievous. A rough night? Why?

“Wait! Were you worried I wouldn’t come? So worried that you couldn’t even sleep?” You gasp. Tilting your head back to look at him better. Jimin just looks at you. Opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. Are fully intended to use this chance. There’s a coy smile on your lips. No, a wicked one. “Seriously? You were that worried?” You’re just about to tease him over and over again when he would deny it. Only for your chance to be robbed of you.

“Yes.” He mumbles. Leaves you stunned. Just one word. With his silky voice. You gape at him. Close your mouth which you opened to tease him. Slowly. Not knowing what’s the correct reaction.

Oh!

Jimin chuckles. “Oh, c’mon, don’t act so surprised Lil. You know I was worried, I asked you to stay. No, I fucking begged you to stay─” Jimin squeezes your thigh again. Bore into your eyes. You do the same. Getting lost in those brown orbs. Enchanting. “─ so, of course, I was worried. I asked you to stay because I want you here.” Lifts his hand just to put it back where his jacket isn’t covering your thigh. Making you inhale a sharp breath. His hand is cold. Electrocutes your skin. Tingles. Goosebumps rising. You can’t look away. Spell bounded.

“Why?” You manage.

“What why?”

“Why you want me here?”

“I─ I don’t know─” Stars rubbing your thigh. Inkling upward. “I really don’t know Lil. Just want you here.” You don’t know when, but he has leaned forward some more. Is waiting for you to accept his answer. You gulp, suddenly feeling your mouth dry.

“You said you want to make it right for me?” You don’t accept his answer. Won’t simply give him the satisfaction of losing your senses over one touch of his. Even though that’s what is happening.

“I did.” He admits again. Jimin is more annoying when he admits it instead of fighting with you.

“You should do it then. Just because you made me cum twice, we’re not good Park.” You’re the one leaning forward now. Like Jimin is a magnet. Magnifying you. It’s head spinning how his fingers draws invisible lines on your inner thigh now. Jimin’s breath brushes your lips when he laughs. His laugh is soft. Stark contrast to how his eyes has turned dark.

“No. We’re not. I’m gonna make it to you, like I said.”

“How?” Your question earns a soft smile from Jimin. No answers though. Instead, he pecks your lips. Motions of his hand halts. His eyes drop to your thigh. Then back to your face. Doesn’t ask any questions. But in some fucked up way you know what he is asking. Your heart is already beating in your throat. Without your knowledge you’ve spread your legs. Jimin is waiting patiently. Well, what’s stopping you. “Please.” You mumble.

That’s all he needs. Lips attacks yours in a bruising kiss. Tongue roughly passing your lips inside your mouth. Hand cups your pussy over your shorts. Rubs. Eliciting those shameless moans which he swallows. Pulls away.

“Tell me this pretty cunt is already leaking for me.” Inches his face to your jaw. Voice dangerously law. You don’t think it’s possible for a voice to go that deep. He kisses your jaw. Then neck. Pulse point. Then is back to bore into your eyes. Asked a question after all. Well, of course you are. You started getting slick the moment he put his hands on you. How embarrassing.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t flatter yourself Park.” You mutter against his lips. Are going to be coy. Hold your power while you can. It’s just a matter of time until he gets you shamelessly begging. You hold your breath in anticipation when Jimin’s eyes turn even darker. He says nothing. Doesn’t do as you asked either. Simply presses his middle finger into your slit. Over the thin material of your shorts. Index and the ring finger grabbing your pussy lips as a ‘V’. Squeezes. Hard that you mewl.

“Ji-Jimin… mph.”

“Don’t try to be coy baby, makes me want to break you.” He kisses the shell of your ear. Rubs that middle finger against your slit. Making your panty stick to your core. You turn your gaze to where he is touching you. Entire body burning up. Another mewl leaves your lips to see the outline of your pussy lips. Squeezed between his fingers. But then you’re not the only one. A groan escapes Jimin. You turn your head to catch how his eyes are glued to his actions as well. “Fuck baby...” Mutters. Retrieves his hand just to show it inside the waist band of your shorts. Slips his middle finger through your slit. “Ahhhh… fuck.” Kisses your jaw. “See, you’re leaking. Already. I have all the reason in this world to flatter myself.” Says as his finger pokes your entrance. Making your needy hole clench in anticipation. And he nearly plunges it inside. You nearly lets out the biggest moan you can make when a voice reaches you. Closely followed by a figure walking past your car. You jump a little in your seat. The sudden realization of where you are hits you.

How stupid of you to get carried out like this way. You’re at a parking lot of fucking police station for fucks sake. What were you thinking? You could’ve ended up in a cell for real this time. You look at Jimin with wide eyes. Hoping to find out he felt the sudden realization as well. Only to be disappointed when you see his eyes are still very dark. Licks his lips.

“Want me to stop?” Asks while his finger still teasingly circling at your entrance. Not fair. He shouldn’t ask such questions while tempting you to do otherwise. You buck your hips into his touch. Biting on your lower lip to contain your moan.

“Well, I mean, no. But─” You don’t get to complete whatever you wanted to say when his finger thrusts inside. Pumps right away. That moan you tried to stifle finally leaves you. Oh, it feels fucking good. Almost enough to make you forget your surroundings once again. And you nearly do when he adds a second finger. But you don’t. “Ji- Jimin… no... not─” You looks at him with pleading eyes. Feeling oh so fucked up to see his lips parted. Soft breathes leaving. As if he is the one receiving pleasure. You let your head throwing back at the pleasure he is creating. Struggling to find words. “Not h-here. Ji-Jimin. Take me somewhere. Fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want that? You should ask nicely.” He doesn’t stop torturing your cunt.

“Please.” See now, after the few times with Jimin, you’re certain that he loves it when you plead. He would do whatever to put you in that position. Shamelessly, you don’t mind that at all. You’ll beg, beg and beg till your throat sore if it means Park Jimin fucking your cunt relentlessly like this. With his fingers. With his tongue. With his cock. It feels too fucking good to care.

“Say it again baby? You want me to do what?”

So, you do.

“Want you to fuck me so hard Jimin please. Take me somewhere.” You make that plead with the best needy voice you can perform. Fortunately, it works. Jimin’s fingers leaves your cunt. Even though it makes you empty and desperate you’re happy he listens. You really want him to fuck you. And you don’t want to do that here. Jimin starts the car. Yet doesn’t pull away. Gives you a look.

“Keep touching yourself baby. Keep that tiny hole stretched out for me.” Smirks.

Holy fuck!

“Wh-what?”

“Did I stutter?”

Fuck you love this.

…………………………………………………

When you asked Jimin to take you somewhere, you expected him to take you into a hotel room. Motel room. A private space, like a secret apartment. His workplace. Anywhere else but an empty alleyway in middle of nowhere. You slip your fingers out of your cunt. Face burning. Sweating. Needy and desperate like a bitch in heat. Well, of course you’re needy after he made you edge yourself for an entire fifteen minutes’ drive. In his defense, you know he didn’t intend it to take that long. But he was searching for an empty place like this. Where there is no one in sight. Still, it was pure torture. He made you shift between rubbing your pearl of nerves and pumping your own fingers inside your cunt repeatedly. Making you bring yourself to the edge. Only for him to demand ‘stop’. And like the good girl you are, you complied.

You let out a shaky breath. Taking a good look at Jimin. The moment your fingers leave your cunt he replaces them. “Let me see baby.” Graces over your sensitive clit and pumps his finger inside easily.

“That’s a good girl. You made a really good mess. See...” He rubs your arousal over your swollen pussy lips. Making you whimper. Taps on your clit. You’re crumbling. See, you knew exactly this is what going to happen. Rational thoughts are leaving your brain. “Dripping.” Jimin places a soft kiss into your cheek. “All for me right Lil. You edged yourself like a good slut for me, right? So, I can fuck you so good? Make you cum on my cock again and again?” Whispers filth in your ear. All the while his fingers rub your slit. From your clit your hole. Back from your hole to your clit. Repeatedly. The sensation paired with his sinful words make you float. You’re needly bucking your hips into his hand. Pressing your soppy cunt more into his fingers. Wanting more.

“Yes, Jimin. Please…” You clench around nothing.

“Does my pretty slut want my cock so bad?” He gives you another kiss. You turn your head so he can place those kisses on your lips. Oh, how you wish he would be so desperate like the last time. Where he can’t control himself long enough to torment you like this. This is pure torture. But the good thing is you’re loving it. Love the way he plays.

“Yes, I want you s- so bad J-Jimin. Please… I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me hm?” You catch his lips in between yours. Feel like you’re in a haze. “Please.” Plead between your kisses. Do it again. Then again. “Please Jiminie. Baby please.” Whine. And you don’t know what did the trick. The beg or the nickname. You’re mortified honestly. Never planned to call him baby. But it’s already out and probably made Jimin curse aloud.

“Fuck. Fucking hell.” His hand stops. Levas your short. “On the back baby, c’mon.” Is already opening the door. Stops just to open the center console and fish out a foil packet. Then almost exits the car. Turns around to find you still unmoved. “Lil?” Questions. Well, you haven’t done this before. And it certainly seems like he has. You’re a bit nervous. But that doesn't mean you’re not up to trying. There were and are so many first times for you in this world. See, maybe you like this life a little too much now. You shake your head simply. Opening the door hurriedly to make it to the back seat.

You’ll not ask him the reason to keep condoms in his car. You don’t know if Jimin fucks other girls behind his girlfriend’s back. Like Taehyung. Or if he keeps them to use with Liya. You don’t want to think about that now. Are too horny to back down. The lines between you and Jimin are so blurry. You haven’t talked about anything. About what you’re doing. About his plans. No. You have no idea about anything. There’s no tag for this whatever-ship you two are in. It’s still the beginning. You’ll probably end up wounded up so bad in the end. But still, that’s a problem for later time. For now, all you can concentrate on is how good Jimin’s hand feels on you when he hurriedly drags your shorts down your thighs. Alongside your cotton panties. All you can do is to lean into his touch when he rubs your thighs. Motioning you to straddle him. So, you do. Raise your hips slightly so he can pull his own pants down. Then boxers. Freeing that hard-mouthwatering cock out. Earning soft whimpers from you.

“Hold on baby. I’m giving it you.” Jimin chuckles at your soft whimper. Rolling the condom down on his length.

“Hurry please.” You moan impatiently. Finally, feeling relieved when he holds his stiff cock upright for you.

“Okay, fuck, go on Lil. Take me in.”

You do as you’ve been asked. Adjust your body so your soppy hole is aligned with his pink tip. Roll your hips just once. Then you sink down. Feeling his cock stretching your entrance. Burning up your inside pleasurably. Your walls quavering to accommodate his hard cock. The moan you let out is due the pure relief. Gosh, it feels otherworldly. And to know that he feels the same. You’re positive you’d die. You and Jimin both moan in content when you finally take every inch of him. Safely buried inside your warm walls. He brings you close. Kisses you hard. Then just as you’re about to grind your hips, he pulls away. Stills you with his hands on your hips. Gives you a look which you can’t quite understand.

