#cw: hints of violence

[eggmuffinwaffles]

Waltz of The Dead

Chapter 4: Return from the ashes you call

Hugo scrambles to get away from a past he can't remember.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant. 

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place. 

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.” 

Now he knows you’re messing with him. 

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about. 

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression. 

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face. 

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?” 

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling. 

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable. 

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink. 

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop. 

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention. 

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company. 

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful. 

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.  

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours. 

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing. 

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap. 

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself. 

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him. 

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid. 

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you chirp. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did. 

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder. 

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared. 

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep. 

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine. 

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings. 

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open. 

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass. 

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked  upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along. 

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend. 

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash. 

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night. 

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni @lololooolleonnaaa @nanamiswife22 @r0ckst4rjk @mizzfizz @saiki-enthusiast @taelattecookie @enchantingkitty @kindadolly @reinam00n @hqtoge @syamamas @numblytemporary @xxravenxstarxx-blog @bloomedintome @guacam011y @jameinfrau @luvvmae @kazisupreme @nowhoremones @https-tank @venjrnjrbhrr19 @ya9amicide @darkstarlight82 @archivefortoji @alczam02 @kaiparkerwifes @kenz1eluvs @iaminyourfloors @queeen-goldfish @beautifulloverwitch @nxuriah @invisible-mori @hexrts-anatomy @katharinasdiaryy @moonlightazriel @mermaidian02 @squishies0102 @saintkaylaa @vi-ola666 @alettertonana @seeyapizzazz @jtoddlover

[66stitches]

Marigold

𑁍 bestfriend!abby x reader

𑁍 Summary: Abby loved you in a way she believed you could never reciprocate. Per her friend's advice, she began to avoid you in hopes of healing her aching heart.

𑁍 CW: sfw, angst, a little bit of fluff, unrequited love, happy ending yippe, jealousy, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, reader neither described as masc nor fem, no physical description of reader, fighting, swearing, violence, ellie mention, a lot of crying, pet names, y/n used once only.

𑁍 WC: 5.1k

𑁍 Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

𑁍 divider creds

𑁍 Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

"Marigold," your best friend, Abby, called out to you. Marigold: a nickname which she had affectionately given to you a few years prior. You faintly smiled at the memory.

𑁍

Abby plucked the orange plant from the bush where it lay. She skimmed her fingers over its fiery petals, appreciating its intricate design with concentrated eyes.

"If you were a flower, you would be a marigold," she spoke solemnly, like she had thought of it many times before.

You smiled. "Why's that?"

“I read somewhere that marigolds are associated with the sun and represent the light that lives within a person," she mumbled shyly and shrugged. "You’re all bright and full of energy, I don't know.” She gave her own interpretation of its meaning.

“That’s how you see me?” Your heart swelled.

“Just a thought."

You sauntered over and picked the marigold from her hand, twirling and playing with its stem.

“Well," you started, "marigolds also represent cruelty, sorrow, and despaired love.”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you have to ruin it?”

You laughed hard at that as Abby grabbed the plant back into her hand. She held it softly and delicately, as though she truly saw you in the flower.

"Alright, forget that depressing version, you're a marigold."

𑁍

"What are you smiling at?" her voice pulled you out of your thoughts at an instance and made you jump slightly. She chuckled softly at that.

"Just thinking."

"Better be about me," she joked.

It was. "You wish."

She smiled as well, but it was not the smile you recognized. There was something different about her lately, something you couldn't quite decipher.

Her smile now held a hint of sadness beneath it; her demeanor had more than slightly changed around you. Lately, she had seemed to be more hesitant toward showing you affection; her mood would suddenly change to that of a dismal one. It made no sense to you. You would sit wondering after every encounter if you had done something to upset her. Did you disgust her?

No, her feelings about you were quite the opposite. Something far from friendly, and that disgusted her.

𑁍

"Hey, wanna help me pick out a film?" Manny placed a hand on your shoulder.

You sat on a soft cushion, surrounded by your friends, Abby, Manny, and Nora.

Well, mostly just Abby's friends. You really only ever hung out with them when Abby was.

Abby had been acting more quiet than usual, barely saying a word to you and avoiding your gaze whenever you tried to meet hers. It was strange. She would constantly ask to see you and sit by you at every opportunity, and yet still manage to act distant. You couldn't tell if she wanted to be around you or not.

You placed your hand over hers and tried to meet her eyes. "You okay, Abs?"

Again, she avoided your gaze. She slowly slid her hand away from yours, leaving your palm cold and desolate without her warm touch.

"I'm fine. Go help Manny," she answered blandly.

You tried to conceal how hurt you were. You didn't know why you hadn't confronted her yet. Maybe you were too scared to finally hear her admit what you already knew: that she was growing bored of you.

"Alright." your voice was small. Manny nodded toward the door, signaling you guys to go, and with that, you were out of the room.

Abby sighed and placed her head in her hands, rubbing her temples.

"She giving you a headache?" Nora chuckled, kneeling forward and placing her elbows on her knees.

"What?" Abby spoke harshly, though her anger was misplaced.

"I see the way you look at her. You can try to ignore it and pretend it's something else, but I see right through you."

"What the hell are you accusing me of?"

"Don't get all defensive. Abby, you are one of my closest friends, I've known you for years. You can't lie to me." She moved closer to Abby and her tone grew more stern, yet still quiet and reassuring. "Now, are you acting this way because you're genuinely bored of her, or is it something else and my suspicions are true?"

"And what exactly are your suspicions, Nora?" Abby chuckled humorlessly.

"You're in love with her."

Abby felt her heart drop and her blood begin to run cold.

"You're ridiculous." She scoffed and began digging her nails into the skin of her palms, a habit she recently picked up every time she got nervous around you.

"I'm right, aren't I? You're in love with her." Nora smiled as if she found this all amusing.

"I-"

"Don't lie to me, Abby," She interrupted, her voice getting slightly louder. "God, I thought you guys were just affectionate friends. Cuddling, giving each other cheesy flower nicknames, I mean, marigold? But no, nobody looks at their friends the way you look at her. They just don't do that."

Abby got up and walked away from Nora as if she were hit with a revolting smell. She stood by the other side of the couch and faced her friend.

"Keep your fucking voice down," she spoke in hushed anger. "This isn't any of your business, Nora. Why are you even analyzing our frienship that way? All you're doing is just making things weird for no fuckin' reason."

She was trying to keep her voice down and control her anger. She knew that her defensiveness probably wasn't doing much to help her right now. "You don't know shit about her and I so I suggest you mind your own business."

Nora got up and walked towards Abby. "I'm not attacking you, Abby. I just want you to finally admit your feelings so you stop torturing yourself and making her feel like shit."

"What?" She furrowed her brows at that. She felt hot all over. She felt sick.

"Of course, you haven't noticed because you avoid her gaze and refuse to look at her as if she was fuckin' Medusa, and don't try to deny it. You know it's true."

Abby's anger faded into something more akin to sadness by that. She never intended to hurt you, she was simply distancing herself to protect her own feelings. Knowing that has caused you to feel bad and doubt yourself hurt her to a great extent.

"Fuck." She felt herself coming close to tears. "You're right. I love her. God, I love her so much." Her voice broke. "I'm disgusting, Nora."

"Hey, don't say that." Nora's voice was stern. There were many times where she scolded the blonde for belittling herself.

"No, I am. She doesn't love me back. I know that for a fact." She felt as her throat began to close up, tears falling in crystal rivulets down her face. She turned her head away from Nora's suffocatingly pitiful gaze.

"I feel like a fucking creep. Always staring at her, reading her affection the wrong way, just thinking about her like that. She would hate me, Nora; she would feel so betrayed." She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and stop the tears from flowing.

"Sometimes I think of just avoiding her completely because I can't handle the way she makes me feel. It just hurts. It hurts too fucking much," she admitted.

It was something she had thought about many times, the pain of an unrequited love being far too much for that empty, hopeless heart of hers to bear. But she could never bring herself to do it.

"Then why don't you? If you believe that would make you feel better, why don't you end it?"

The simple thought of leaving you made her sick. "I can't. I know it's what is best for me, but I can't leave her. I have loved her for too long to be able to live without her."

"Loved her for too long to be able to live without her", Nora echoed back and scoffed. "That's a little dramatic, Abby, don't you think? Look, I know she means a lot to you and you mean a lot to her, but you can go on without her. You're not going to shrivel up and wither away if you let go of her to put your own feelings and well-being first.

"I know it's hard, but if you can't do it for yourself, do it for her. You're only going to hurt her more and more by ignoring her and pushing her away. Trust me, Abby, just end it and let her move on."

She was right. Abby knew she was. She knew that things were not going to get better and she would merely be hurting the both of you by being selfish and not letting you go. She cursed her feelings and tried to ignore them as she finally decided on what she needed to do.

She gave her answer with a simple nod of her head, but nothing about this was simple.

"Yeah? Alright, let's wipe those tears away before she and Manny come back."

And that is what she did. She sat back down and tried to regain her composure and appear normal, as if she hadn't just decided to let go of you.

The door opened as you appeared. She tried to ignore how the mere sight of you played with and tugged at her heartstrings; how it hurt an infinite times more now knowing that this might be one of the last times she sees you.

"Manny wanted to watch an anime, but I thought a slasher would be better. We got Bride of Chucky and Carrie. You guys can pick whichever one you want." You placed the films on the table.

"If only One Piece was an option." Manny sighed and sat back down.

Nora placed her palm on Abby's shoulder and gave her a look of both pity and encouragement, as if reminding her of what she needs to do.

Abby sighed and got up. She grabbed your bag and handed it to you as you stood bemused.

"Come on, I'm driving you home."

She may have been ending things, but she certainly did not intend to let you go home yourself.

Or maybe that is only what she was telling herself; maybe she just wanted to spend a few more moments with you. Even if she knew those moments would be spent with her being distant and you once again doubting yourself, it did not matter as long as she got to enjoy the privilege of being in your presence. In the end, she was always selfish.

"What? Weren't we just about to watch a film?" You were confused. You didn't know what you had done this time to upset Abby and it was killing you.

"Stop messing around and come sit back down, pendeja."

"Let them go, Manny," Nora sighed. "Have a good night guys." You noticed the look she gave Abby, almost the same look she gave her when you first walked back into the room. Now you are left wondering what they talked about while you and Manny were away. Had Nora said something to upset her?

Thoughts and questions plagued your mind as you made your way to Abby's car. You wished she would just speak to you; you wished you could know whether she still loved you or not.

You didn't want to keep wondering what you've done wrong. You wanted an answer and you were adamant on getting it.

Abby entered the car and sat herself in the driver's side. You could see clear as day the tension in her body. She looked sadder than you had ever witnessed before, and she had yet to say a word or look at you.

"Abby, stop." You stopped her fiddling with her keys by once again, putting your hand over hers. You could see the way she immediately melted into your touch, the tension visibly leaving her body before swiftly yanking her hand from yours as if you had burned her with a scorching flame, and that ignited a flame in you and you could not hold yourself back.