“What?” You mumble. Confused.

“Want me to keep playing?” His voice really makes your body vibrates. A shiver running through your spine. And at the haze of the moment, you make the mistake of choosing the wrong answer. It’s a very weak yet pathetic ‘yes’ does it for you.

“Fuck yeah? You want me to, don’t you baby? Want me to keep playing with your cute cunt?” Jimin sucks on your neck. Voice dangerous. Sinister. Teasing.

“Ye-yes mph yes. Fuck Jimin, yes.” You repeat what you said earlier. This time with more desperation. He groans. Then looks at you with those blown out eyes. Hooded.

“Let’s play then baby. Don’t move, okay? Don’t move until I say so.” Gives you a quick kiss. That means to be an act of comfort, but your brain starts to ring alarms immediately. You look at him with wide panicked eyes.

“Wh- what? What do you─”

“You heard me Lil. Just stay there, keep me warm. Keep dripping on to me like a good slut.” Jimin explains to you so casually. Stark contrast to how he looks right now. Tugs from your T-shirt to get you free from it. Does the same to your bra. You let him do that yet start complaining right away.

“No. No Jimin fuck. I can’t, you know I ca-can’t. Don’t do that. Want you to fuck me. Oh, fuck I’ll fucking…. Please.” You’re not even kidding here. You really feel that desperate. To have him stretched you out this way. Filling you to the brim. Feeling his warmth. Feeling his cock twitch inside you. But then not having him pounding into you like mad. Fuck you feel like you’re dying.

“You said you want me to play princess. Be a good girl now. Keep that cock warm baby.” Jimin throws his head into the head rest. Looking at you with hooded lusty eyes. See, you made the wrong choice. Were so dumb to think straight and now you’ve put yourself in this torture. All you can hope is that his control will snap soon. Silly of you to think that. Park Jimin apparently is the devil reincarnation. You’re absolutely wrecked and ruined at his hands. Turning into a puddle after sucking his plump lips for God knows how long. Letting him play with your tits, sucking and bruising the sensitive skin. Still, he doesn’t let you move. Keeps you still. His hard cock safely buried inside you. Maybe it’s not been that long. But to you with your brain screaming only one thing, it feels like you’ve been this way for hours. You have no idea how much you begged. Only that, being the asshole he is, Jimin enjoys your little pleads to the fullest. They make him even harder inside you, if it’s possible. And you know you can’t do this anymore. There’s this feral need for more. You need more. Something. Anything.

You pull away from his bruising kiss. Breathless. Panting. Your brain is malfunctioning when you purr against his mouth. Finally having enough of this torture. “Fine, you want me to keep your cock warm?” You ask. Jimin just nods. Is so fucked up just like you. “L-let me do it the right way then.” You feel new wave of your arousals drenching Jimin’s cock. Just at the thought of what you’re initiating. He perks up, quirking a brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Let me do it right way Jimin. Let-Let’s uh… let’s remove the stupid condom.” You blurt the words out. Loving the way Jimin’s breath hitches. Yet he doesn’t say anything. Stare at you dumbly. Maybe that’s too much. That needy monster who guided you to make that request pops out suddenly. Making you panic. You don’t want to cross any lines after all. “I mean, only if you want to. I- uh... I’m clean and I assume you’re too and… you know what never mind─” You’re quick to make excuses. Feeling stupid. But he stops you. Squeezes your hips. Groans.

“No... baby gosh no. Only if I want to? Fuck, you kidding me? Lil, I would die to fuck you raw. Shit you gonna kill me. C’mon move princess. Let us get rid of the stupid condom huh?” Makes you raise your hips. You moan at his words. Simply, you love this. Love this moment. Feel desired in a way you never did before. His words, touches, looks. All make you feel like you hold some power. A power to make someone, like Park Jimin looks this wrecked. And so do you absolutely love it when he gets rid of the condom. Guiding you back on his cock. Penetrating your clenching hole without a barrier. And like that you’re positive that the only living and breathing creatures left in the world are you two. Just you and him. Nothing else. Know Jimin feels the same. He hides his face in your neck. Arms wrapping around your figure. Clutching into you for his dear life. Loud obscene moans leaving past both of your lips.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck Lil. Holy fuck you…. aaahh...” Jimin mutters incoherently into your throat. You’re no different. Are losing your mind all over again. Basking in the feeling of Jimin inside you. Throbbing and twitching. Getting soaked with your essence. You try to keep in that way, complying to his wishes. Only that you’ve no control over yourself.

“Jimin, I really can’t anymore, please let me move. Let me come hm?” You ask against his ear. Your own arms wrapped around him tightly. One on the nape of his neck. Keeping him pressed against you. “Let me cum on your cock… Jimin-ah... god baby please.” Yet again you don’t know what did the trick. Doesn’t matter since Jimin pulls away. Nodding.

“Okay, fuck. Move baby. Ride me. Ride me good yeah?” His head falls back into the headrest again. You nod furiously. Immensely grateful for the end of this torture. Find your balance by placing your hands on his shoulders. Start by grinding your hips slowly. Circling. Then you raise your hips a bit. Moaning at the sensation of his hard cock dragging along your sensitive wall. Can feel every inch and vein. Clench. Making Jimin’s fingers dig into your hips. Making him grunt. Then you sink down again. Clench. Start doing the same thing. Slowly first but then within a minute you’re bouncing on his cock like your life depends on it. Jimin gives you the full control. Just enjoying the view. The way your tits bounce and the way they graces his chest occasionally. You both live in a trance. The sound of skin slapping and your shameless moans filling the tight space of his car. And the filth Jimin spills.

“Yes. Fuck baby, keep going, you’re doing so good. Use my cock hm? Use it to make yourself cum. Squeeze me so fucking tight.” He places your stray hair strands behind your ear. Just for them to fall back again as you move. “Like that, you’re such a needy slut Lil. Look at you. Gosh you’re squeezing me hard. Keep doing that.” Molds the soft flesh of your breasts. Sneaks one hand between your thighs, finding your swollen bud. Just adding more pleasure to your ecstasy. “Cum.” Demands. “Cum baby. You begged me to cum slut. Let go.” Picks up the speed of his hand. And that’s all that it takes for you. Two more flicks against your clit while his cock hits all the right places inside you, you fall over the edge. Screaming his name through your clenched teeth. Shaking. Legs buckling. Yet can hear him groan through the ringing of your ears.

“Shit, shit, keep going. Lil keep, fuck… I’m gonna... you need to move princess.” You open your eyes to find him throwing his head back. Clenching his jaw tightly. “Lil now… fuck.” Well, you don’t do anything to be honest, too lost in pleasure. Too weak to do anything. It’s just him who raise your hips up just in time for the ropes of hot white cum to hit your lower abdomen and your cunt. Painting you in white. In him. God you’ll do the impossible to hear that moan he lets out. To see this look on his face again. Lips ajar. Brows furrowed. And covered in sweat. Nearly break you apart at how tight he holds you. “Oh, fuck. Fucking hell baby─” Jimin doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead chose to kiss you hard. Harsh. Long. Until the bliss of your high dies down. That’s when he pulls away finally. Rests his forehead against yours.

“I don’t think I can get enough of this shit.” Mumbles.

Well, you think the same.

……………………………………………………

“For fuck’s sake Park!!!” You try to dodge his grabby hands. Hands that are trying to squeeze your cheeks.

“What? You’re cute when you’re mad.” Jimin grabs you by the waist. Pressing you against his chest. You and he need to be embarrassed, at least. Yet here you are. Fooling around like two elementary school kids. You’ve been ever since you left that alleyway where Jimin parked his car just to fuck you. He made sure to annoy you for so many reasons including your – as he calls them- ugly socks. Then he refuses to admit he said it. But that’s what he’s been saying. You get it. Hell, you even felt self-conscious to walk across the lobby to the elevator. You must’ve looked like a clown. Knee high socks and no shoes. Jimin offered you his, but you refused. So, you’re mad at him. Not for real, no. See, just fooling around.

“I’m not mad.” You try to free yourself. He doesn’t let you. You give up. “You laugh at my socks, but you didn’t remove them when you fucked me.” Gasp. “You like them, don’t you? You’ve that kind of kink─”

“Really?” Jimin raises his brow. Exasperated. “What kind of kink?” His eyes are back to glinting. You squint your eyes. Trying to think of something. Just to find out you don’t know.

“I don’t know─” Say when Jimin chuckles. “But you have one. I’m fucking sure. That’s why you make rude comments about them.”

“What’s the logic in that. Why would I make rude comment… no wait, I didn’t make rude comments.” He defends with wide eyes. You’re about to counter when the elevator door dings. He lets you go. Waiting for the doors to open. You step out first. Entire floor is eerie silent, given the fact that there’s only two apartments.

You still haven’t talked about anything. It’s easy to procrastinate things. You felt the need to ask him your questions more than once to be honest. Then you’re pretty sure this light mood. This bantering and teasing will shift. It’ll all shift into something heavier. You’re too selfish, like you always are. Don’t want that to happen. So, you keep it shut. Pretend like you’re just a normal girl who walks into her home with her boyfriend.

Jimin enters the code to the keypad. You just take that time to look around. At the closed door of Lees. It’s all calm and quiet. Peaceful. It always has been this way. Jimin grabs your attention back when he pushes the door open. Holds the door for you. You enter first, just walking inside since you don’t have to remove your shoes. Wait for Jimin to join you.

“What do you wanna eat?” He asks behind you as you walk pass the entryway. You turn your head to look at him.

“Definitely ramen. I’m craving ramen.” You make a little moan in the end. Making him scrunch his nose. In adoration. Reaches his hand to your cheek again. Nearly touches you when─

“Where were y─” The sudden voice startles both you and Jimin. Making you snap your head toward the sound. Eyes landing on a figure, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Your heart dropping dead for a fractured second. You feel Jimin freezes behind you. Well, you do the same. Freeze. Mouth going dry and jaw dropping to the floor.

No!

No. No. No.

You make eye contact with yourself. Just standing across from you. You. That’s who she is. Only being differ with some little changes. But it’s just you. Staring right back at you. Her mouth hanging open just like yours. You make eye contact with her. Liya. Kim Liya.

Kim fucking Liya.

You feel your knees weaken. Feel your legs buckle. This can’t be happening. Why not? You made the damn wish. You wished for her life. For her to have a normal life while you still being on the picture. Well, you thought it didn’t work. You think Jimin believed the same. You two were so fucking selfish for not even bring her name to your conversation at least once. Or you both wanted but decided to do it later. Now it’s too late. She is right here. In front of you. Now you don’t have time to wonder what about Liya? It’s getting hard to breathe. Liya opens her mouth first. Eyes darting between you and Jimin, who’s just few steps behind you.