"God, Abby, what the fuck is your problem? Why do you keep acting like this?" You yelled, but she did not even do you the decency of looking back at you, instead simply placing her key into the ignition. But you could see it. You could see the way the tension rushed back into her body, her hand shaking from how hard she was clutching her keys.

"Abiga-"

"Drop it." She interrupted. Her tone was low. You could tell she was deliberately trying to keep her voice calm. For some reason, that just made your anger flare up.

"Drop it? Are you fucking kidding me? Abby, why don't you just tell me what I did wrong? Just tell me what the hell happened to us and why you seem so disgusted by me. Stop leaving me wonderi-"

"God damn it, y/n, I said drop it!" She yelled abruptly and punched the steering wheel. You stayed quiet, not knowing if you should keep going or simply drop it.

Abby was never this angry, at least not toward you. She had always been more calm and patient with you, even in your most difficult moments. You still didn't understand what you had done to deserve being on the receiving end of her anger.

"No marigold?" Your voice was small. Smaller than you wanted it to be. It was you who should be yelling, not her.

Abby's eyes softened. She felt her throat tighten up as tears threatened to fall, but she was not going to let them. She knew you did not deserve this. She wanted more than anything to just give up and drag you into her embrace. Hold you close and kiss away your tears. She was supposed to make you feel safe and happy, not be the cause of your sorrow.

The ride back to your house was tense and quiet, both of you trying not to break down into tears. Abby deliberately drove slow. Even though the car ride was painful, she did not want her last moment with you to end so soon. She did not want to leave you no matter how much staying in your presence hurt her, so she was going to drag it out for as long as she could, just as long as she got to sit with you, as long as she got to hear you breathing beside her; as long as you were together, she did not care.

Then came the hopeful moment where you arrived home. Hopeful for you, because to you, you would see her again the next day, and perhaps you could talk and all would be better. Dreadful for her, because she knew this was the last time she was going to see you.

She knew she needed to tell you that she was ending your friendship. It would be cruel to keep you in the dark and give you false hope. But she could not bring herself to. Maybe she did not want to admit it herself that things between you were coming to an end.

You left the car and shut the door without a word, not turning around to meet her gaze one last time.

And then she broke.

Hot tears swarmed down as she placed her palm tightly over her mouth despite there not being anybody around. She did not want to hear the pathetic sound of her own cries.

She wished things between you would have at least ended on slightly better terms. She wished she could have been able to hug you one last time; she wished she never had to let go.

Her cries turned into broken sobs as she dug her nails into her skin again in an attempt to shut herself up. She rested her head against the steering wheel as tears proceeded to fall.

It was cruel, simply cruel. Why must she be one condemned to love? Despaired love as you had said describing the marigold. That is all she felt. It tore visciously at her heart and polluted her soul.

Now she had lost you and all she felt was painful desolation. How she wished she could tear her heart free from you, her marigold.

𑁍

Came the next day and you still hadn't heard a word from Abby. She never showed to apologize or attempt to reconcile. You now found yourself pacing around your small town waiting to see her. You could have just went to her house, but you had a feeling you would not be so welcomed.

Who you saw, however, was not Abby, but her friend Nora. She sat on the worn-out bench across the stone road from you, seemingly lost in thought. If Abby was not willing to talk to you, perhaps Nora would.

You made your way toward her, determined to get an answer from her. "Hey, Nora."

She immediately recognized your voice and got up from her seat. She met your eyes and gave you an unexpected sympathetic look.

"Hey, how you holding up?" She placed a soft hand on your shoulder.

"Fine? I guess?" You didn't know why she looked so sympathetic for you. How awful was your appearance? Did you look ill? "Look, Abby has been avoiding me for... whatever reason. We had an awful fight after I tried confronting her last night. She refused to tell me what is going on, so I've been wondering if she had said anything to you."

Nora let go of your shoulder. She now looked irritated, and you wondered if perhaps you shouldn't have involved her in this.

"My God, how stupid is that girl?" She sighed dramatically.

"I'm sorry?"

"Look, dear, come sit down." She sat back down on the bench beside you and gestured for you to follow.

You began to hear your heart pound loudly in your ears. It was obvious now that Abby had said something to Nora. You began to fear the worst. You took a seat next to Nora as she turned to face you.

"Abby did speak to me." So she did say something to her after you and Manny left. "I don't know how to lay this on you easily, she was the one supposed to do it, but I guess she was too fuckin' scared or something." She cupped your hand between hers, only making you feel more nervous. "I am just going to tell you to stop trying to speak to her. It's better to move on now and try to forget about her."

The pounding in your ears had crossed deafening and you felt your blood run cold. "What? What the hell are you saying, Nora? She's my best friend, it isn't over." Your voice was shaking but you would not allow it to break. You were not going to cry in front of her.

"I'm sorry, but it is. It's not my place to tell you why, but just know, it's not your fault. Just don't try to talk to her. You need to leave her alone." Nora was then getting ready to leave as she feared she might say too much.

"What do you mean it's not my fault? Obviously I must've done something for her to leave me!" You tried to keep your voice steady, but you hated how vague she was being. It's one thing to lose a person you love, it's another thing not knowing why. How many people knew besides you? Was it just Nora Abby confided in or had there been more?

Nora apologized once again before she got up and left you with your thoughts. Guess she wasn't going to stay to comfort you.

It didn't matter what Nora said, there was no way you were not going to try to talk to Abby again. You were not going to allow this to happen and move on.

The walk to Abby's place was not long considering how small the town was. You pondered everything you were going to say to her on your way there before you began pounding on her door.

A few more knocks, and there she was, your best friend, attired in a sleeveless black shirt and sweatpants of that same color. She had her hair down and she looked as beautiful as ever. Oh, how you missed looking into her eyes.

All she said was your name. It was quiet, filled with both adoration and and sorrow. She knew what you were here for, but how lovely was it to see you again.

Before even answering, you pushed open the door wider and invited yourself in, now standing in her living room.

"You shouldn't be here." Abby sighed and shut the door behind her.

"Kick me out, then," you said harshly, but she made no move.

"Abby, Nora talked to me. Tell me what is going on," you demanded. Abby was taken aback. She was definitely having a talk with Nora after this.

"What did she tell you? She had no right-"

"No, Abby, you had no right! How could you just leave me like this without a word? Do I mean that little to you?" You intended for this to be calm, but your voice was only getting progressively louder. You knew soon there would be more tears as well.

"You can't just end our friendship without at least telling me why. It's like you're doing it on purpose, like you want to torture me by not letting me know what the fuck is going on or what I did to make you hate me like this."

"Don't say that." Her voice was low. She was leaning against the door and pinching the bridge of her nose. She was on the brink of tears herself, but she would not allow herself to break in front of you. Not when she caused this.

The fact that you think she hates you hurt her, but maybe that would make it easier for you to move on. All she wanted was to just go back in time and be able to hold you as she did before, all devoid of guilt.

But what she desired far more than that, was to be able to tell you she loved you and to hear you utter those words right back. If it were up to her, she would bound her hopeless soul to yours. Spend her days in this life loving every inch of you and have it be reciprocated.

But it was all impossible in her eyes. The laughable notion of you ever returning her love was nothing short of ludicrous. You would never love her the same way she loved you.

And that is why she knew she must let you go.

"Why not? You've given me no reason to think otherwise. You ask to see me just to ignore me. Why Abby? Just tell me what I've done. I can't keep worrying and wondering anymore."

She began to feel overwhelmed with all her thoughts running and your confrontation. You had the right know what was going on, she understood that, but still she could not bring herself to tell you, and that angered her even more. She was weak. You render her so.

"Have I not made it clear that I don't want to see you anymore?" She snapped before she can even realize. "We're over, get that through your skull. Stop trying to talk to me or reach out to my friends and just leave me alone. All you're doing is just embarrassing yourself!"

She knew she would never forgive herself for yelling at you like this. Maybe if you hated her, it would be easier for you to move on. For both of you. "I don't want to see you again." Lies. All lies.

She did her best to avoid your gaze. She knew that seeing the look on your face would only cause her to break once again.

Tears began to lightly cloud your vision. You caught your bottom lip in between your teeth and bit down on the tender piece of flesh to prevent yourself from crying. It was finally apparent to you that she did not care enough to talk to you and attempt to rectify what has destroyed your friendship.

As much as it hurt, you needed to force yourself to accept the fact that your best friend no longer wanted anything to do with you. And God, did it hurt.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gave a slight nod.

"Fine." A simple answer, and you were out.

𑁍

Tedious days and sorrowful nights passed achingly slow, days turned into weeks, and you finally came to accept the undeniable and dreadful truth that your best friend won't be coming back. You couldn't deny how you would pathetically wait around for her to speak to you again; to apologize and to reassure you and to hold you.

Oh, how you wished to have her hold you again; to feel her touch and to hear her call you marigold, if only it were for a last time.

You've stopped debating whatever you might have done wrong after the first few weeks. None of the conclusions you'd ever come close to made the least bit of sense, and you knew trying to figure it out wouldn't bring her back.

You'd imagine how she must be now, how relieved she was to finally have you out of her life. How very little did you know.

"Dude's an idiot."

But you weren't so lonely anymore. Only three nights ago, your old friend decided to surprise you by paying you a few weeks visit from Seattle. Quite a convenient timing.

"Uh, who?" You had to admit, you didn’t pay a second of attention in the last thirty minutes to the film playing in front of you, which should be a cause for concern considering The Lord of the Rings was one of your favorite films.

Your friend, however, didn't take notice of how distracted you were, too engrossed in the film you guys watched together more times than you can count, her hazel eyes fixated on the screen.

"Aragorn. I mean, Arwen's hot and all, but how could a sane person not be willing to throw their whole life away for Éowyn? I wouldn't think twice, just sayin'."

You simply hummed in reply, your mind slowly drifting away again. That finally caught her attention.

"Hey." She paused the film and diverted her attention to you. She held your chin with a gentle touch in an attempt to make you meet her eyes, her scarred eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Is someone in there?" She teased.

"Yeah, I just got a little distracted. Sorry." That only made you feel more guilty. Your friend was here to see you while you were too busy thinking of the one you lost.

"Don't be sorry. Were you thinking about her?" She didn't wait for a response, she knew you were. "Come on, talk to me. Tell me how much of a bitch she is." She backed away to lean against the arm of the couch.

"Don't call her that."

She lazily threw her hands in the hair. "You're right, sorry. I won't call that cunt a bitch."

"Ellie!" You yelled with faux anger, trying to contain your laughter.

Despite how down you were these past few weeks, you were happy Ellie decided to come and see you. No matter how sad you were, she always knew how to put a smile on your face.

That's something she's always been good at. Her natural devilment and sarcasm being one of the first things you've noticed about her when you first met.

"There she is." She laughed with you, taking slight pride in the fact that she managed to make you smile in your days of gloom.

"It's just, fuck, I don't wanna believe that we're really over." You really didn't have much to say about it anymore, having already told her of all that happened a few days prior.

As soon as Ellie laid eyes on you again, she noticed the underlying hint melancholy on your face beneath the faux smile you presented. You attempted to reassure her it was nothing, but she knew you too well.

You'd spilled your broken heart out through the cracks Abby left while Ellie tried to mend it. She held you while you cried and cursed Abby for hours, wiping away your tears and promising to never abandon you the way Abby did.

"Dina's lucky to have you." You said, sniffing while Ellie was busy patting down your hair, trying to make you look slightly more presentable after the breakdown you just had.

"Damn right she is." She finally let go of your hair, now using her thumb to wipe away one last tear running down your damp cheek. "But you have me too."

Ellie's gaze was unfocused as she stared at the wall behind you, apparently lost in thought.

"Come on." She got up swiftly and grabbed your hand, pulling you up with her. "Let's get your mind off this, yeah?"

You groaned and dropped yourself right back onto the couch. "Let me wallow." You dragged out the last syllable dramatically. You grabbed a pillow and hugged it to your chest, as if you were shielding yourself.

"Don't be a baby. You've done enough of that," she said and harshly yanked the pillow from your grip. "Besides, she's not worth all that wallowing." She pulled her arm back and threw the pillow at your head. "Now get up."

"Ow!" you feigned shock as you rubbed the left side of your head. "That hurt!"

Ellie rolled her eyes at your childishness. "That's not even the side I hit you on, dumbass," she said lightheartedly before dragging you up.

You let out another exhausted groan as you were being pulled up. "What do you even wanna do?"

"Well there's TP-ing Abby's house, or we could also key her car, maybe kill her dog."

You gave her an unimpressed look as she went on.

"Or we could also go for some ice cream." She slapped her palms together.

You sighed and grabbed your purse off the counter. "I'm on board, let's go."

Ellie grabbed her signature grey-blue hoodie off the couch and slipped it on. You wondered when was the last time it was cleaned. "On board with which one?"

"Oh, shut up." You tried to conceal the hint of laughter in your voice. For some reason, you wanted to remain upset. You didn't want to try and move on, and that almost confused you more than Abby did "You wouldn't even be able to live with yourself if you hurt a dog."

"Yeah," she agreed and shrugged. "I'd probably just take it for myself. That'd still hurt her at least."

𑁍

"Now, marigold, what flower would I be?"

"Uhm..." you tried to put some thought into it. What kind of flower would Abby be?

"Nightingale," you concluded.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't know much about that one. Why nightingale?"

"Nightingale, Abigail, it rhymes."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled, placing the marigold behind your ear. You looked like the most beautiful thing, she thought. "You really put a lot of thought into that, huh?"

𑁍

a/n: no joke I've had this rotting in my google docs since I was SIXTEEN and only decided to post it now after finding it again. I already started working on part two. I'll post it if this does good holy shit i'm nervous

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: feyd rautha x emperor’s afab oldest child!reader

cw: feet stuff, piss kink, implied eventual knifeplay/blood play, cannabalism, arranged marriage, feyd being so weird but reader lowkey loves it, facesitting but the kind where feyd would beg you to break his neck, spanking/mild painplay, very likely ooc feyd since i haven’t seen part 2 yet, use of “princes” and “wife”, wedding hunt and black cum hcs taken from @valeskafics , reader doesn’t really know what’s going on but they’re vibing

wc: 1.4k

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

Collapsing in relief has never been more appealing. You finally have a moment of respite after vigorous and exhausting wedding festivities, and you need to collect yourself. This marriage to the Na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was only brought to your attention a week before it would take place.

Surprisingly, you didn’t really mind the man himself. It was just so sudden, is all. During any visits with his family, you had to be mindful of how you reacted to his cocky displays of ruthlessness and violence. Your father would have your head if he saw how tight you squeezed your thighs together or how much you panicked at the thought of leaving a puddle on your throne. Feyd always marked his departure with a cliche kiss to the back of your hand and a hissed promise that you couldn’t make out.

He would protect you at the very least if he didn’t love you. You’re not even sure that you love him, but this shameful crush could grow into something untamable if you lose your footing. Something… unbecoming of a member of the royal family. You wonder if it already has.

The wedding was as grand as could be, glittering decorations and finery followed by archaic rituals to please your in-laws. The Wedding Hunt in particular sent your heartbeat into overdrive, but the satisfaction on your betrothed’s face when he caught his “prize” was intoxicating. Feyd Rautha kisses like he kills, you were quick to discover, fiercely and uncaring of any blood that might be shed.

You’re brought out of your reminiscing by your now husband closing the door to your room behind him. You only have another day with your family before you’re to leave for Giedi Prime. There has hardly been time to get to know the man you will lie beside for the rest of your life, until now.

“Wife.” He bluntly greets you, awkwardly nodding his head in an effort to maintain his “tough” image. You won’t tease him about the barest hint of blush on his cheekbones, but you treasure it nonetheless.

You humor him, “Husband.” Your nod mirrors his and you take a seat at the long table in the middle of the room after Feyd pulls a chair out for you.

This was the next part of the ritual, where the newly married couple must eat a meal that one partner made for the other. It sounds simple enough that you don’t think anything of it.

Feyd makes a gesture and your food is placed before you by one of your family’s servants. They look a bit queasy and green in the face but they’re gone before you can ask if they’re alright.

“I hope you like it, princess.” Feyd says with a barely there smirk, pointing to the… pie in front of you. “I cut down many people for it.”

You raise an eyebrow at that but bring your knife to take a slice of the pie anyway. Upon lifting the piece onto your plate, you notice eyeballs, flesh, tongues, and some sort of black liquid running throughout the filling. You freeze in place, not even meeting your husband’s eyes. One blue eye seems to twitch and the black substance makes a sick sound as you move it around with your fork.

“The other men who your father considered, my concubines….. I actually can’t tell you which of them are in that slice, but they are all there.” He whispers in your ear, having gotten up from his position opposite you to feed you himself.

You respect the ritual despite your urge to throw up, so you swallow what he gives you. He grins, swiping a thumb down to your throat to feel the food travel. He squeezes your cheeks when you’re done, and you open your mouth to show him that you ate it all.

“That’s my princess.” He condescendingly croons, bending down to run his tongue all over your face before standing up and pushing you to lie flat on the cold table. “But I'm afraid that it’s time for me to have my meal.”

Your elaborate wedding gown is slashed to shreds, the cool tip of his blade moving down your flesh until it reaches your lace covered mound. He taps the hilt of his weapon on your hood and unceremoniously tosses it on the floor.

You didn’t expect the reveal of your wedding night attire to be under such unorthodox circumstances, but can you say you expected any of this?

“A worthy bride with a body to match, thank you for this gift, your highness”. He says in a half joking manner, grinning with too many teeth as he runs his hands along the delicate material. He toys with the idea of cutting this little number to pieces too, but your holes are left conveniently exposed. Maybe he’s fallen too in love with it, he’s been in love with you since you met years ago anyway.

The lingerie is a custom designed piece littered with straps and sheer fabric that leave nothing to the imagination. Your tits are accentuated by a seashell-like pattern bra and there’s even a little black bow above your pussy. The frilly strips of material wrapped around your thighs do nothing to keep your curves contained and the tiny tulle skirt frames your ass beautifully.

Your husband drinks in the sight of you before pulling your ankles to rest on his shoulders. You watch in arousal and shock as he broadly licks the sole of your right foot. He groans unabashedly, nuzzling at your heel and then dipping his tongue in the spaces between your toes. You wiggle at the ticklish feeling but you don’t kick him away.

He really gets into it when he starts sucking your toes, bobbing his head and making sure you’re watching as curls his tongue around each one. His eyes roll back in pleasure once he reaches the last toe on your other foot, and drool trickles down your leg when he’s done getting acquainted with the taste of it. He presses a kiss to the top of each toe but then the weird softness is ruined by the bite he adorns your ankle with.

Feyd’s mouth makes a slick popping sound as he pulls away from your feet. You’re at a loss for words when he proceeds to lie down on the table beside you. He gropes your breast quickly and leans over to give you a surprisingly chaste peck. The look on his face is a smug one but his eyes say something unknown to you, soft and obsessive all at once. It’s as if he knows something you don’t.

“Now sit on my face, claim your new throne, princess.”

You don’t know how long he keeps you hostage there, your cunt soaking him as he devours you to the bone. He doesn’t let you become too relaxed, nipping your clit as he sees fit and clawing the skin of your ass. Eventually your gut aches and though at first you think you’re about to cum already, the second heartbeat in your clit feels different. You come to a horrifying realization that you need to relieve yourself.

“H-husband, what the fuck- I… I need to pee.” You’d rather be dead than doing what you are and saying what you are, but nature calls.

“Yes, that’s it.” He growls and digs his nails into your ass, jigging the globes in his hands before sharply slapping them. “Piss all over my face, get me wet with it like a good wife.”

The shriek you let out when you do just that is abhorrent. Your legs shake as you spray hot pee on your husband’s skin, the gold mixing with the white of your simultaneous orgasm as it drips down his body. You try to move off of Feyd but he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks you back down. The sensation of a hungry mouth desperately sucking the fluids from you drives you wild.

“You have…… fuck- y-you have to stop, hah- i’m going to break.” You sob.

He chuckles into your piss covered pussy and then pulls away to speak, “Then break, a wife of House Harkonnen doesn’t need to be put together.”

You think you hear him say something about using his blade on your body later, but that might just be your own perverted idea.

[reidrum]

good night moon | s.r

A/N: hi again ! this one is deeply self indulgent i fear but who cares i hope you like it as much as i do <3 ps let me know what kinda fics i should write next !!

cw: spencer reid x bau!reader, cm type violence, reader is afab but this only is referred to when mentioning reader is a daughter, sad thoughts, hurt/comfort, talks about nightmares, spencer just wants to take care you gdm it why won’t you let him

wc: 2.4k

_______________________________________________

trudging up the stairs of the bullpen, you tried your best to use whatever sense you had left to beeline to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. thank god the bau had minimal reflective surfaces because you’re sure you look like the evil old lady from snow white. that was just, your opinion of course. to everyone else you looked fine.

fine was so subjective. what did these fuckers know about being fine? they weren’t the ones on the mission. they don’t know what you saw, how you did nothing, how you couldn’t do anything.

“FBI hands up!” you yell holding your gun and flashlight at the unsub. he’s holding the victim at knifepoint, a twelve year old girl who reminded you too much of yourself.

this unsub’s MO was kidnapping eldest daughters of families that had sons as well, because he believed the son should be the eldest child with the most responsibility and that the daughters were only there to create more babies. the team had deduced that he was the youngest child to an older sister who he felt had too much control over him, combined with his fascination with the perfect nuclear family, it slowly turned him into a sociopathic killer.

“come any closer and i’ll slit her throat!” the unsub bellowed, getting dangerously close to her carotid artery.

“you don’t wanna do that, man,” derek says behind you, “just put the knife down and we can talk.”