“Wh- What... What’s─” That’s all she could bring out. Rest of her words dying on her tongue. Drowning out with the ear-splitting screech you left out. Your hand grabbing the left side of your chest. It’s sudden. Like a sudden stab. But painful as if every bone in your body cracked at the same time. It comes from nowhere. You were just fine a second ago and now you’re doubling down while clutching your chest. Like it would fall if you remove your hand. It comes like a crashing wave. Pain. Just pure pain in your chest. Enough to make your head throb. Ears ring. Sight blur. The last thing you see before everything goes blur is Liya clutching her chest as well. Not screeching or doubling down like you. Just whimpering. Holding on to the door frame. Then you feel Jimin storm past you. Stopping between you and Liya.

“What’s… fuck Liya? Lil? Wh-what’s happening?” Jimin’s voice is nothing but a white noise ringing in your ears. Can hear him talking but nothing makes sense. It’s just pain. You think you’ll faint. You think you’ll die. Don’t even realize you’re crying. Gritting your teeth hard to endure the unrelenting pain. Jimin just stands there. Stupidly. Head snapping from you to Liya. From Liya to you. Oh, if you’re in your right mind, you’ll realize how much of an ironic, comical, hard, yet stupid position Jimin is in. In a position where he has to choose between you and Liya, even when nobody asked him to do so. You don’t know what he’d have done eventually. Your weakened body doesn’t allow you enough time to find that out. You make the decision for Jimin. Make the decision when your legs finally give up. When your knees hit the marble floor with a crack. Well, you certainly make him realize that the person in more pain is you. He is crouching down next to you in a blink. Your face in his hands.

“Fuck Lil, are you okay? Hey, hey, talk to me. Where does it hurt?... No, no stay with me huh? Wa-wait... I... I need to call an ambulance.” His hand leave your face as he fumbles inside his pocket. You can’t really comply. Don’t think you can talk. You can’t breathe. You can’t. It’s too stuffy. Your head will explode. You need to go outside. One of your shaky hands reach Jimin. Touch his hand barely. Yet his attention is on you immediately. “What? What is it?” Asks. Even with your blurred sight you can witness the panic in his face.

“O-out... I... o-out.” You don’t think you’re making any sense right now. But that’s all you can do. Jimin nods.

“Out? You want to go outside?” Cups your face in his hands again. You nod. Nod through your tears. Watch Jimin throws a worried glance toward Liya. You follow his line of vision. Find Liya still upright on her feet. Eyes on you two. Obviously in pain but nowhere near you. She is in pain but you’re dying. You’re positive.

Jimin says nothing when he picks you up from the floor. All of a sudden. Probably thought the same thing as you did. “Just a moment, I’ll be right back.” He mutters to no one specifically before starting toward the door. You in his hands. He meant the words to Liya. You all know that. He’s supposed to be with her. Not you.

Not you at all.

……………………………………..

“You can go back inside Park. I’m fine now.” You say to Jimin while sitting on a comfy couch in the lobby. And you’re telling the truth. The pain you felt starts to subside immediately after you left their apartment. There’s still a slight sting. But nothing unbearable. You’ve dried your tears with your T-shirt a long time ago. It’s been more than fifteen minutes since you and Jimin have been out here. And that’s not good.

“No. No, I won’t just leave you. I thought you were fucking dying Lil. I’ll stay here till he arrives.” He glances at the entrance. Is pacing around like a maniac.

“I’m fine Jimin. You need to go back to her. She was in pain too.” You gesture toward the elevator. Feeling so fucked up.

“Ah shit, why the fuck does he takes so long?” Jimin ignores you completely. Only if you can stand up and stop him from tiring himself out. You just feel too weak to do so. You’re waiting for Jungkook. The only person came to your mind who could help you in this deteriorated situation. Jimin had to go through a little bit of a hassle to contact Jungkook. You not being much help. He had to reach Taehyung first. Had to yell at him for asking stupid questions. Luckily, however, he had the contact information. You guess it might’ve been a great shock to Jungkook when Park Jimin reached him like that. Jimin didn’t really give him any details, just vague and asked him to come as soon as he can. Jungkook being Jungkook, said yes. Now you’re waiting. Have been for fifteen minutes.

“I’m serious Jimin, it’s not okay for you─”

“I know, okay, I know. I know I’m supposed to be there. But just… let me make sure you leave with him. Safe.” Jimin snaps. Making you shut your mouth. This is so fucked up. More fucked up than the fact you just entered her house, laughing and smiling, just after having each other cum so hard. You need Jimin to leave. That’ll at least give you a little bit of peace, in your mind. But then you don’t want him to leave at the same time. His presence is comforting. You’d be lying if you say you aren’t scared. Because you are. Hell, you are scared for your life. Jimin makes it bearable. Then she might be scared too. It’s so wrong for him to be here when she is his girlfriend. Even though, now you’re partially scared of what might happen next. Back on the track, aren’t you?

How ridiculous that you brought all this shit upon yourself. You made her come here. And for a fact, you know that unbearable pain has everything to with her. That odd lady explicitly told you as long as you’re here, she can’t be. Then you didn’t heed, now did you? You’re playing with a fire that you can’t even see. What’s next? Will you die? Is that what she meant when she said only one space is there for one person. That you can’t share Liya’s space with her. Will you be in this pain forever? Was this your doing at all? It should be. Liya wasn’t here until you wished. Fuck, that was a wish. No matter, how ridiculous it sound. That was that.

You still don’t know the answers for half the questions you have. Two things, however, are certain. First, this all happened because of a wish. Second, you and Liya can’t share that same space.

You look at him again. With the intention of persuading him one last time. Even though you don’t want to be alone. You are just about to open your mouth when a sudden movement at the entrance catch both of your attention. Jimin stops his pacing abruptly. Head snapping to the person who enters through the already opened glass door of the lobby. Jungkook’s eyes land on you instantly, as he stops briefly for a moment. Then he is storming toward you.

“Finally.” Jimin mutters under his breath. A sigh of relief leaving his pink lips. Jungkook reaches you and Jimin. Stopping just a few steps ahead of you. Eyes wide and mouth adorably hanging open. Glances between you and Jimin for a moment. Confused. Fixes his eyes on you in the end.

“Noo-Noona?” Jungkook practically whispers that. Still, you hear that. He looks uncertain. As if he’s trying to figure who you truly are. Well, that’s very fair. You crack a very forced smile. A painful one. Raise your hand or try to do so.

“Hey, Kookie!!” Mumble. Jungkook sucks in a breath. It’s like you’ve given him a proof to believe you’re you.

“Fuck, it really is you.” He says again. More to himself than to you.

“Uh... can you?” Jimin interrupts Jungkook’s daze impatiently. Of course, it’s time you should free him. Jungkook averts his gaze to Jimin. “Can you like, uh… look after her. She was in pain─”

“Pain?” Jungkook looks back at you. Brows furrowed.

“Yes, pain. She is okay now but... I can’t─”

“You should go now Jimin.” You can’t really take it to see Jimin guilt tripping. Not wanting to leave but wanting to do exactly that. He shouldn’t feel guilty to leave you. No, he shouldn’t. “I’ll be fine now. Jungkook’s here.” You gestures to the poor boy. Standing there and taking your exhausted figure in. Jimin looks you straight in the eye. Startles you when he crouches down before you suddenly. Takes your hands in his.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” He isn’t just speaking with words. Is doing it with his eyes as well.

Oh, fuck.

“Of course, I will Jimin. I’m fine. Look, he’s here now. You really need to go to her.” You free your hands from his grasp. Not because you don’t like the feeling. Just because it feel wrong. Oh, so utterly wrong. “Go.” You repeat. Jimin’s eyes fall down to your hands. At the way you just refused his touch. Say nothing though. Just nods. Stands up and turns to Jungkook.

“Text me your address.” Says to him as he gives you another glance. Jungkook agrees. You want to ask Jimin why he would want that. But he is already walking away. Backward. Eyes lingering on you. You hate this painful tug you feel at your chest now. Which has nothing to do physically this time. You don’t want Jimin to leave you. You keep your eyes on him until he turns around. Pushing on the elevator button. Till he rushes inside it. Till he’s no longer in your sight. You were so immersed in Jimin that you didn’t even sense that Jungkook has replaced Jimin’s place on the floor. Crouching down. Peering into your eyes. He takes your hand this time. And you don’t reject.

“You okay Noona?”

You just smile.

……………………………………………

Jimin is pacing inside the small, confined space of the elevator. He should’ve taken the stairs instead of this. That could’ve helped him to ease some nerves. Which is exactly what he needs now. Pacing around this tight space like a headless chicken isn’t helping him at all.

He hates so many things right now. But what’s so fucked up is that he hates having to leave you with another man. Hates that he couldn’t be there at the most needed times. Hates that this other man is Jeon Jungkook of all people. You wanted him. Jimin wanted to leave you with Taehyung. Wanted to leave you in a hospital. Well, you were you. Stubborn you. Said that Jungkook knows everything. That serves enough reason why he should be the one to come. Jimin couldn’t argue at the end. Had no other options but to agree.

See this is what exactly he was afraid of. Why? Why on the earth he is feeling this way? This was what happened at the day you woke him up that night. He was more worried about you leaving. More than the misfortune his own girlfriend was facing. It doesn’t mean he gives no fuck. Because of course he is worried. Was worried. Even now he wants this damn elevator to reach his floor faster. There’s so many scary what ifs haunting his mind.

Gimin groans loudly. His fingers threading through his hair. He thought it was the fucking sexual tension. That aching desire to have you. Then there’s no reason to be jealous. Fucking territorial. And he had you. These burning sensations should’ve dissapeared by now. Why on the hell he asked you to stay? And then asked you to make sure Liya has her life back? Now what? What a mess he has made.

He lets out a breath when the elevator finally stops. Is practically running across the hallway toward his door. Praying to God that she’ll be okay. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave her alone like that. Simply you needed more attention. More than Liya. Right? Then he should’ve come back to her the moment he knew you were okay. Now what will he say to his girlfriend. What’s his reason for taking care of another woman?

A mess. All this is. He made this mess.

He barges inside like a hurricane. Running straight to the lounge. Is about to turn to the kitchen when his eyes land on Liya. Sitting on the couch. Seemingly okay. Jimin can’t begin to describe the relief he feels. She raises her head at the sound of his footsteps. Looking at him with alarming eyes. Those eyes. The eyes he fell in love with once. Don’t you have the same eyes? She stands up. Immediately. Bridges the distance between them and when she does that those eyes were gone. Replaced with just fire behind them.