“there’s nothing left to talk anymore! i’m already going to prison. there’s no point.”

you called out the unsub’s name, “i know how you’re feeling, i have a younger brother too and he feels the same way you do sometimes. what your sister did to you was not okay, but not all sisters are like that. we just want to care for our family. let them have the chance to be the big sister you wished for.”

the unsub seemed to contemplate your words for a minute, then looks up at you with eyes devoid of any light, “then this one is dedicated to you, agent.” and he drags the knife across her neck leaving waterfalls of blood coming out.

you’re not really sure what happened next. a gun went off, presumably derek’s, to kill the unsub. and then it was you screaming as you rushed to the young girl to try and stop her bleeding, but it was no use. the cut was deep enough to nick that damn carotid and all you could do was hold her in her last moments.

“te- tell my family i love them, and that i’m sorry.” the young girl spurts out so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“no sweet girl, don’t be sorry,” you say through hiccuped cries, “i’m sorry i couldn’t save you.”

the last thing you remember was feeling strong hands carrying you out of the building. you couldn’t hear much, the sound of your wails pretty much masked anything in a five mile radius. you could taste the iron lingering in your mouth from biting your lip too hard and desperately collecting the salty tears and sweat trickling down your face. at first you smelled smoke and dust, most likely from being in the cave where the unsub was. but as you were being dragged away from the crime scene you were influxxed with a musky scent, and a hint of vanilla with that fresh laundry smell. spencer. the last thing you see are his worried little brown eyes staring down at you before everything goes dark.

that was monday. it is now thursday. the case had wrapped up, the unsub was dead the families were notified and now you all were in the office doing your paperwork for the case.

and all of you were doing fine, right? everyone else had already coped and processed the case, already stepping back into their normal life routines. but you, you couldn’t have it that easy, but god you wish you did.

since that day, you’d been holing up in your apartment with all the lights turned on. you sat in your living room, eating a bowl of fruit loops and watching bluey, because listen it’s a great show and we should acknowledge it. you cry out loud seeing bluey care for her little sister bingo, and it brings you back to that dusty cave and the bloodied hands.

you could feel sleep creeping up on you, yet you subconsciously found a way to push bedtime by doing menial tasks like cleaning, extra long skincare, watching a movie. when you ran out of things to do, you entered your room and just stared at your bed. how were you supposed to admit to yourself that the horror isn’t in the movie you just watched where the creepy demons kill everyone, but it’s what is waiting for you behind closed eyelids.

so the only logical solution was to just, not sleep. you whipped out every trick in the book to stay awake for as long as you could— energy drinks, coffee, splashing cold water, anything so you wouldn’t have to reface your plagued memories.

spencer observed you from a distance. he watched as you got coffee a whopping three times before 10am, you picking at your skin, not to mention the bags growing under your eyes. it was then he formed a hypothesis, he was a scientist after all. that you simply were not sleeping because of the case. it was much less a hypothesis and more of a fact because he knew exactly what it was upon first sight of you, hell he invented the sleep avoidance look.

and as the inventor it meant he knew the feeling more intimately than he would like to admit. spencer knew what it felt like to be debilitated by the confines of your brain, holding onto shreds of memories you know are not worth remembering but have somehow marked their territory anyway. and everyone coped differently, for spencer he isolated himself for days and then threw himself into work. for you? well, that was the next part of spencer’s experiment.

spencer approaches you in the kitchen as you’re pouring your fourth cup before noon, “hi.”

“hi.”

“how are you? feels like we haven’t talked in a bit.”

“i’m good, sorry i’ve just been. busy.”

spencer frowned internally, he knew you weren’t doing a single thing but working at the office. “are you okay? do you want to talk about last week?”

you cut him off abruptly and start walking out, “i really have to finish these reports spence, talk to you later.”

spencer knew better, he should give you space to cope by yourself. you were an adult, you can take care of yourself. but you shouldn’t have to, he thinks. spencer still tells himself he knows better as he’s waiting on your doorstep that night, about to the rapp the door.

after a minute of no answer he knocks again this time calling your name through the door, “will you let me in please? i want to show you something.”

still nothing. he continues, “i know what you’re feeling, and i want to help, please.”

he almost gives up and turns around when he hears the turn of a lock and slight creek of the door opening to see you in all your beautiful glory.

now you, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes. avengers pj shorts with a baggy uni t shirt, hair flying in any direction, and a look that spencer could only describe as grief. but god if you weren’t the most beautiful human he’d seen in his life, he’d be lying.

you were coming up on day 3? or was it 4? of no sleep. it’s not like you were not sleeping at all you took little 30 minute naps each day, enough to get you some shut eye but not enough to make it your rem stage of sleep.

spencer speaks again, “can i come in?” you nod silently and open the door wider for him to step in. he removes his shoes and it’s then you notice a big ole tote bag he’s lugging to your living room.

“what’s in the bag?”

“ah, come sit. i brought magical things.” he smiles playfully.

you shuffle over to sit a seat’s cushion away from him and watch as he starts pulling item by item from his mary poppins bag.

candles, essential oils, books, but specifically romance novels with the silly cartoon covers that he swears aren’t real books but you argue with him until he concedes, melatonin gummies, pillow sleep spray, and one more item that he’s holding onto for what seems to be dramatic effect. you’re not amused.

“and the piece de resistance,” he presents the last item, and you look confused for a second, until you recognize the item in front of you and immediately start tearing up. in his hands is a grogu weighted stuffed animal that he holds out for you to take. “i know you’re not sleeping. it happened to me when, you know. i figured it would be helpful if you had someone who could empathize how you’re feeling. and because you’re my best friend and i care about you.”

your bottom lip trembles, and you feel the ice block you’ve kept yourself in this past week start to melt uncontrollably. “spence…” you breathe out so quietly. he did all this? for you? doctor spencer reid went out to the store, and bought a grogu stuffed animal for you to cuddle at night to ease your loneliness?

the concept of being taken care of was so foreign to you, as the eldest daughter in your family it was always you taking care of others and making sure everyone was okay. but rarely did anyone check on you, how you were holding up. and you had learned to cope by yourself, to handle the big emotions by yourself, but for once, someone was willing to take all that weight off your shoulders and let you breathe. and god, did it feel so cathartic you could burst out in sobs.

so you did.

“hey,” he says scooting closer to you so he can scoop you into his chest, “was that a lot? penelope said i’d probably overwhelm you but all of the things i brought are scientifically proven sleep additives-“

“no i just, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” you whimper.

spencer’s eyes soften, “you deserve it. what happened last week… was hard. i just wanted to help.”

“thank you,” he hears a muffled response and rubs his hands affectionately down your back, “damn, all this crying is making me so tired.”

“see! the magic of the poppins bag.” he chuckles. you laugh too. spencer thinks all the flowers in a mile radius just bloomed.

“it’s just,” you start out, nuzzling into his chest deeper, “the second i close my eyes and dream, i see her. and how i couldn’t save her. and how the others i couldn’t save either.” you feel your chest seizing up again.

“okay well hey, hey. you did what you were trained to do. any other agent in your position would’ve tried talking him down the way you did. and your personal story gave you an advantage that no one else would’ve had. statistically speaking, you were the best chance at getting through to him. yeah it didn’t work, but it wouldn’t be probability if it always worked,” he cradles your face in his big hands, “we’re all so proud of you, you know. rossi’s waiting for you to be back on your feet so he can host pasta night at his hou- sorry his mansion again.”

spencer looks down at you properly to your tear stained cheeks and brushes your hair back. he sees the pain and tiredness fighting behind your eyes and asks softly, “what do you need right now?”

“i’m tired.” you lament.

“then lets go sleep.”

“i can’t.”

“why not?”

“im scared.”

“well that’s why i brought the stuff silly goose,” he taps your nose, “come on, let’s go set it up.”

spencer brings all the sleep aids to your room and sets them up appropriately, even plugging in your sunrise lamp to help with the ambient lighting. the only thing left to do is for you to get into your bed.

you both stand on opposite sides of your bed, and he’s waiting for you to get in so can tuck you in. you hesitate and look up at him with the same worried eyes he saw all those days ago.

“could you stay for bit?”

“i can stay for some time if you want” you both speak at the same time. you giggle again, spencer thinks an angel got its wings.

thank god he wore sweats and a comfy t shirt he thinks. he slid in under the blanket and holds it open for you to come in, “come on, you’re missing the cuddle party with grogu and i!” you beam widely and finally sink into your bed.

spencer pulls you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulder blade, and the other taking a spot on your hip rubbing soft circles. you lay your head to rest on his chest, right above his beating heart. you try to let the metronomic thumps lull you to sleep, but spencer can still feel your eyelashes fluttering about on his chest. he knows what you’re thinking, because of course he does.

“look at me,” he nudges you, you look up at his eyes again and see nothing but pure love and reassurance as he continues, “you are safe. nothing can hurt you. i promise.”

“are you sure?” you let out meekly,

“i’m sure. it’s okay, go to sleep,” he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your forehead. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

you shakily take a deep breath, and close your eyes.

after five minutes of spencer rubbing shapes into your back, he can finally hear the soft snores coming from below. he places another kiss on your head, whispers, “good night angel girl,” and doses off.

you wake up the next morning feeling so rested and relieved you can’t help but give spencer a big hug that wakes him up. spencer thinks he’d be the luckiest man in the universe if he could wake up like this everyday.

[fvsm4x]

𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐃 ✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟏 • 𝐫𝐞-𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝

Growing up as childhood friends, you and Satoru Gojo share a deep bond that only strengthens as you both mature. Now, as your personal knight and protector, Satoru's feelings for you become harder to hide.

cw. guard gojo s. x princess fem. reader / arranged marriage / violence / tension / wc. 12k

taglist: @sadmonke @theonlyhonoredone @itzmeme @dcvilxswish @kalopsia-flaneur @misslovingpearl @gojoslefttoenail @ryumurin @zoeyflower

series masterlist - prev | next

The morning sun spilled across the palace grounds, casting long shadows over the training fields where knights sparred with precision and discipline. But inside the royal stables, the atmosphere was anything but orderly. You tightened your grip on the reins of your horse, the powerful creature pawing the ground impatiently as you readied yourself for the day’s escape.

The sound of hurried footsteps reached your ears just as you swung up into the saddle. You turned to see Satoru Gojo, your ever-vigilant knight, striding toward you with that familiar mix of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, tousled in a way that hinted he’d rushed here, probably after hearing you’d once again slipped away from your royal duties.

“Y/N,” Satoru called out, his voice a blend of authority and a sigh that told you he’d been through this too many times before. “Tell me you’re not planning to ride out of the palace again.”

You flashed him a grin, the kind that always made his shoulders tense. “And what if I am? You know these council meetings bore me to tears, Satoru. I need a real adventure.”

He reached your side just as you guided your horse toward the gate, his hand landing on the reins,“And what do you think your father will say when he finds out his only daughter has ditched her royal duties for the fourth time this month?”

You shrugged, meeting his gaze without a trace of guilt. “He’ll probably scold me and send you to fetch me, just like always. So, why don’t you skip that part and let me have a few hours of freedom before you drag me back?”