“What the fuck is happening Jimin.” Liya screeches as she stops just an inch away from Jimin. Runs her hands through her hair. “Who- why? What… God, why did she look exactly like me. Jimin. Who─ It hurt like hell, why- why was she feeling that too.” Liya is stammering in bad way. Her breathing is getting shallow and fast. That’s no good. Jimin knows how this might feel. He knows it. Just doesn’t know what to do. So, just wraps his arms around her. Hugs her tight.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay Liya. It’s okay. I’ll explain. Calm down…shhh… it’s okay.” Mumbles into her hair.

……………………………………………

It was fairly easy to calm Liya down. She has better control of herself. It’s just that. Now Jimin is watching her laugh. Laughing aloud.

“Seriously? You want me to believe that?” Asks through her giggles.

“Yes, I want you to do that. Because, how else you’ll explain that? Explain her?” Jimin gestures toward the door. Liya’s laughter dies down. Slowly. Then silence fills the room. For a long minute before Liya breaks it.

“I- I don’t know. I mean how’s that─”

“You know Liya. C’mon you know. I’m pretty sure you felt the pain. Just at the right time you saw her. And what? You think she’s just someone who exactly looks like you? You think so?” Jimin leans forward. Is sitting on the couch. It was frustrating to explain some shit about parallel worlds. Felt stupid. Yet he had to do that. There was no other options he could choose. Liya doesn’t say anything in response. Just sighs.

“Okay so let’s just hypothetically─”

“No hypothesis Liya, I’m telling the truth.” Jimin doesn’t mean to snap but it’s really frustrating. Can understand how you might’ve felt all these times. First him, and you said how it went with your best friend. Oh, he understands you completely now. Liya knits her eyebrows in pure annoyance.

“Okay. All right. So, you’re telling the truth. I just met my alternative counterpart from a different universe. Okay, I mean I can’t deny I felt the pain. Can’t deny I felt like I was looking at a mirror. It felt super weird.”

“Exactly.”

“So, is this the reason why I’ve been missing on those meetings, lunches, the reason why I couldn’t remember some things? That wasn’t because I’m having─”

“No, you’re not sick. It’s because of this. Because you were disappearing every other day.” Jimin interrupts her vent. There’s no point of hiding ot from her now. He feels like shit. Heavy.

Fuck!

Another uncomfortable silence. Jimin can’t look at her. Feels his throat constrict.

“Okay, yeah.” She puffs a breath out. “Then how long Jimin?” Breaks the silence again. Jimin expects her to ask that question. Sooner or later. Yet he feels like he can’t answer.

“Uh- like couple months.” He mumbles weakly. Barely audible. Eyes fixing upon their opulent coffee table.

“Months?” Liya grabs Jimin’s sleeve. Softly. Trying to get him to look at her. “What do you mean months? Tell me how long, exactly?” She shifts in her position. Her grasp tightening. Jimin reluctantly glance at her.

“Like almost two─” Liya’s gasp is what interrupts him. She lets him go. More like her arm falls limp.

“Two? T-Two months? For heaven’s sake Jimin.” Scoffs. Her calm expression morphing into storm within a blink. Stands up. “And you let it happen?” Looks at him in pure disbelief. Under very different context. Where Jimin hadn’t done exactly that. Let it happen. This could’ve been his breaking point. The accusation! He would have stormed away with gritted teeth. In this context, he can’t. It makes him scowl, nonetheless.

“It wasn’t under my control, you know.” He mutters. Trying to mask his guilt. Trying to act natural. It’s getting harder and harder by every passing second.

“Why did you lie to me?” Liya changes the course rather fast. Kind of looks like she doesn’t know what to ask first.

“I fucking didn’t lie to you.”

“Well, you kept the damn thing a secret. You knew what was going on all along and you let me believe I’m sick.” Liya steps to her left. So, she can face Jimin properly. Forcing him to avoid her piercing gaze. Wincing at her accusing tone. How hard it’s to hear what she says just because it’s true. “You knew I was worrying about not remembering stuff and you just let it happen Jimin. Did you even try to stop that- whatever this thing is.” She gestures between her and the door. Referring to you. Her voice raising with every word. He needs to stop her. Can’t listen to the bitter truth.

“Of course, I did. We- did. We tried our best. And I kept it a secret because you wouldn’t have believed me Liya.” Jimin finally finds the courage to look at her. Shame burning him inside out.

“How would you know that?”

It’s Jimin’s turn to scoff.

“Really? How would I know? We’ve been together for fucking five years Liya. You would’ve called me crazy. Even now you don’t believe it completely, I know that a part of you still thinks I’m crazy. You only believe it because you saw her, you felt the pain and all those shits.” It’s not Jimin is trying to find a way to win this fight. No. But it’s not a lie. That’s the reason why he didn’t tell her. At least before he became selfish and wanted you. Only you.

Fucking idiot!

Liya doesn’t say anything right away. Takes a deep breath. Rubs her face. Starts pacing around. Jimin feels like laughing aloud. How ironic. How funny she does exactly same things as Jimin. How you and she are not similar to each other at all. You hate it. Pacing around. And yet, you’re the same person. Liya stops. Turns to Jimin.

“You say you tried? Well, you clearly haven’t tried enough considering she’s still here. And what were you doing with her this morning anyway?” Questions. Jimin feels blood drains out of his body. Heart stopping. Guilt. Fucking guilt.

“She needed uh... help.” Jimin tries to gulp sneakily. Not wanting to act guilty.

“Help?” She quirks one of her brows. “Like earlier? Did you leave me alone, Park Jimin?”

“Oh, c’mon she looked like she was dying.”

“SO, WAS I!”

Silence. It’s eerie silence. And they just staring at each other. It’s too quiet Jimin can hear his own heartbeat booming in the spacious lounge. For a fact, he knows Liya wasn’t in pain anywhere near you. But does that justify his actions?

“We need to stop this shit Jimin. I was in fuckin pain, and I don’t think that’s a good thing. She- whoever she is clearly has messed with my life enough.” Liya grits. There’s an unexplainable look in her eyes. Liya is a smart woman after all. “This needs to stop. I won’t just sit here and watch her mess with my life.”

Jimin opens his mouth to argue. Finds no words, however. Liya gives him a one last look and storms away. Leaving Jimin to just sit there. To reflect on how he fucking messed up.

………………………………………….

“So, now she is here? It didn’t work, but the real Liya is here? And you both felt a severe pain when you met?” Jungkook blurts out. Holding a hot cup of coffee for you. You’re sitting on his couch. In your spring roll state. You struggle to take your hands out, nodding in confirmation for his question.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Noona.” Jungkook mumbles as he gives you your coffee. Your eyes snap to him. Wide. Head starting to shake.

“No! Why are you apologizing? How is that your fault?” You scowl.

“I was the one who gave the idea about a damn wish.” He plops down on the couch next to you. Your heart sinks. God, you feel like a two-faced lying bitch. Jungkook never was wrong. He gave you the right idea. You’re the one who used it in the wrong way and now you’re deceiving him. The person who didn’t even judge you for your wrong doings. Do you even deserve to be here. With him. You feel your head pounds.

“No. No Jungkook. It’s not like that, I mean it wasn─” You’re so glad when the sudden knock on his front door interrupts you. You don’t want Jungkook to believe it was his fault. Nor do you want to tell him he was right, and you did this to yourself. Jungkook furrows his brows as he looks at the door. “Uh- are you expecting someone?” You ask as you follow his line of vision.

“No…. but maybe it’s Jimin.” Jungkook stands up. You watch as he reaches the door. One hand pushing his wild hair back. You don’t think it’s Jimin. There’s no way he can come this quick. You can’t even think about how much of a mess it must be in his home now. Explanations. Apologies. Questions. Oh, poor Jimin! Your assumptions quickly turn out to be true. The moment Jungkook unlocks the door, the door nearly slams into him. Makes you visibly flinch in fear that it hits him. He dodges it luckily. Couldn’t dodge the little body collides against him, however. Pair of arms circling around his neck.

“JUNGKOOK…. My fucking best friend!” J’s voice echoes through the confines of Jungkook’s apartment. He lets out a whine in complaint at how hard J is hugging him.

“Okay, fuck, all right.” Jungkook finally manages to push her away from him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Questions from a J who gasps so loud. A hand going to her chest.

“Yah! Since when do you ask me why I’m here. I’m here because I have no life bro.” She answers. Turns around, grinning from ear to ear. Only for that grin to drop down when her eyes fall on you. She takes a split second in surprise. Then that wide grin is back on her face. “Miss. Liya!” Exclaims loudly. Already starting toward you “You’re here? Fuck, I didn’t believe Joonie when he said Kookie made you wash dishes─” Her words float away. You don’t know if she has stopped talking or you can’t hear her. Despite wanting to show a similar kind of enthusiasm to see her, which you’re genuinely feeling, that pain is rising again. Clouding your other senses. This time it isn’t painful like the last time. Nor is it sudden. But the pain is there. Slowly but surely becoming unbearable. Making your breathing ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Noona… Are you okay? It’s the pain? It’s happening again?” You catch Jungkook’s concerned face peering at you. Can only nod in answer. Hear J saying something.

Why are you back in pain. You’re not in presence of Liya now.

You could’ve figured an answer out if it wasn’t for the piercing pain. A moment of peaceful thinking would’ve been enough. It’s a good thing that Jungkook can still think clearly. Worried out of his mind, yes. Yet he grabs your hands tight. You can only watch stupidly in pain when his eyes darted to J, who’s looking at you beyond horrified.

“She’s not Liya.” Jungkook states. Sternly. As if just those three words make all the sense in the world. J scowls at him. Confused. Hell, even you with your pain are looking at him with knitted brows. “She is not Liya, J.” He repeats. Then to much of your horror, just causally say your name loud. Your real name. Which only makes J’s scowl deep.

“What? What are you talking about? Take her to a fucking hospital Kook.” J crouches down beside you. “Or call her boyfriend, friend, assistant, or whoever the fuck can help her.” Looks at Jungkook like he just grew a third arm. Then her eyes are on you. “Are you okay Miss. Liya? Should we take─”

Jungkook’s words make a sudden sense to you. That pain intensifies like a surge.

It happens because J called you Liya.

You faintly hear Jungkook practically yells at J. Forces her to call you by your real name. She looks confused. Utterly so. Scared. But in the end, she does as she is asked. It takes more than a few minutes. It’s agonizingly slow. How the pain subsides. When it does, however, you’re facing a J who looks a bit pale.

………………………………………

Learning things in a practical way, in experience, is a good thing. The best way to learn. But not in all settings. It’s utterly foolish to jump off a cliff to learn you’ll die. Especially, when you’re just a mortal human being with one life to spare. Similarly to your situation now. It was quite literally brainless how you made your decisions. Driven entirely by your emotions. Fucked up emotions in that case. And on a pure bliss of a mind-blowing orgasm. It was moronic how you or Jimin, didn’t stop to think how the results of your stupid decisions will be. You didn’t wait to think what you’ll do if Liya is really here. No. You just let a man who’s in a relationship fucked your brain out. Then you just jump right into the fire pit he shows you. You decided to jump off a cliff just to see if you'd survive. Turned yourself into a lab rat.

Now here you are, sitting at a cleaned table of Kim’s restaurant. Feeling weak after two unrelenting chest pains. Not quite feeling like doing anything but sitting still. Paranoid. Petrified. You don't think anyone fears death until they realize it can actually happen. Until then they would make joke about it. Like you always did. But after those two unbearable painful contractions, you think you’re close to death. Yes, you are. You’re certain. Oh, it’s no longer a joke. Even the thought of it makes you shudder. Death is scary.

See, after so many talking with Jungkook- while completely ignoring a J who looked like she was close to slap herself- you came to only one conclusion. The same one. It’s simple. You can’t share the same space with Liya. It’s just not being able to stand in Liya’s presence. It’s sharing her space. Well, now you don’t know what’s the end. Death or not. But Jungkook doesn’t think you should put yourself into stupid testing anymore. As he said, no one wants to find out what will happen. You need to find a way to go back to your world. To stop this. Then till you’ll find a way; you need to stay alive. That’s how Jungkook came with this idea.

The idea is letting everyone who once knew you as Liya, know your real identity. At first you were so against it. Until you came down here, met Jimin. He was the one who manipulated you into doing this. What a complicated thing Park Jimin is. He broke your heart when you came up with the idea of doing same. Then now he’s the one who wants to do it. You didn’t expect to see him so quick. But then as Jungkook referred to it, this is a life and death situation. Dramatic. Yet you couldn’t argue. What if you really die? You really had no chance to talk to Jimin alone. To know what happened. It happened so fast. Few calls here and there. That’s all it take to make this restaurant crowded with eleven people. Annoyed people, at that.

“So, what is it? I swear to God Hoseok if this is just─” Yoongi starts but is interrupted with a gasping Hoseok.

“It wasn’t me for fuck’s sake. Do I look like I have time to play with you.” He scowls at Yoongi. Points at Jimin. “He dragged my ass here. And made me think the world is ending. Or our business is bankrupted… wait! Are we…?” Gapes at Jimin.

“What? No?” Jimin clicks his tongue.

“No guys.” J butts in. You look at her with panic-stricken eyes. She is the only one who knows you’re not Liya. Not being long since she knows. Apparently doesn’t believe you. Thinks you, Jungkook, and later Jimin have lost your minds completely. You’re here to let them know the truth. Partially at least. Yet still you feel paranoid to say it aloud. Afraid of judgments and the looks of betrayal. J ignores your glance. Ignores Jungkook’s weak attempt to stop her. It should be you who tell them. It’s a rash decision when you jump into your feet. Drags J back with her arm. Take her place.

“We- uh... I wanted to let you know that I’m not Liya.” Blurt out. Hold your breath. Expecting them to break into a one loud noise. Only to meet with silence. Dead silence. And ten pair of eyes on you.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m gonna kill you, Hoseok.” Yoongi stands up, the chair scrapping against the floor. Try to reach Hoseok over the table when he dodges Yoongi’s move.

“What the fuck, how’s this my fault.” Hoseok whines.

J turns you. Shrugs her shoulders. Gives you a I told you so look. You nervously glance at Jimin, who is staring at the ceiling. Shifts your gaze to Jungkook, who is rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. Jimin is the one who interrupts the pointless arguments flow over the place. Yanks Taehyung back with his collar. Who is trying to steal a can of beer.

“Oh, c’mon let me at least have a beer after you ruined my night.” Taehyung complaints to no avail.

“You drink, you pay for that shit, all right?” Namjoon throws a fair warning at Taehyung. Falls in the deaf ears, however. Jimin lets Taehyung go.

“Fucking hell.” Curses. Takes a deep beath. “Enough!” Shouts. Effectively grabs the attention of everyone. Drags you to his side. “This is not a fucking joke, you little gremlins. She’s telling the truth. She- she’s not Liya.” Waits for moment if someone decides to butt in. No one does. So, simply explains further. Who you are. Again, just to meet with silence. Until Seokjin breaks it. You catch a brief glance of Namjoon’s curious gaze on you before Seokjin takes the spotlight.

“Who now? I mean what the effing hell are you talking about Jimin-ah?” Demands. Jimin opens to say something but is cut off by Jungkook. Making his way to the table from where he’s been standing.

“That’s the truth Hyung. She isn’t Liya. You just need to believe that.” Tries to make this easy for you and Jimin. Yoona is the one who sighs this time.

“I really have no time for this bullshit guys! I had to left work early for this and what?” Throws her hands in the air. Everyone joins in agreeing with her. For a moment, you’re pretty sure they would walk away. All of them look like they’ve been scammed. Annoyed. Mad. Not interested in you in the slightest. The air is filled with the buzz created by everyone talking at the same time.

You look at Jimin helplessly. He groans. Maybe you should try one more time. You and Jimin both open your mouth at the same time. Yet, never get to say anything when the sound of the door chime echoes. It’s late and the restaurant has been closed long ago. Every head snap to the door curiously. Jungkook nearly walks forward to let the newcomer know that they’re closed. He doesn’t, however. Stops dead in the track when his eyes fall on the person who just entered. Gasps. You do the same. And then everyone else follows suit. Eyes wide and gaping at real Kim Liya.

“Hey!” She mumbles awkwardly. Clearly not comfortable with all the eyes on her.

“What the fucking……….” Seoyeon, who has been awfully quite for all these times, shouts aloud.

At the same time, you wince in pain.

……………………………….

Liya’s arrival is not welcomed. At least not in the beginning. Jimin just swirled past you like the wind the moment she uttered that ‘hey’. Jungkook’s hand wrapped around you at that exact moment. You fell into another fresh blur of torment. And like that, the expected chaos unfolded. J and Yoona were screaming in Jungkook’s ear. Demanding they should take you to a damn hospital. Someone nearly choked themselves to death. You’re positive you heard something shatter. God knows what. For a second everyone acted like mad cows. Until Liya took the matter up in her hand. Wildly explaining to an audience- who acted like they’ve got infected with Rabis- that you told the truth. It took time. Painful time on your side. In the end, however, Liya gave you what you were looking for. A distinct identity apart from her. You became your own person.

Just like that, Kim Liya solved your problem. Not that it relieved you of your pain instantly. No. Still, at this moment you’re in a lingering pain. You can see nervous and worried glances that reach toward you here and there. Making sure you’re really fine. Yet it worked to some extent. And everything seemed to be working. Peaceful. Then it’s not. Not when Liya ended her explanation with the word ‘Twin’.

“What?” You’re the first one to choke that out.

“You had a twin I didn’t know about?” Seoyeon looks betrayed. Exactly how Key looked when you told her the truth.

“What is this? A melodrama? A twin shit? And weren’t you just dying a minute ago?” Yoongi groans, sipping on his third beer can. Gestures to you with his beer.

“I- I’m really fine Yoongi.” You mumble. Your voice really doesn’t quite reach Yoongi.

“Wait? So, it wasn’t Liya that day?” Namjoon shifts the course entirely. Mouth hanging open.

“What day?” J and Yoona question in unison. You watch Namjoon goes to explain them that how he knew that you’re not Liya. Even though he didn’t believe it then. Some people pay attention to his ranting when Seoyeon directs your attention to her.

“Answer me Liya. You had a fucking twin that I didn’t know? How’s that possible? Was she born yesterday?” She grabs Liya’s arm. Shaking her slightly. You throw a brief glance at Jimin. He looks torn between worried and relieved.

“What? Yes, and not I had Seo, I have. I have a twin.” She points at you. You gape at her. A wise way to explain your looks. But that demands so many questions. Hoseok disturbs next whatever question Seoyeon is about to raise.

“It was you who was at the cottage, wasn’t it?” He asks from you. See, more questions. Endless. Now what will you say? You can’t help but glance at Liya. She glances at you. Brows furrowed. A realization hitting hard on her. Then she is looking at Jimin. Jimin who looks alarmed and tense. Oh, this is not good. You still don’t know how it went between them.

“No, Hoseok, it was me. Why would my sister join a party with my boyfriend?” Liya is quick to butt in. You’re glad though. Just nod. Avoiding her gaze.

“Right?” Hoseok scoffs. “Of course, it was you, Ms. Kim.” He steals Yoongi’s beer. Much to the dismay of the owner of that beer. A tense silence fall down. You keep your eyes focused on your lap. Fidgeting with your fingers. Your throat is dry, and it has nothing to do with the pain. Feel like you’re about get caught.

Fuck!

This is why you should think twice before doing shit. Why couldn’t you?

“Can I have a minute?” Liya’s voice in that stretching silence forces you to take your eyes away from your lap. “Sister?” She adds that as you look at her. Puts unnecessary weight on the word. You have no time to worry about others being suspicious about it. Not when you’re already starting to panic. Eyes landing on Jimin, meeting his eyes. He jerks up. Nearly says something to Liya when you beat him to it.

“Yeah sure.” You don’t want Jimin to intervene. Liya nods and steps out. Slowly. Calmly. She is too calm for her own good. You ignore the protests Jungkook is making. Just give him a smile. Start toward the door when your arm is trapped in Jimin’s fingers.

“Lil, you don’t have to.” He whispers. So, only you can hear.

“It’s fine.” You whisper back.

…………………………..

It’s cold outside. You’re wearing a jacket Jungkook lent you, but your legs are freezing out here. And it’s weird. Super weird. To stand out here, facing a different version of yourself. There are so many similarities. But then there are differences. Her hair is long. She looks fresh. You don’t think you look that fresh. She looks mature, like she should. She is a CEO while you’re still a college student figuring your shit out. If you have time, you can make a long list of your similarities and differences. But beyond being weird, you feel sacred. Like a student got caught doing something illegal. In front of the principal. Ready to be expelled from the school. Your heart is pounding. Mouth is still dry. Feel that shame and guilt on your shoulders. Heavy.

“Isn’t this nice, to meet another version of yourself? I’m intrigued. It’s a shame that my boyfriend kept you a secret from me, isn’t it? I wanna know everything about you, I bet you know everything about me after you fooled everyone pretending to be me?” Liya softly speaks first. Directly into the topic without any pleasantries. And she speaks softly, yes, but the harsh undertone isn’t hidden. The accusatory tone. Oh, you shouldn’t let her get to you.

“It’s not that we had any other choice.” You croak.

“We?” She snickers. “You mean, you and my boyfriend? You’ve teamed up?” Quirks her brow. She is fucking intimidating.