Satoru’s lips quivered in a half-smile, though his eyes held a warning. “You know I can’t do that. My job is to keep you safe, not to mention make sure you’re present at these meetings. You’re the future queen, Y/N, not a knight out for a thrill.”

His words were serious, but they only fueled the rebellious fire burning in your chest. You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a daring whisper. “Maybe I’d rather be a knight than a queen. At least knights get to see the world beyond these walls.”

Satoru’s grip on the reins tightened just enough to halt your horse, his gaze locking with yours. “And maybe you forget that the world beyond these walls isn’t as forgiving as you think. It’s my job to remind you of that, even if it means being the one to stand in your way.”

For a moment, the air between you was charged with the tension of an ongoing battle—a battle you both knew too well. Satoru was right, of course. Your father had assigned him to you not just for protection, but to temper the wild streak that had always set you apart from other princesses. But where was the fun in always being right?

With a dramatic sigh, you sat back in the saddle, a playful pout on your lips. “Fine. I’ll attend the council meeting… after we take a quick ride through the forest. Just to clear my head.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “And by ‘quick,’ you mean?”

“An hour. Maybe two.” You flashed him your most disarming smile. “Come on, Satoru. It’s a beautiful day. Don’t tell me you’re going to spend it cooped up in that stuffy council room.”

He studied you for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—the struggle between his duty and the undeniable pull you’d always had on him. Finally, he sighed, releasing the reins and stepping back. “An hour,” he said, his tone firm. “But if you’re late to the meeting, I’m not covering for you this time.”

You grinned triumphantly, nudging your horse forward. “Deal. Now try to keep up, Sir Gojo.”

With a whoop, you urged your horse into a gallop, the wind whipping through your hair as you sped toward the forest. Behind you, you heard Satoru mutter something under his breath before he mounted his own horse and followed, the sound of hooves thundering against the ground.

As the two of you raced toward the trees, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of exhilaration. Satoru might be your protector, but he was also the only one who understood your need to break free, even if just for a little while. And in these moments, when it was just the two of you and the open road ahead, you felt more alive than any crown or royal duty could ever make you feel.

The dense canopy of the forest enveloped you as you and Satoru plunged into the shadowy depths, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in dappled patterns. The familiar scent of earth and pine filled your senses, calming the restless energy that had driven you out of the palace. Here, among the towering trees and winding paths, you felt like yourself—wild, free, unburdened by the expectations that came with your title.

You glanced over at Satoru, who was keeping pace beside you, his expression a mixture of focus and resignation. His horse moved as if in perfect sync with him, every motion smooth and calculated. You knew he was keeping a close eye on you, ready to react if you did something particularly reckless—as you often did. The thought brought a smirk to your lips.

“So, how long before you try to drag me back this time? Cause I don‘t believe you will allow me to be here for an hour.” you teased, leaning forward slightly as your horse jumped a fallen log.

Satoru didn’t miss a beat, easily clearing the log himself. “You’re right, but it depends on you, princess. If you manage to stay out of trouble, maybe we’ll actually make it back on time for once.”

You laughed, the sound echoing through the forest. “Where’s the fun in that? We both know I’m not built for sitting still and behaving.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But maybe, just this once, you could surprise me.”

You leaned back in the saddle, the reins loose in your hands as you looked over at him. “Surprise you? Like agreeing to marry one of those pompous suitors my father keeps parading in front of me?”

Satoru’s smile faded slightly, and his gaze turned serious. “Y/N, you know this isn’t just about you. The kingdom—”

“—needs me to marry for alliances, to secure peace, to fulfill my duty,” you finished for him, the familiar words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I’ve heard it all before, Satoru. But no one ever asks what I want.”

Satoru's expression became gentle, and he moved his horse closer to you while speaking in a softer tone. He asked, "What do you want?" The question hung in the air, the only sound being the steady thud of hooves on the dirt road as you both rode in silence for a moment.

This question had crossed your mind before, usually when you were alone in your room feeling overwhelmed by thoughts of your future. You wanted freedom, adventure, and the chance to live life on your own terms. But there was something more profound you yearned for, something beyond duty and your royal responsibilities.

You felt a deep desire for something meaningful, something that resonated with your true self. This unspoken longing stirred within you, pushing you to search for a sense of purpose that went beyond the boundaries of your kingdom.

But before you could respond to Satoru’s comment, the sudden rustling of leaves in the underbrush snapped your attention back to the present. Satoru’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, his sharp eyes scanning the dense line of trees ahead. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to spring into action. “Stay close,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a low, serious tone that left no room for argument.

Of course, you ignored him. You pulled your horse to a halt beside his, your eyes narrowing as you scanned the shadows. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, and for a fleeting moment, you almost convinced yourself it had been nothing—a deer, perhaps, or the wind stirring the branches. But then, out of the darkness, figures began to emerge, their forms blending into the gloom until they were almost upon you.

They were men clad in ragged, mismatched armor, their faces hidden beneath hoods pulled low over their eyes. Bandits.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” you muttered under your breath, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline surge through your veins.

Satoru shot you a hard look, his voice a razor-sharp edge. “Y/N, get back to the palace. Now.”

The command bristled against your nerves. You tightened your grip on the reins, your jaw set stubbornly. “I’m not running, Satoru. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

His eyes narrowed, a muscle ticking in his jaw, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he drew his sword with a smooth, practiced motion. The blade gleamed with a deadly promise, catching the dim light filtering through the trees. “Fine,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But stay behind me.”

The bandits clearly underestimated you, assuming they’d caught an unprotected royal on a leisurely ride through the forest. They had no idea who they were dealing with. As the men moved to encircle you, Satoru spurred his horse forward with a speed and ferocity that caught them off guard.

You leaped from your horse, landing lightly on your feet as you reached for the short sword hidden in your saddle—a gift from Satoru, who had spent years teaching you how to wield it. The first bandit approached you with a lazy confidence, his swing wild and uncoordinated as if he expected an easy kill. You sidestepped his attack, your blade slicing through the air with precision as you cut across his arm. The bandit stumbled back, clutching his bleeding wound with a pained grunt.

As you turned to face your next attacker, you felt a sudden pull on your gown. The fabric snagged on a jagged branch, and with a harsh rip, it tore from your hip to your knee, exposing your leg. You glanced down briefly, irritation flaring at the sight of the ruined silk, now stained with dirt and torn wide open. But there was no time to dwell on it.

Another bandit lunged at you, and you refocused, your movements unhindered by the ruined gown. If anything, the tear gave you more freedom to move, allowing you to dodge and strike with greater agility. You parried his attack with a quick flick of your wrist, then countered with a swift slash across his side, sending him crashing to the ground.

Satoru was a force of nature beside you, his sword slicing through the air with lethal precision. His movements were fluid and controlled, every strike landing with deadly accuracy. Even in the chaos of battle, there was a part of you that felt strangely alive—more alive than you ever felt within the walls of the palace. Here, in the midst of danger, you weren’t just a princess confined by duty and expectation. You were a fighter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the one person who made you feel truly free.

The battle ended almost as quickly as it had begun. The bandits, realizing they were outmatched, retreated into the forest, leaving behind only a few groaning bodies and the remnants of their failed ambush. You stood there, chest heaving with exertion, a triumphant grin spreading across your face as you watched them flee.

Satoru sheathed his sword, turning to you with that familiar look of disdain. “Next time you decide to skip a council meeting, could you at least pick a direction that doesn’t involve getting us ambushed?”

“And miss all the fun?” you shot back, wiping a smear of dirt from your cheek. “Besides, you’re always saying I need to learn to defend myself.”

“You did alright,” he admitted begrudgingly, though his tone was far from complimentary. “But if you’d just listened to me in the first place, your dress wouldn’t be ruined.”

You glanced down at the torn fabric, the once-beautiful gown now reduced to tatters, and shrugged. “It’s just a dress. I’ll tell my father it was a casualty of battle.”

Satoru sighed, shaking his head. “Your father’s going to have a fit when he sees you like this. And I’m going to be the one who has to explain it.”

"That’s what you get for sticking around," you quipped with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe next time you’ll think twice before volunteering to be my knight."

Satoru’s usual smirk flickered, but instead of the usual banter, his eyes darkened with something harsher. "Believe me, I will," he muttered, his voice carrying an edge that made you flinch. His tone sharpened as he added, "You think this is a joke, don’t you? Running around, playing hero. You could’ve been killed back there."

You bristled at his words, your own irritation flaring up. "I’m not some helpless damsel, Satoru. I can take care of myself."

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, the anger simmering beneath the surface broke through. "Yeah? And what happens when your little stunts get you killed? Who’s going to take care of the kingdom then? Who’s going to explain to your father that his only heir got herself killed because she couldn’t stay out of trouble?"

The harshness in his voice stung, more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but the words caught in your throat when you saw the genuine fear in his eyes, barely concealed by his anger.

For a brief moment, the tension between you felt like a knife’s edge, sharp and dangerous. But then Satoru’s expression shifted, the anger fading into something more conflicted. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his white hair. "Damn it, Y/N," he muttered, his voice softer but still tight with emotion. "You don’t get it, do you?"

He reached out abruptly, wiping a smudge of dirt from your cheek with a roughness that was more from his frustration than anything else. His hand lingered for a moment, and then he quickly pulled back as if realizing he’d let his guard down too much. "Be careful next time, will ya?" he added, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation.

You stared at him, your own anger mingling with a confusing swirl of emotions. "Whatever," you muttered, trying to dismiss the moment, but your voice lacked conviction.

He scoffed, clearly still irritated. "Yeah, 'whatever.' Just remember that next time you’re charging headfirst into danger, thinking you’re invincible."

You met his gaze, the tension between you heavy and palpable. His eyes were a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, worry, something else you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to say something, to break the tension, but before you could find the words, he turned away, the harsh reality of your situation crashing back in.

"We should head back," you finally said, your voice tinged with reluctance as you pulled away from the charged moment. "Before my father sends the entire guard to find us."

Satoru nodded, but there was still a tightness in his expression, a lingering anger that hadn’t fully dissipated. "Yeah, we should," he agreed, but his voice was clipped. "Wouldn’t want anyone else thinking you’re out here getting yourself into more trouble."

As you both turned your horses back toward the palace, the tension between you didn’t fully fade. It hovered, unspoken and unresolved, following you like a shadow. Every step your horse took seemed to echo in the heavy silence that had settled between you and Satoru. The air around you felt thick, charged with the weight of things left unsaid.

The ride back to the palace was quiet but not peaceful. The silence wasn’t one of comfort, but of brewing storms. Satoru rode beside you, his posture stiff, his jaw clenched tightly as if holding back a flood of words. You could feel his gaze flicker toward you now and then, sharp and assessing, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Not that you needed him to speak to know what he was thinking. His anger was palpable, radiating off him like heat from a fire that hadn’t yet burned out.

The wind tugged at the torn edges of your gown, a constant reminder of the fight you had just won. You could still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, though it was beginning to fade, leaving behind a weariness that seeped into your bones. The thrill of battle was something you had never been able to resist, but it always came with a price. Now, as you neared the palace, that price felt heavier than ever. The fight was over, but you knew the real battle awaited you inside those stone walls.