“No, not like that. We had no other─”

“No yeah, I get it.” She sweetly states. For a moment you really think she gets it. But then she continues. “You had no other options, yes. But you could’ve said no when you were invited to a party on my behalf.” Shrugs. “That’s okay, though. Not that you can change it. I’m pretty sure you had no ill intentions. Right?” Smiles. You gulp. “You just helped uh…a friend?” Twists her mouth as she looks to her right. At the restaurant. You follow her actions, meeting everyone’s eyes on you through the glass walls. They all immediately turn around, pretending to be minding their own business. Then two people still don’t. Jimin and Jungkook. They keep their eyes on you. You turn around. Paying your attention back to Liya.

“I don’t think I understand your point.” Say weakly. Liya shifts her gaze onto you as well. Chuckles.

“Yeah? Okay then let’s cut the bullshit and get to the point. What I’m trying to say is that you and my boyfriend wasted your time here.” Her calmed expression morphs into something serious. Angered even. “I don’t know what you did or not. I’m completely in the dark here, I can’t remember anything, where I was during all those times, what I did, nothing. I can only piece things together from here and there. From what Jimin told me and what I can hear from these people. And then I felt that pain too; I felt it back at our apartment and now. Had to hide it because nobody’ll believe in a twin telepathy now, would they?” Sighs. “Listen, I really don’t want to be the enemy of myself... like... you know... you’re me...” She gestures between you two. You try to say something. She doesn’t let you. “I really don’t know what’s happening and maybe I don’t care, all I care is that you’ve messed with my life for too long. I talked with Seong, heard about these couple times when you managed my business for me. Thank You. But I want you to understand that this is not your life and if this pain means anything, and if I have picked up the pieces correctly, you’re not supposed to be here.” It sounds like a question.

“I- I…” You start, not knowing what you should say.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen, I think my assumptions are correct, before you and I met you weren’t in pain. Then now we both are. But you’re in more pain than me and I’m guessing that’s because this is my life, not yours. So, maybe we can’t share this life, which mean you need to go back. I really don’t want another version of me in my life. Besides, even though you’re the one in most pain, I don’t want to risk it. Look, I don’t think you really tried all these times. To stop this or to find a way.”

“That’s not true. You weren’t here to see that.” You finally manage to get something out. Because she is getting on your nerves. She chuckles again. Or scoffs. Sounds like sweet venom.

“I wasn’t now, was I? But you’re still here, messing things up. And that pain─” She points at your chest. “─tells me, you can’t keep going. So, here’s the deal, I just helped you. Or more like I’ve given you some time, but I don’t think that’s a permanent solution. You’re still in pain, aren’t you? You don’t have much time it seems, so, just use the time I brought you to do everything you can to stop this. I’m telling you this because I believe this entire thing is on you. You are the one who remember everything and lived two lives. If it was on me, I would’ve stopped this a long ago.” Looks you dead in the eye. “I hope you understand what I’m telling. That’s the point I want you to understand. I helped you, now it’s your turn to help me. Go back. Quickly. Nobody wants you here.” With that, she turns on her heel. Stepping inside back. You just stand there. Frozen. For a moment before you pull it together. Almost trip over a rock as you follow behind her hurriedly.

“Wait! How did you know that I wanted my own identity.” Stop her in her track. She only turns slightly toward you.

“I didn’t, I just guessed. After hearing you were doing just fine before you met me, I guessed that might be the case.” Turns fully to face you. “You know what? Maybe we are not the same because I use my brain all the time. It’s your time to use yours now.” Smiles at you so affectionately. Yet makes you shiver. She is threating you. Simple. Just the way she made you her twin she can make you Liya again. Can put you in that pain again. You have one option and one only. You need to leave.

…………………………….

You watch in silence when your friends, or their friends start to trail off one by one.

Taehyung bends down to your height to take a good look at your face. Is obviously drunk. Hiccups. Whistles.

“Can’t be-lieeevee this shi-shit.” Slurs.

“What? What can’t you believe?” Jungkook shows the drunk man away from your face.

“She looks exactly like Liya.”

“Yeah? That’s how twins work man.” Jungkook snorts.

“No…. No, no, no. Th-this is di-fffrent. What I’m saying isss, you─” Taehyung points a wavering finger at you. “are… Liya.” Oh, he is too drunk. How the events have turned. “It was you who hugged me though right. She’ll ne-never, never do that.” Straightens up to look at Liya. You want Taehyung to stop this. Some people have already left. Yoongi being the first to wish goodbye. Asked you not to die. Then he was followed by a red-faced Seokjin and of course, equally drunk J. Now Namjoon is ushering Hoseok inside a taxi.

Your eyes stop on Jimin and Liya. He didn’t ask you about what Liya told you. Liya didn’t really give you a time to do that. Has been practically glued to Jimin’s side ever since you returned inside. Or Jimin didn’t try to talk to you. He hasn’t made any efforts after all. Can you blame him? That’s where he should be.

Jungkook was your company since then. It looks like you’re spending the night on his couch again. You sigh sneakily. There’s a heaviness inside you. Feelings you can’t fathom. You feel something burn inside you every time you catch Liya and Jimin. He catches your eyes here and there. Only to look away and that was that. Well, that’s where he should be but then he asked you to stay. Said he wants Liya to have a normal life but still want you here. Does it matter now? Things have changed. You’re in pain. And there’s a deal you and Liya made. Or a deal she forced upon you. You never agreed but you’ve no other options either. It’s a do or die situation. You snap your eyes to Jungkook, who abruptly gets to his feet. Jungkook drags Taehyung away.

“Okay, that’s your call.” Shows the cab just halted in front of the building. Seoyeon gets to her feet as well. Wishes goodbye to Liya. Gives you a tight-lipped smile. “You’re fucking harassing her.” You hear Jungkook mumbles to Taehyung as they are stepping outside. And Taehyung saying something incoherent in return.

Great, now you’re alone. Just with Jimin and Liya. Yoona is nowhere to be found.

“We should leave too baby. I didn’t drink. I’ll drive.” Liya softly says to Jimin as she stands up. Fuck, your heart sinks. Why’s this? Why do you feel so hurt. Jimin’s eyes nervously land on you. You avoid that gaze. “C’mon.” Liya urges him. For moment it looks like he might stay behind. Talk to you. Say something that’ll sooth your heart. Then of course, it’s a wishful thinking. Says nothing when he gets to his feet. Gives you a lingering, and longing look. Slowly follows Liya. Leaves.

You watch through the glass walls. He looks back few times. Then is getting inside the car. You watch Liya rev the car. Pulls out. Watch she drives away. With Jimin. Watch Jimin leaves with the person he should. Fuck, you’re hurting. Fuck, you feel like screaming. Screaming him to stay. You don’t. Just stay put. Gulping down the lump inside your throat.

It’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Maybe this is that second chance you get. To do everything right. You can make it right. Will leave Jimin and Liya to live their life peacefully. Right? Like Liya said, nobody wants you here. Not even Jimin. He was probably asked you to stay under the influence of his own emotions. Good orgasm. Now he’ll see clearly. And when he does that, he won’t want you here.

It’s not him who should make things right. It’s you. And you’ll do it.

Make It Right.

..............................................................................................................................

a/n- Leave a note if you enjoyed this one!

..............................................................................................................................

Taglist - @chimmy-licious @graydolan12 @smoljimjim @likemeforme @sugas-baby-girl @canarystwin @jkayy @floboo6 @sunshinenmidnight @fiddlebiddls @unlikelycheesecakeenthusiast @mar-lo-pap @angelicsmilesworld @jimincrystal @datspjm @shakes0peare

87 notes · View notes

sentientcave · 3 months ago

Text

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 5 - Plans Laid in Darkness

< Prev Chapter - Chapter Index -

Read on AO3

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader/OC, No Y/N, Politicking, Hail Kastovia!, We are learning to communicate, Soap is a good boy, canon typical violence, Konig (derogatory)

~5.2k words - MDNI

"Hello, princess," Kate says. She's using that dry, guarded tone that she used to use, before you got comfortable with each other. It's like you're strangers again, and not women that spent the past six years living under the same roof. It makes your heart ache— She's family. Really your only family, even if you have no shared blood.

She's wearing a dark cloak with embroidery of dark, nearly invisible ravens and bright stars around the hood and hem, a midwinter gift from you and her wife, that you spent weeks working on. You can see the top edge of the thick woolen socks that you knit her over the edge of her boots. You'd mended and reinforced the pockets on her trousers countless times. Kate was always hard on her clothes. You used to tease her about it when she'd come to you, sheepishly bearing a torn out pocket or a ripped seam. She always made up some silly story about how it had happened, just to make you laugh.

But she stands in front of you as the Watcher, the spymaster, and not as your Aunt Katie, and you don't care for it one bit.

She tenses when you stride across the room to her, but relaxes when you throw your arms around her tightly. "I missed you," you say softly. "I wish you'd told me what was going on."

"I know, honey. I thought I'd have more time. John promised not to interfere with you so long as you didn't interfere with him or his men. He's never broken his word before."

"He still hasn't," you admit. "It was my fault. A bird flew up and startled sir Garrick's horse, and I chased after. He was sleeping by the road, and…" you trail off, realizing what had really happened. It was too easy to forget that Kyle had a knack for illusion. He'd spooked the horse on purpose. "Well, he tricked me, and I fell for it."

Kate huffed out a laugh. "I should have been more careful with my phrasing. John is far too good at twisting things to his advantage."

You hum in agreement, turning towards the door when you hear a sharp knock. It opens before you can say anything, but it's just Farah, and not one of the men.

"Commander Karim," Kate says. "Good to see you again."

"Always a pleasure, Watcher," Farah responds, nodding politely. "I owe you a favour for the intel one of your ravens gave me a few weeks ago. Saved my men from walking into an ambush."

"No favour necessary. You actually helped me clean up a mess that same day." Kate smiles wolfishly. "My raven caught his mark when they turned tail to run."

Farah nods. “Then it seems we help each other.”

The two of them talk while you get ready, and flank you as you make your way down to the appropriate parlour, although Kate gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and heads off down the hall rather than follow you into the room like Farah does.

That’s always been her way. You’re sure you’ll see her later.

The Kastovian ambassador sits in a a chair by the window, dressed in a dark red suit. He smiles and stands whn you enter the room, Kate and Farah a step behind you. “Princess!” he says warmly, hands outstretched. “You are more radiant than I imagined you would be. It is not fair that John has been hiding you away all this time.” He pulls you close when he takes your hands, and kisses you on each cheek, closer to your mouth than is necessary.

“It was my choice to remain out of sight. I feared my presence would be a distraction from John’s work. I worried hat I would be as well loved as my father.” You smile, and sit next do John. “It seemed I did not need to fear so.”

“Of course not! Your father was a wicked man. You were not the one waging wars, your majesty. You were just a girl,” Nikolai continues. “And no you are a beautiful woman. Your kind heart is evident.”

“Beauty has little to do with kindness.”