You risked a glance at Satoru, who was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable. But you knew him well enough to see the signs—the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the reins a little too tightly. He was angry, maybe even more than usual. His silence spoke volumes. You could almost hear the reprimand he was holding back, the same words he always threw at you after a dangerous encounter: You’re too reckless. You’re going to get yourself killed. Why don’t you ever think before you act?

But you weren’t about to apologize. You had done what needed to be done. You weren’t some fragile flower that needed constant protection, and it frustrated you that Satoru couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that. You knew he cared, but sometimes his concern felt suffocating, like a chain that kept tightening around you. You weren’t just a princess locked away in a tower. You were a fighter, someone who could handle themselves in the face of danger. But convincing Satoru of that was a battle you never seemed to win.

Satoru’s concern cut deeper because you’d known him for so long. You weren’t just a princess to him, and he wasn’t just your knight—he was your childhood friend, someone who had stood by your side through countless trials. That connection was what made his anger sting all the more. He wasn’t angry because you were a princess who’d been reckless; he was angry because you were you, and he cared too much to see you put yourself in harm’s way.

You tried to shake off the irritation, but it clung to you as stubbornly as the dirt on your dress. Satoru hadn’t said much since the bandits attacked, just the occasional sharp comment about your recklessness. His voice still echoed in your mind, laced with a bitterness that stung more than any wound. "You think this is a joke, don’t you? Running around, playing hero. You could’ve been killed back there."

You knew he was right, at least partly. But the way he said it, like you were nothing but a foolish child playing at being a warrior, made your blood boil. Who was he to lecture you? He was just your knight, sworn to protect you, not to control you. He had no right to judge your choices, especially when you were the one who had to bear the weight of the crown someday. The crown he seemed to forget you were destined to wear.

The palace loomed ahead, its imposing towers and thick walls casting long shadows in the fading light. The closer you got, the heavier the sense of dread that settled in your chest. You could already imagine the scolding you’d receive from your father, the disapproving looks from the council. They wouldn’t care about the bandits you’d fought off, the danger you’d faced. They’d only see the torn dress, the dirt, the reckless princess who couldn’t stay out of trouble.

As you approached the main gates, Satoru finally spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

His tone was sharp, laced with the irritation he’d been holding back for the entire ride. “You know,” he began, not looking at you, “one of these days, your luck’s going to run out. And when it does, I won’t be there to pull you out of the fire.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. The tension between you had been simmering since the fight, and now it felt like it was about to boil over. “I didn’t ask you to pull me out of anything,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” Satoru shot back, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Because getting ambushed by bandits and nearly getting yourself killed is just another day for you, right?”

You tightened your grip on the reins, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you. His words cut deep, not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it—like you were nothing but a burden, a reckless child who didn’t know better.

“I didn’t nearly get killed,” you retorted, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm. “I handled it, just like I always do. I’m not some helpless damsel you need to save every time something goes wrong.”

Satoru finally turned to look at you, his eyes flashing with anger. “No, you’re not helpless,” he said, his voice low and intense. “But you’re reckless. And one day, that’s going to get you in trouble you can’t fight your way out of.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You could feel the anger radiating off him, but beneath that, there was something else—fear. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lurking behind the harsh words. Satoru was afraid for you, and that fear was what fueled his anger.

But instead of softening at the realization, you felt your own anger flare up. “You don’t get to decide how I live my life, Satoru,” you snapped, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. “I’m not some fragile flower that needs to be kept under glass. I’m going to be queen one day, and I need to be able to fight my own battles.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “And what good is being queen if you’re dead before you even get the chance? You think just because you’re royal, you’re invincible? That nothing can touch you?”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. The truth was, part of you did feel invincible—like nothing could truly harm you as long as you kept fighting, kept pushing forward. But Satoru’s words cut through that illusion, bringing the reality crashing down around you.

“I know I’m not invincible,” you said quietly, the fight suddenly draining out of you.

Satoru didn’t respond right away, and when he did, his voice was softer, almost resigned. “Just don’t make me bury you, Y/N. That’s all I ask.”

The words hit you harder than anything else he’d said, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The thought of leaving him behind, of dying and never seeing him again, was something you couldn’t bear to think about. But you couldn’t let that fear control you. You had responsibilities, duties that went beyond your own safety.

“I won’t,” you promised, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

The palace gates creaked open, and as you rode through them, the tension between you and Satoru clung like a heavy fog. The silence was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaos of the fight that had just ended. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions pressed heavily on both of you, making each breath feel like an effort.

The ride through the palace grounds was quiet, each hoofbeat echoing in the cold air. The once-thrilling adrenaline of battle had dissipated, leaving a weary heaviness in its place. The torn edges of your gown flapped in the wind, a constant reminder of the skirmish and the mess you were about to face. The closer you got to the courtyard, the more the anxiety of returning to your father and the council weighed on you.

As you arrived in the courtyard, the scene was immediately filled with the unmistakable tension of disapproval. A group of guards stood at attention, their faces a mix of concern and irritation, while one of your father’s advisors, an elderly man with a stern demeanor, was clearly waiting for your arrival. His gaze shifted to your disheveled appearance, taking in the torn and dirt-streaked gown with an almost palpable disapproval.

The advisor’s eyes narrowed as he took in the state of your attire. “Princess Y/N,” he began, his voice carrying a sharp edge, “I trust you have a very good explanation for this?”

You dismounted with a weary sigh, trying to steady your nerves. The advisor’s scrutiny was the last thing you needed, but you knew better than to brush it off. “I’m fine,” you said, your tone firm though tired. “There was a bandit ambush. We handled it.”

The advisor’s frown deepened. “Handled it, you say? And what of the dress? This is hardly suitable attire for someone of your status.”

Before you could respond, Satoru, who had dismounted beside you, stepped forward. His face was still set in a hard line, but there was a note of frustration in his voice. “The dress can be repaired,” he said, his tone sharp. “The important thing is that she’s safe.”

The advisor looked between you and Satoru, clearly not impressed. “Safety is not the only concern, Lord Gojo. The princess’s appearance and behavior reflect directly on the crown.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened, and he shot you a quick, unreadable glance. The flicker of irritation in his eyes was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His anger wasn’t solely directed at the advisor or the situation. it was also a manifestation of his frustration with the entire situation, including your stubbornness and the danger you had willingly walked into.

You felt a surge of guilt and irritation. The bandits were no longer the issue; it was the aftermath—the judgment from those who couldn’t see past the torn fabric to the reality of what had happened.

The advisor's voice cut through the air, carrying an edge of reproach as he spoke. "We will need to discuss this matter further. Please proceed to the council chamber immediately. Your father is waiting for you."

You exchanged a brief, frustrated glance with Satoru before you nodded and replied, “Well, I’m here now. So lead the way.”

The advisor’s lips thinned, but he made no further comment as he turned on his heel and started walking towards the council chamber. You and Satoru followed closely behind, the sound of your boots echoing in the grand hallways of the palace. The opulence of your surroundings felt distant now, overshadowed by the tension that gripped you both.

As you walked, Satoru leaned in, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You know, you could at least try not to make things harder for yourself,” he said, his tone sharp and edged with frustration.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, replying in the same hushed tone, “And you could try not being such a nag. But I guess we can’t all get what we want.”

Satoru’s response was a soft snort, though there was a hint of genuine frustration in his voice. “Maybe if you actually listened to me once in a while, I wouldn’t have to nag.”

You quickened your pace, creating a bit of distance between you. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re the only one who knows anything, I might consider it.”

The conversation fizzled out as you reached the grand doors of the council chamber. They swung open to reveal a room filled with stern-faced nobles and advisors. The soft murmurs that had been filling the room fell to a hushed silence as the assembled crowd took in the state of your disheveled appearance. The dirt smeared across your face and the torn gown made a stark contrast against the polished grandeur of the palace.

At the head of the room stood your father, his face a storm of worry and barely concealed anger. The lines around his eyes deepened as he took in the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice heavy with a mix of frustration and concern. “Where have you been, and what on earth happened to you?”

You met his gaze, trying to steady your nerves under the intense scrutiny of the room. “I was out on a ride, and we encountered some bandits. We managed to handle the situation, but... well, this is the result.”

The council members exchanged looks, their whispers rising into a cacophony of disapproval and concern. You could feel the pressure mounting as your father’s gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t just upset about your appearance.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” he demanded, his voice rising. “This isn’t just about your personal safety—it’s about the responsibilities you have to this kingdom. You can’t keep acting as if you’re invincible.”

Satoru remained silent by your side, his presence an unspoken weight in the midst of your father’s fiery reprimand. The tension in the room was palpable, a mixture of frustration and concern etched into Satoru’s features. Despite his silence, his presence seemed to amplify the gravity of the situation.

You struggled to maintain your composure, the scrutiny from your father and the council members weighing heavily on you. “I understand your concerns, Father. But there are times when immediate action is necessary.”

Your father’s stern gaze softened just a fraction, though his voice remained firm. “That’s not the issue here. You have a responsibility to protect yourself as much as you have a duty to safeguard the kingdom. Charging into danger without proper preparation or escort endangers not only yourself but those who are tasked with your protection.”

Satoru, unable to hold back any longer, stepped forward. His irritation was clear in his tone. “Maybe if you spent less time trying to prove how invincible you are, and more time considering the consequences of your actions, we wouldn’t be dealing with this right now.”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling over. “And maybe if you weren’t so busy controlling every aspect of my life, you’d actually see that I can handle myself just fine.”

The room crackled with tension, the sharp words hanging heavily in the air. Before the argument could escalate further, your father’s authoritative voice cut through the discord. “Enough, both of you,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “We will address this matter further later. For now, Y/N, go and make yourself presentable.”

You clenched your fists, biting back a retort. With one last glare at Satoru, you turned and stormed out of the room, your torn dress trailing behind you. Satoru’s footsteps echoed behind you as he followed, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar mixture of frustration and… something else whenever he was near.

As you headed toward your chambers, the silence between you and Satoru was thick and charged. The grand corridors of the palace seemed to amplify the tension, each echo of your footsteps underscoring the unspoken frustration between you.

Satoru caught up to you with a determined stride, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice laced with irritation. “You know, it’s not just about you trying to prove how tough you are. It’s about all of us who have to clean up the mess when things go wrong.”

You shot him a sharp look. “And here I thought you were just my knight, not my babysitter.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s a lot easier to keep you out of trouble when you don’t keep running headfirst into it. Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You could’ve been seriously hurt, or worse.”

You felt a sting at his words, but you bit back a retort. “I can handle myself. Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only one with a brain around here, I wouldn’t feel the need to prove that.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched. “Oh, right. Because risking your life is the best way to prove you’re capable. You know, sometimes I wonder if you do this on purpose, just to get a reaction out of me.”

You stopped in your tracks, spinning to face him. “And maybe if you stopped being so overbearing, I’d actually listen to you once in a while. I’m not a child, Satoru. I don’t need to be shielded from every danger.”

His eyes flashed with a mixture of frustration and something softer, almost pained. “It’s not about shielding you. It's about keeping you alive. But if you’re so determined to ignore everyone who cares about you, then fine.Do whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to always be there to pick up the pieces.”

“Don’t worry, Satoru. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Without waiting for a reply, you slammed the door behind you, the resounding thud echoing in the corridor. Satoru stood there, his face a complex mask of frustration and concern, but you didn’t give him a second glance.

You made your way to a full-length mirror positioned against one wall of your chamber. The sight that greeted you only fueled your irritation. The gown that had been a symbol of elegance and grace was now a tattered mess, its once-pristine fabric stained with mud and torn in several places. The dirt smeared across your face made you look every bit the disheveled warrior rather than the poised princess you were supposed to be.

As you began to untangle the tangled fabric, the task quickly proved to be more overwhelming than you anticipated. The corset, which had once fit comfortably, now felt like a confining cage, a stark reminder of the expectations and constraints that weighed heavily on you. The delicate silk was now in shreds, and the frustration of the day seemed to pile on top of the physical mess in front of you.

Just as you were about to give up on the gown, a knock at the door drew your attention. You turned to see one of your maids standing in the doorway. Her familiar, soothing voice broke through your turbulent thoughts.

“Princess Y/N? May I come in?”

Grateful for the interruption, you managed a curt nod. “Yes, come in.”

The maid entered with a look of concern as she took in the state of your appearance. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of your torn dress and the dirt streaked across your face, but she quickly masked her surprise with a professional demeanor.

“Oh, my! What happened to you?” she asked, her tone a mixture of worry and astonishment.

“It’s nothing,” you replied sharply, though your voice lacked the conviction you hoped for. “Just… a bit of trouble on my ride.”

Without further prompting, the maid began to work on the gown, deftly maneuvering the fabric and doing her best to salvage what she could. As she worked, her gentle hands and quiet presence offered a brief respite from the chaos of the day. You sank onto a nearby chair, feeling the weight of the events pressing down on you. The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind a weariness that made every action feel like an effort.

As the maid continued to repair the damage, you found yourself staring blankly at the reflection in the mirror. The image of yourself, so unlike the poised princess you were expected to be, brought a fresh wave of frustration. The torn gown and dirt-streaked face were stark reminders of the day's struggles, both physical and emotional.

The maid worked in silence for a few moments before speaking again. “It’ll take some time to get this dress back to its former state, Your Highness. Would you like me to fetch a new gown or perhaps a bath to help you relax?”

You shook your head, the urgency of the situation driving your decision. “No, there’s no time for a bath. I need to change and get ready for the meeting. Just help me get into something presentable quickly.”

The maid nodded, understanding your urgency. “Of course, Princess. I’ll fetch something suitable for you to wear.”

You could hear Satoru’s voice echoing from outside your chambers, tinged with impatience. “Are you done yet? We’re already late. No amount of time will fix you, trust me.”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated by his usual sharpness. “I’m almost ready,” you called back, trying to keep your tone steady despite your growing frustration.

While she went to find a new dress, you started unfastening the torn gown with clumsy fingers, trying to ease the tangled fabric from your body. The act of undressing only heightened your frustration as the corset constricted your movements.

A few moments later, the maid returned with a more practical dress—simple but elegant, better suited to withstand a day of duties. You quickly changed into it, the soft fabric offering a slight relief from the tattered gown. As the maid adjusted the new dress and made minor adjustments, you took a deep breath, focusing on regaining your composure.

When she was done, you gave yourself one last look in the mirror. The new dress wasn’t as elaborate as the one you had worn, but it was clean and presentable. The dirt on your face had been cleaned away, but the fresh look only highlighted the fatigue and stress in your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said to the maid, your voice softer now, though still edged with the urgency of the situation.

“You’re welcome, Princess,” she replied with a sympathetic smile. “You look ready to face the council.”

As you opened the door to leave your chambers, you nearly bumped into Satoru, who was waiting just outside. His gaze quickly took in your new attire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of relief and irritation.

“Finally,” he said, his tone betraying both exasperation and a touch of amusement. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

You frowned and glanced down at your dress, feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness. “Yes? What’s wrong with it?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you met his gaze.

Satoru’s expression remained neutral, but the slight smirk on his lips told a different story. “Nothing, it’s just that it’s a bit… plain. I expected something a bit more impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your annoyance. “Isn’t the point to blend in rather than stand out? I’m not here to make a fashion statement.”

Satoru shrugged, his shoulders lifting slightly in a nonchalant manner. “Sure, blending in might be the goal. But if you want to make an impression—or avoid further criticism—maybe you should have gone for something with a bit more presence. This dress isn’t exactly going to win you any favors.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of his comment add to your already high stress levels. “Could you at least try to be supportive for once?” you muttered under your breath, your voice tinged with frustration.

Satoru’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise, but his expression quickly hardened again. “I’m just trying to be honest. If you want to make an impact, you need to do more than just show up. And you know as well as I do that appearances matter.”

You shook your head, feeling your irritation boil over. “Right, because you’re such an expert on what’s appropriate for me. I’ll just add ‘fashion advisor’ to your list of duties.”

Satoru didn’t respond, his silence amplifying the tension between you. You both walked briskly down the corridor, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the walls. His presence, once comforting, now felt like an added burden.

The grand doors of the council chamber loomed ahead, their imposing presence adding to the weight of the moment. As you approached, you took a deep breath, doing your best to ignore the discomfort of the corset and the restrictive nature of your dress. The anticipation was palpable, the pressure of what was to come pressing down on you with each step.

When the doors swung open, a hush fell over the room. The council chamber, lined with ornate tapestries and heavy wooden furniture, was filled with nobles and advisors, all turned toward you with varying degrees of interest. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to thinly veiled judgment, and you could feel the scrutiny like a physical force.

You walked to the center of the room, determined to present yourself with confidence despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The head of the council, an elderly man with a sharp gaze and a graying beard, looked up from his seat. His eyes, though kind, held a hint of skepticism that made your heart race.

“Princess,” he began, his voice echoing through the chamber, “we were beginning to wonder if you would make it.”

You met his gaze steadily, trying to mask any hint of unease. “I’m here now,” you replied, your voice firm. “Let’s proceed.”

Satoru, who had followed closely behind you, positioned himself slightly to your side. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by a more serious expression, though his eyes never left you. The council members, who had been murmuring amongst themselves, fell silent, their eyes flicking between you and Satoru with varying degrees of curiosity and assessment.

Your father, seated among the council members, cast a critical eye over you as you entered the room. “Ah, Y/N,” he began with a forced cheerfulness, “Don‘t you look beautiful right now. Much better than you did in that torn dress, wouldn’t you agree, Satoru?”

You shot a brief, uncomfortable glance at your father, whose tendency to comment on your appearance and then seek Satoru’s validation always put you on edge. It was as though your father valued Satoru’s opinion more than your own, and it often left you feeling awkward.

Satoru, though he caught the underlying tension in the room, offered a polite smile. “Indeed, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “Princess Y/N looks as perfect as ever.”

With a decisive clearing of his throat, the head of the council drew everyone’s attention. “Now that we’re all here, let us address the matter at hand.”

He looked directly at you, his expression serious. “Princess Y/N, as you know, our kingdom’s future stability hinges on more than just defending it from bandits or ensuring its safety. It is also crucial that you fulfill your duty to ensure the continuation of the royal bloodline.”

You braced yourself for what was coming next. The topic of your marriage had been an ever-present shadow, hovering over you for months. The weight of this responsibility felt like an anchor around your neck. Your role in finding a suitable match to ensure the survival of the royal bloodline was an expectation you could hardly escape

“The council has been discussing the urgency of securing an heir,” the head of the council continued. “It is imperative that you marry soon and produce an heir to continue the bloodline. The stability of our kingdom and the future of our dynasty depend on it.”

The room’s atmosphere grew heavy with the gravity of the statement. You could sense the murmurs of agreement from the council members, their eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. Your father’s gaze was stern, a reminder of the familial and political pressure weighing on your shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, you faced the council head-on. “I understand the importance of securing an heir,” you said, your voice steady despite the pressure. “But can we not consider the urgency of finding the right partner rather than rushing into a marriage that may not be in the best interest of the kingdom?”

The head of the council’s eyebrows furrowed. “We’re not suggesting you act recklessly, Princess. However, the sooner you marry, the sooner we can ensure the future stability of the realm. Time is of the essence.”

Your father’s eyes softened slightly, though the firmness of his words remained. “Your duty to the kingdom requires you to balance personal desires with the needs of the state. It’s time to prioritize the future of our dynasty.”

The weight of their words pressed down on you, the realization of your role in the kingdom’s future becoming all too clear. You had always known the responsibilities of being a princess, but hearing it so directly was a stark reminder of the sacrifices and decisions that lay ahead.

As you tried to absorb the gravity of the situation, you could feel Satoru’s presence beside you, his gaze intense but unreadable. He said nothing, but his silence was a reminder of the support and understanding he offered, even in the midst of the council’s scrutiny.

The head of the council cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “To address the pressing matter of securing a suitable match for Princess Y/N, we propose hosting a grand ball. This will provide an opportunity for eligible suitors to present themselves, allowing the princess to meet potential candidates.”

The room filled with murmurs of agreement, and you could feel the weight of the suggestion settling heavily on your shoulders. A ball would not only thrust your personal life into the public eye but also place immense pressure on you to find a match quickly. The tension in the room was palpable, and you knew this was not just about finding a partner—it was about aligning with another royal family.

Your father nodded in approval. “Indeed, a ball will not only facilitate meeting potential suitors but also demonstrate our kingdom’s prosperity and strength. It’s a tradition that has proven effective in the past.”

You glanced at Satoru, who was standing beside you. His usual composure faltered for a moment as the council’s discussion turned more serious. When the head of the council said, “It is crucial that Princess Y/N marry a royal from a different family. This union will strengthen alliances and secure our kingdom’s position,” Satoru’s face twitched slightly.

A subtle cringe crossed his features, barely noticeable but unmistakable if you were paying close attention. His jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if trying to suppress his discomfort. The mention of marrying into another royal family seemed to hit him harder than he intended to let on.

The head of the council continued, oblivious to Satoru’s reaction, “The ball will ensure we find a suitable candidate who meets these requirements.”

You caught Satoru’s eye, and his expression was a mix of frustration and concern. He clenched his fists briefly before forcing his face back into a neutral mask. The hint of annoyance in his gaze, however, was hard to ignore.

Satoru’s frustration broke through as he spoke up, his voice laced with irritation. “A ball, really? Because nothing says ‘find a husband’ like parading the princess around like a trophy.”

The head of the council looked at Satoru, slightly taken aback. “It is a time-honored tradition, Sir Gojo. It’s the most effective way to ensure Princess Y/N meets candidates who are both capable and of high standing.”