Nikolai grins. “No. Or I would be a much better man than I am.” He settles back in his chair and picks up his wine glass. He raises it, looking at you over the rim, dark eyes glimmering. “To beauty and kindness.”

John hands you a wine glass, and you raise it in response. “To good sense and diplomacy.”

John hums next to you, pleased with how you’re handling the ambassador, by your guess. He levels an unimpressed look at Nikolai. “Are you satisfied?”

“No, it’s much too soon. I will let you know when I am satisfied, your lordship. It will not be until I speak to her majesty alone.” His mismatch of your titles is clearly intentional, meant to rile John up, make him commit a mistake. “But I do hope to be fed first, or I will try to eat you up, majesty. I’m afraid I have a weakness for beautiful women such as you.”

You steal a glance at Ghost, at the war mask, the visage of a skull glaring at the ambassador. You prefer the blank fencers mask, but you can see his eyes like this, deep brown, pale lashes catching the light. Farah stands next to him, almost comically small in comparison. By the forward tilt of the mask, Ghost isn’t pleased with the ambassadors tone, and Farah’s disdain is clear. Both of them have their hands braced on their belts. It was probably a good idea to have them remove their swords before entering the room, although you suspect that each of them is still armed to the teeth.

The man standing behnd Nikolai’s chair is similarly braced. He’s huge, taller even than Ghost, though not quite as broad, and masked as well, with something that looks like an executioner’s hood. The cold gleam of his eyes makes you shudder, until a wet nose pushes under your palm. You relax a bit, petting your hand over Soap’s fuzzy head, glad for the reassurance.

“I trust your journey was an easy on,” you say, changing the subject from how edible you look. “You arrived quite quickly.”

“Luckily, I was already on my way. Your cousin sends his regards, majesty. He is disappointed that he cannot be here himself.” Nikolai eyes Soap suspiciously, but says nothing.

“If he were so concerned, why did he never inquire after her?” John asks. “So many years with no mention.”

“Perhaps he was concerned that a mention of her would have you expanding your search,” Nikolai suggested. “He could not not be certain that she could be safe with you either.”

“As you can see, I’m quite safe, thank you,” you say pleasantly. “John allowed me time in the country to recover from the stress of the war. It was very kind of him.” You smile at John, warning him to behave himself. It would do no one any good for him to scrap with the ambassador. “It was good for me.”

“Clearly. You were too thin before. Listless. And now you’re vibrant and lovely. It is heartening to see.” Nikolai continued to smile, not once dropping his friendly mask. “Of course, you were little more than a child when last we met. Perhaps you do not remember me.”

Did you recall? Of course you remembered being trotted out during the many failed bids for peace between your homeland and Kastovia. Nikolai wasn’t just any ambassador, he was a prince, one of the younger ones. Not likely to ever take the Kastovian throne himself, unless his brother and grown-up nieces and nephews were all to perish. Not likely, unless foul play was involved. It was understandable, why he was so interested in securing an alliance through marriage to you, even though during those talks you had only been fifteen, and still too young to marry. It would have been a long engagement, but peace fell apart long before you turned eighteen, blessedly, or you would have been married to him, probably with a few children by now.

Nikolai seemed a pleasant enough sort of man, but there was something calculating in his eyes, like he was mentally tallying what everyone in the room was worth to him. You’re not sure you’d care for a husband who kept such a close eye on his ledgers.

“I remember.” You give Soap another scratch behind the ears, glad to have the comforting weight of his big head on your knee. “Strange to think of what could have been.”

“If I’d known you would grow into such a beauty, I would have worked harder to negotiate peace.” Nikolai looks at John as he says that, but his eyes flicker back to you quickly. “I suspect you will make a pretty bride.”

“I certainly hope so,” you say blithely. “Now, why don’t we move to the dining room? I’m sure you’re very hungry, after so much travel.”

“Starving,” he says.

Farah makes a scoffing noise behind you, but manages not to say whatever scalding thing comes to mind. You make a mental note to thank her for her restraint later. She told you already that she has no love for Kastovians, but she’s kept a cool head. Certainly a cooler head than John, who looks ruffled.

Both he and Nikolai offer you an arm to escort you to the dining room, but you tuck your hand into the crook of Nikolai’s arm, since he’s the guest. John’s frown deepens, but it’s not your job to manage a grown man’s emotional state. He’s a king, and it’s up to him to act like it.

There’s a certain tesnion in the air over dinner, summering under the light conversation. Nikolai takes a perverse sort of delight in saying things that are polite on the surface, and insulting if you think about them for more than a minute, although he directs all of these hidden barbs at John. To you he’s entirely charming, his dark eyes laughing whenever John leans in to speak to you quietly. It would be funny to watch the two of them have their polite little battle, if you were not the object that they both seemed to covet.

John’s possessive little displays are nothing if not an annoyance. You look forward to leaving again, and going home, back to your cozy room in Kate’s house, back to your chickens and your village and your routines. You’ll miss Kyle and Ghost and Johnny, but you’re sure they’ll visit if you ask. Ghost might even go back to his double life as a blacksmith, and you can pretend you never sussed him out, and actually talk to him, rather than just exchange the odd glance now and again. John will be much less free to make little visits to unimportant former princesses, and probably busy finding himself a suitable wife to mother his children and secure his bloodline.

Finally, dinner ends without anyone losing their temper, and the others retreat to the green parlour as you escort Nikolai to the next room. Farah and Soap stay by your side, although Nikolai’s own guard is dismissed.

“I had hoped to speak with you privately,” Nikolai says, raising his eyebrows at Farah pointedly.

“Commander Karim is my personal guard, as well as my friend. She would soon know anything you had to say to me regardless, so if you cannot say what you wish to in front of her, consider holding your tongue.” You sit, and Soap settles himself at your feet, the very picture of a loyal hound. “Now, what can I do for you, sir?”

“You should take me as your husband. Forget whatever deals you have made with John. Forget that idiot cousin of yours. I know wha it means to rule. You would not have to worry about any more wars with my people, or anything at all. I would gladly lift all burdens from your lovely shoulders.” He makes his bid standing before you, keeping a safe distance, wary of Soap’s sharp teeth. “I would treat you well, your majesty. Like you deserve.”

You sit back in the chair, eyes half lidded, giving no emotion away, although you almost wish to laugh at the audacity. “Is that all?” you ask mildly.

“Would you like more?” he asks. “Favourable trade agreements, perhaps, or land? My own lands lay just across the border, I could cede them to you. Name your desire, my lady, and you can have it.”

“I desire nothing that you could give me, except to deliver my sincere wishes that my dear cousin sets aside his ambition for the throne. John has made a fine king for these past few years, and I hope he continues to be for many more.” You smile, all polite restraint still. “Is there anything else that you wish to say?”

Nikolai looks at you, eyes narrowing slightly, his calculation of you changing somewhat. He’s not pleased by your refusal to even entertain his offer, but not surprised either. “Such loyalty, despite what he did to your father. How has he earned such devotion?”

“By being a good man, and improving the lot of my people. There is nothing else I need from him.”

Nikolai nods. “I see.”

“I hope you’ll excuse me, I’d like to speak with Commander Karim. I believe the others have returned to the green parlour, if you’d like to rejoin them.”

He doesn’t balk at the dismissal either, just gives a shallow bow and leaves.

“That was the right response,” Farah says approvingly. “If he though there was even a chance to gain your hand he would spend the rest of the evening behaving very badly. It would not look good if John or Ghost hits him.”

Soap gets up from his spot on the floor and trots behind a chair, the bone crunching sound of his transition filling the room for a moment. “Sweetpea,” he says, his fingers gripping the upholstery nervously. “I think there’s somethin’ you should know.”

“What it it?” you ask.

He swallows hard, blue eyes darting between you and the door. “John intends to marry ye tomorrow. He figured if he manuevered things just so hat you wouldn’t be able to refuse him, but I think you ought tae know.”

Farah goes extremely still, her eyebrows snapping together with an almost audible click. “He didn’t tell you?”

You drop your head into your hands, trying to control the spike of anger. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you say. “I am going to murder that man.”

“I will assist,” Farah promises.

“I am sorry I didnae say somethin’ earlier,” Johnny says, shoulders raised defensively, as though he still expects that you might shout at him. “I shoulda. S’just— It’s Price. He’s been good tae me. But yer so sweet, and you deserved tae know.” He looks a bit green from betraying his friend’s trust, but relieved too. It must have been weighing heavy on his mind.

You stand, and walk over to him, cupping his face gently between your palms. “Thank you for telling me.” Impulsively, you press a kiss to his mouth, not expecting the enthusiastic response. He pulls you closer, arms sliding around your back, his tongue lapping across your lips. He kisses messily, without much finesse, but it’ sweet, in it’s own way, how excited he is about it.

Your hands skirt down the tops of his arms, finding the raised edges of scarring you hadn’t noticed under all his freckles. Bumpy, textured skin, like there was sand trapped under the surface. In his wolf form he has bluish grey patches here, and running down his spine and legs. Did the pattern follow the scarring? Or was it just coincidence?

“No kiss for me?” Farah asks. You can hear the smirk in her voice even before you release Johnny and turn around.

“Would you like a kiss, Farah?” you ask.

“Maybe,” she says non-commitally. “Later, perhaps. Do you want to rejoin the others?”

You shake your head. “No, would you mind letting John know that I’m turning in early? Since tomorrow will be such a busy day.”

Farah levels another one of her impressive frowns at you. “I don’t want to leave you alone while those barbarians are here.”

“Johnny will come with me. And he’ll stat with me tonight?” You glance at him for confirmation. “So you can take some time for yourself, Farah. He’ll keep me safe.”

“He had better. I’ll see you in the morning, princess.” She gives Johnny a stern look before she nods to you and leaves the room.

It takes a moment for Johnny to shift back into a wolf, but you step out into the hallway as soon as he does, resting a hand on his head as he trots beside you, tail wagging. You’re quiet, not just because your companion can’t speak, but because you have a lot to mull over. The initial anger has subsided into resignation. You should have known that Price would hear only I’ll support you in any way you need and not your refusal to become his wife. He really is the most infuriating man you’ve ever met in your life.

You are disappointed in Kyle and Ghost as well, but you suspect that Kyle had been about to tell you when the ambassador arrived and John called you down.

The two of them are waiting outside your room, however, with sober, contrite expressions. Well, Kyle, anyway, but here’s an unease to Ghost’s posture that communicates that he feels much the same way, his shoulders tense and head hung low, like a dog waiting for a beating.

“Johnny told me,” you say, because there can be no other reason for their guilt.

The twin exhales of breath almost make you laugh. “We should’ve told you right off,” Ghost says. “Didn’t want to go against John, but—”

“It’s alright, I understand.” And you do, if you’re being honest. It would be foolish to expect them to take your side right away. That they are now still means something. “Do you think I should go through with it?”

Soap wuffs, and Kyle and Ghost look at each other.

“Yeah, we do,” Kyle says.

You regard them for a long moment, and then open your door. “Come in, please.” They follow, and you close the door behind them. The dress sits on a form by your closet, dark green and beautifl. The cream embroidery makes sense now, you can feel the prickle of magic lingering on the weave. You dispell it with a thought, and the illusion melts away, leaving a white gown behind.

“That’s that then.” You sit on th edge of the bed with a sigh. Soap hops up and curls around your back, and Kyle and Ghost settle on each side of you. “I’m going to be queen after all.”

“You’ll be good at it,” Ghost assures you. “You’re smart.”

“And kind. Well reasoned. You care about people, understand them better than John does,” Kyle continues, taking one of your hands, tracing a finger over your knuckles idly. “I think the people need you. Should’ve heard how excited Rosie was about you comin’ back.”

“I haven’t earned that,” you protest. “I haven’t done anything foranyone yet. I have no idea how—” You stop yourself short. Of course you have an idea of what to do. The entirety of your childhood was spent dedicated to learning everything there was to know about being queen. It’s been your destiny before you understood what fate meant.

Everything you learned has just been shoved aside, locked away. It’s time to remember, and accept your role. It’s all a part of you, the good and the bad.

Even the crown.

“Thank you for telling me, even if it does come a little late.” You squeeze Kyle’s hand and pat Ghost on the knee. “I do hope you’ll be more forthright in the future.”

“We’ll ‘ave t’be,” Ghost says. “Can’t be lyin’ to the queen now can we? Not even if John tells us to.”

“Certainly not,” Kyle agrees. “Now, do you want your hair braided for tomorrow? I’m sorry— About yesterday, I—”

“Consider it forgiven. Just don’t do it again!”

You do accept the help with your braids, focusing on sectioning and braiding thr front while Kyle works from the back, summoning a pair of hands that mirror his movements neatly. Ghost and Johnny sit close, watching with curious eyes.

It takes a while— You’re not sure how long— and you’re yawning by the time you’re through. Soap has his head leaned on Ghost’s thigh, half asleep. Ghost hasn’t moved since he settled there, still as a statue. You thank Kyle for his help. You’re not sure that your curls would be in good shape if you left them loose another night.

You stop Ghost when he says goodnight, tugging at his sleeve before he opens the door to leave. “I’ve kissed Kyle and Johnny,” you admit. “And John. Would you like a kiss too? It only seems fair, since I won’t be able to do it again when I’m married.”

“Close your eyes for me,” he says, and you do immediately, your face tipped upwards. You hear the shift of fabric, and then his fingers brush your jaw, so gently, holding you still as he leans in.

His kiss is almost unbearably sweet, soft and gentle, no push to deepen the kiss until you pitch up onto your toes to press closer, hands gripping his shirt. You can feel the scrape of stubble on your chin, smell smoke and cedar on his skin. There’s a slight dip on his upper lip, a scar that hadn’t been visible at dinner the first night, with you seated on his other side. You hum, touching the spot with your tongue. He growls in response, crushing you closer for just a moment before he lets you go.

You wait until he says you can open your eyes before you do. The skull mask lets you see his eyes properly, and there’s fondness shining out from them as he looks at you.

“Goodnight, princess,” he says softly.

You catch his arm again. “Will you walk me down the aisle?” you ask. “It’s fine if you’d rather not, but you’ve been my guardian for a long time. Kate’s the only other person who would do, and she hates being in the centre of things.”

His eyes crease with a smile. “I’d be honoured.”

Soap stays underfoot while you get ready for bed, until you shoo him out of the bathroom so you can change into your nightgown. He whines outside the door, which makes you laugh. “Just a moment, you silly boy,” you scold him. “I’m not letting you see me undressed again.”

He sighs audibly, and there’s a thump as he flops onto the floor.

The two of you settle into bed shortly after, and you fall asleep quickly, arms curled around his neck.

A few hours later, the door to the balcony opens, so quietly that you might not have fully noticed it if not for the way Soap tenses, silently wiggling free of your arms.You squint into the darkness, but there’s not enough light for you to see anything.

“I’m going to turn on the light,” you breathe, barely putting any power behind the words, trusting Soap’s canine ears to pick up what you say. “Close your eyes so it doesn’t blind you. In one, two three!” You reach over and tap the lamp, screwing your eyes shut against the sudden glare as you tip yourself off the bed and onto the floor.

You hear muffled swearing, and peek over the edge of the bed as Soap launches himself at Nikolai’s giant, masked bodyguard, teeth bared in a terrible snarl.

You scramble up and run for the door. “John!” you shout, and then turn to help Soap, although you’re no fighter. You couldn’t just leave him to deal with the man alone.

Soap is growling fiercely, his teeth sunk deep into the man’s arm, but the giant has a knife in his other hand, already slick with blood. Soap’s fur is matted down around his ribs, stained rusty red.

You grab the giant’s other arm and hold on tight, digging in your heels to keep him from stabbing Soap again. He shakes him loose instead, throwing him by the scruff into the bookcase, breaking shelves with a splintery crash. He jerks his arm to shake you loose as well, and backhands you, sending you stumbling backward.

You catch a glimpse of blood-shot, malicious blue eyes through the holes in the giant’s mask, and then a huge hand grips you by the throat, cutting off your air. He raises the knife.

A dark shape hurtles into the room, and the giant lets you go with a pained shout. You land hard, breathless, and John grabs you, hauling you up and putting his broad body between you and the grisly scene that is surely unfolding behind him. The sound of a knife cutting into flesh, over and over and over, the giant begging for mercy until he fell silent.

It’s awful. Your stomach churns, but you manage to not throw up.

“Sweetpea, are you alright?” John asks, pulling your attention back to him, gripping your shoulders just a little too hard when you try to look around him again.

“I’m fine— Soap’s hurt.” You look for him and find him right where he’d been thrown, although he’s staggering up onto his paws now, blue eyes unfocused, blood still oozing from the wounds on his side. Shaking loose from John, you rush to his side, throwing your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his fur. He leans into you, somehow managing to lick your ear.

John kneels down beside you and places a hand on Soap’s flank. Blue light flares between his palm and Soap’s injury. “There we go. Good boy,” he says softly, patting Soap on the head as he stood up again. “Kept our girl safe.”

There’s a commotion in the hallway now, guards and servants and Kyle pushing their way into the room. You sneak a glance at Ghost. There’s a slash through his shirt-sleeve, and a cut dripping blood onto the floor, but he seems unhurt otherwise. The giant however— You take one look at the spreading pool of blood and the mess of blood and bone and press your face back into Soap’s ruff, shaking.

John picks you up and carries you across the hall to his study so that the guards can get into your room to deal with the body. You look at Ghost over John’s shoulder. “You’re hurt. Let John heal you.”

He shakes his head. “Waste of magic. I’ll be fine.”

“Will you let me clean it up at least?” you ask. “I don’t want it to get infected.”

He huffs. “Fine.”

John sets you down, but your legs don’t feel steady yet. You lean into him for support, glad for the warm, solid bulk of him. He holds you until you stop shaking, barking orders over your head.

You press your face into John’s shirt when Soap shifts back into Johnny, the sound of bone crunching and tendons snapping a bit too similar to the sound of Ghost turning the giant into a bloody mess. There’s some kerfuffle as someone brings tea and supplies for you to clean Ghost’s wound, and John finally lets you go so you can get to work.

You focus on washing away the blood and dabbing stinging antiseptic onto the cut as Knight Captain Keller steps into the study to report. “We’ve had the ambassador confined to his quarters,” he says. “You may question him at your leisure. Gaz is laying wards on the room to keep him from working some nasty Kastovian magics. Should I arrange extra security for the ceremony tomorrow? Or do you think it best to postpone.”

“Extra security. Thank you, captain. Did the giant survive?”

Alex snorts, and then glances at you, his expression a hair guilty. “Um, no sir. I doubt his own mother would recognize him now.”

Ghost flexes his hands. His knuckles are bloody, so you clean up that blood too. Once the door shuts behind the knight captain, he takes his shirt off to make it easier for you to bandage his arm. You try to keep your eyes from wandering over all his pale, marred skin. There’s so many scars that you can hardly bear to think of how much violence he’s endured.

“I don’t think Nikolai was behind this,” you say, glancing at John as he sits heavily in his chair, running a hand over his beard tiredly. “He has nothing to gain by killing me. I don’t believe he’s any great champion of my cousin’s.”

“Why do you say that?” John asks.

“He proposed to me earlier, and called Phillip an idiot— And with lands along the border, he would put his own territory at risk if there is another war. It’s more likely that the assassin was paid directly by my dear cousin.” You wind a length of clean linen around Ghost’s bicep, tying it tight.

“He proposed?” John asked, focusing on the wrong part of your words.

“Yes, but—”

“What did you say?”

You consider telling him that you know what he plans, but there’s something satisfying about making him sweat a little bit. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

“I beg to differ. I’d like to know all the same.”

You meet his eyes evenly. “I turned him down.”

John takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, looking relieved. “Good.”

Johnny huffs, staying uncharacteristically quiet. He looks worn out, the toll of shifting back and forth and his injury leaving him exhausted. He’s eaten everything on the plate someone brought up, leaving only crumbs.

You’re tired too. The shakes have finally subsided, leaving you with nothing, a candle burnt down to sputtering wax. “I’d like to go back to bed. I don’t suppose I can go back to my own room yet?”

John shakes his head. “It’ll take a little while to clean up. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll be up a while yet, I’ll find somewhere else for the night.”

You nod, and glance at Johnny. “Will you come with me?”

He nods, gulping down the last of his cup of tea. “Aye. Keep ye safe if anyone else tries anythin’ foolish.” He folds himself back into wolf shape while you say goodnight to John and Ghost.

They bid you goodnight as well, although there is some envy in their eyes as they watch you slip through the door into John’s room, Soap by your side.

Soap sniffs around the new space suspiciously, and only settles into the bed beside you once he’s satisfied that there’s nothing amiss, laying his head across your stomach, ears perked up, flicking around at every little noise. You tap the lamp and close your eyes, comforted by his vigilance and warm weight and the pillow that smells like John, warm spice and tobacco smoke.

You try not to think about anything else.

I'm so sorry this took 9 million years to post, I wrote it by hand in July and just did not type it. But the good news is that Chapter 6 is also written and I am dedicated to getting it done so expect that before the end of the month. I love you all, thank you so much for your patience.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

#Cave writing #Heavy Weighs the Crown #Chapter 5 - Plans Laid in Darkness #Uh oh #OC: Sweetpea #poly141 x reader #x reader #x OC #John Price x Reader #John Price x OC #Fantasy AU #Oh Sweetpea we're really in it now

83 notes · View notes