You shot Satoru a sharp look and took a deep breath, trying to mask your unease. “I appreciate the council’s efforts,” you began, “but I must express my concerns. A ball feels like an imposition. I believe it’s important to take the time to thoroughly evaluate potential suitors, rather than making a decision based on a single evening.”

“We understand your concerns, Princess Y/N, but the ball will proceed as planned. It is essential to our kingdom’s future to marry into another royal family to solidify our position and forge necessary alliances.”

You tried to maintain your composure, but the weight of the council’s decision was heavy. “I understand the importance of finding a suitable match,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. “But rushing this process doesn’t seem prudent. There must be another way to approach this without putting so much pressure on me.”

The council members exchanged glances, their murmurs now tinged with a mixture of agreement and dissent. Your father’s gaze softened slightly, but his determination remained firm. “The ball is a necessary step,” he said. “We need to move forward with it. The future of the kingdom depends on it.”

As the council turned to discuss the specifics of the ball—finalizing guest lists, drafting invitations, and other intricate details—you felt the enormity of the upcoming event pressing heavily on you. The realization that your personal life was being turned into a political spectacle was almost overwhelming. It was as if you were being reduced to a mere pawn in a game of alliances and power plays.

Satoru, standing slightly behind you, had retreated into a rare silence. His usual banter and teasing were absent, replaced by a tense stillness that was almost palpable. Though he didn’t speak, his presence provided a form of quiet support. His silence seemed to amplify the weight of the situation, a tacit acknowledgment of the immense pressure you were under.

You could feel his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, his concern evident despite his outward composure. The frustration he had shown earlier was now tempered with a more subdued, but no less intense, support. It was clear that he understood the gravity of the situation, even if he had struggled to express it earlier.

As you and Satoru exited the council chamber, the weight of the meeting pressed heavily on your shoulders. The grand ball was looming, and you were already dreading the upcoming spectacle.

Satoru, noticing your troubled demeanor, couldn't resist a bit of teasing. "So, how does it feel to be the center of attention for all the wrong reasons? I bet you're thrilled to be paraded around like a prize."

You shot him a sharp look, frustration bubbling up. "Oh, really? You think it's funny? I'm not exactly looking forward to being scrutinized by everyone."

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not funny—just the reality. You should embrace it. Think of it as a chance to show off those 'charming' qualities they're so eager to see."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the sting of his words. "Charming qualities, huh? Like my ability to endure endless scrutiny and put on a perfect smile?"

"Exactly," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you. Just try not to let them see how much you're actually dreading it. It'll be more fun for everyone that way."

You couldn't help but let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Well, thanks for the pep talk. I'm sure it'll make the experience so much more bearable."

Satoru's grin widened. "Anytime. And don't worry, I'm sure the men will be falling over themselves to meet you. After all, you're not just a princess—you're the princess who's about to make their lives infinitely more complicated."

You shook your head, unable to stifle a small smile despite the tension. "You really know how to make a difficult situation seem even more unbearable."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? It's a talent. But seriously, if you need someone to help you navigate this circus, you know where to find me."

You nodded, appreciating the rare moment of genuine support behind his teasing exterior. "I'll keep that in mind. And try not to be annoying in the meantime."

Satoru chuckled as you walked side by side down the corridor. "I promise nothing."

As you and Satoru continued down the corridor, the tension from the council meeting lingered, but there was a subtle shift in the air between you. His presence, as infuriating as it could be, was also oddly comforting. You walked in silence for a while, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

Just as you were about to comment on the absurdity of the situation, a young maiden stepped into your path. She was one of the palace servants, her simple dress and demure posture marking her as such, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes as she looked up at Satoru.

"Sir Gojo," she greeted with a soft smile, her voice lilting with a hint of flirtation. "It's been a while since I've seen you around. I was beginning to think you were avoiding us poor maidens."

Satoru stopped in his tracks, and you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor—a playful smirk tugged at his lips, and his usual nonchalance morphed into something a bit more charming. "Avoiding you? Now, why would I do that?" he replied, his voice dropping into a smooth, flirtatious tone that made your eyes involuntarily roll.

The maiden giggled softly, her cheeks flushing as she glanced up at him through her lashes. "Well, with all your duties, I thought maybe you'd forgotten about us."

Satoru leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Forgotten? Not a chance. It's hard to forget someone as lovely as you."

You watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, unsure whether to be irritated by his shameless flirting or impressed by how easily he slipped into this role. Satoru had always been good at charming those around him, but seeing it in action, especially now, was a reminder of how effortless it was for him to play this game.

The maiden blushed deeper, clearly taken by his attention. "You're too kind, Sir Gojo. Perhaps we could catch up later, if your duties allow?"

"Perhaps," Satoru replied, his tone light. "Though I can't promise I'll be able to stay away from you for too long."

You crossed your arms, feeling the need to interrupt before this flirtation dragged on any longer. "Satoru, we don't have all day. Or have you forgotten about the ball preparations already?"

He glanced at you, an eyebrow raised, but the smirk never left his face. "I haven't forgotten. But it wouldn't hurt to take a break every now and then, would it?"

"Not when there's work to be done," you shot back, your voice tinged with impatience.

The maiden, sensing the shift in mood, quickly curtsied to both of you. "Of course, Your Highness. Sir Gojo. I won't keep you any longer." She gave Satoru one last smile before slipping away down the corridor, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Satoru watched her go for a moment before turning back to you, his expression still annoyingly amused. "Jealous, are we?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes again. "Hardly. But if you're going to waste time flirting with every maiden who crosses your path, maybe I should find someone more focused to help me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, Y/N. A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone. Besides, I'm more than capable of multitasking."

"Maybe," you conceded, starting to walk again. "But if you keep this up—."

Satoru fell into step beside you, his usual playful demeanor intact. "Don't worry, Princess. I'm not about to let anyone else steal your attention—not before I've had my fun."

You couldn't help but shake your head at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself. "You really are impossible, Satoru."

"And yet, you keep me around," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I must be doing something right."

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Satoru's presence, frustrating as it could be, was something you'd come to rely on.

But as you continued walking side by side, the playful banter that usually filled the space between you did little to ease the underlying tension. His flirtation with the maid had struck a chord, one that resonated deeper than you'd expected. You stole a glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but he appeared perfectly at ease, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

You quickened your pace slightly, as if the physical distance could help you escape the thoughts swirling in your mind. The jealousy you felt was an unwelcome intruder, one you tried to dismiss as irrational. After all, this was just how Satoru was—charming, flirtatious, and completely at ease with everyone. You were used to it by now, you told yourself. It shouldn't bother you.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of your composure. Satoru, of course, kept pace effortlessly, his lighthearted demeanor seemingly unaffected by your sudden change in mood. It was as if he hadn't noticed the shift at all—or worse, that he had noticed and simply didn't care.

"So," you began, trying to keep your tone neutral, "How many more maidens do you plan on charming today?"

Satoru glanced at you, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Should I be flattered that you're paying such close attention to it now?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm just wondering how you manage to get anything done when you spend half your time flirting."

He let out a soft laugh, tilting his head slightly as if in thought. "You heard her—I haven't been with any maidens for a while, so I'm clearly not spending half my time flirting. But now that you mention it, maybe I should change that. That maiden did seem quite lovely, didn't she?"

Satoru's words struck a nerve, and you felt a flare of irritation rise within you. He said it so casually, as if it didn't matter at all, as if he could just switch his attention from one person to the next without a second thought.

"Oh, really?" you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady but failing to mask the edge of jealousy creeping in. "Well, don't let me stop you. I'm sure the maids would love to have your undivided attention."

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he took in your reaction. "Why, Princess, you almost sound jealous. Could it be that you're not as indifferent as you pretend to be?"

You rolled your eyes, your arms still crossed defensively. "Jealous? Hardly. I just don't see why you have to be such a... a manwhore about it."

You continued,"I just find it amusing how you spread your charm so thin. You must be exhausted, keeping up that act all the time."

His smile widened, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he saw right through your attempt to deflect. "It's not an act, Princess. I'm just naturally charming. Besides, it's harmless fun. You know you're the only one who gets under my skin."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly masked it with a sarcastic retort. "Oh, lucky me. I'm the one who gets the full brunt of your insufferable personality. How special."

Satoru chuckled, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. "You are special. But I wouldn't expect you to admit that."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. "Stop flattering yourself, Satoru. It's unbecoming."

He laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "I'm not flattering myself. Just stating the obvious. But if it bothers you so much, I can tone it down—at least when you're around."

You frowned, hating how he always seemed to turn the tables on you. "It's not that it bothers me. I'm just curious how you manage to stay focused on anything serious when you're so easily sidetracked by a pretty face."

Satoru stopped walking, turning to face you with a serious expression. "Y/N, I've never been distracted when it comes to you. Not once. And you know you're pretty."

He chuckled, adding, "But of course, I get distracted by beauty sometimes. After all, I'm still a man with needs." His eyes lingered on you, hinting that his distraction wasn't just about any beauty—it was something more personal.

His words hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. For a moment, you were caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze, realizing that his distraction might sometimes be directed toward you. The weight of his gaze made you uneasy, as if he had just hinted at something deeper.

Then, just as quickly, he broke the tension with a grin, letting the moment slip away as easily as it had come.

"Anyway," he said lightly, "don't worry about the maids. They're nice and all, but none of them keep me on my toes like you do."

You shook your head.

-

Later that evening, after the council meeting and the unsettling conversation with Satoru, you found yourself alone in your chambers. The grand ball was only a few days away, and the weight of the decisions that lay ahead bore down on you like a leaden cloak. The pressure to secure a politically advantageous marriage, the expectations of your father and the council, and the unresolved tension with Satoru—it all swirled in your mind like a storm that wouldn't abate.

You wandered over to the large window at the far end of your room, pushing the heavy drapes aside. The evening sky was a deep shade of indigo, with the first stars beginning to twinkle faintly. The palace grounds stretched out beneath you, the manicured gardens and courtyards bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Beyond the walls, you could see the distant lights of the town, a reminder of the world that awaited you outside these stone confines.

Leaning against the window frame, you let out a sigh, your breath fogging the glass slightly. The cool night air felt soothing against your skin, a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat of the day's events. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts, but they were as elusive as the wind.

Your gaze drifted over the familiar landscape, your thoughts turning inward. You'd always loved this view—the way the palace seemed to stand as a fortress against the world, offering a sense of security. But tonight, it felt more like a cage. The walls that had once protected you now felt like barriers, keeping you from the freedom you craved.

You thought of the upcoming ball, of the parade of noblemen who would try to win your favor, each one a potential suitor with his own agenda. The idea of marrying into another royal family, of becoming someone's pawn in a political game, filled you with a deep sense of dread. You'd always known that this was your destiny, that as a princess, your life was not entirely your own. But knowing didn't make it any easier to accept.

And then there was Satoru. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, his teasing and flirtation tinged with an undercurrent of something more. You had known each other since childhood, and his presence in your life had always been a constant. But lately, things had shifted between you, the lines between friendship and something more blurring in ways that left you feeling off-balance.

The thought of Satoru made your chest tighten, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. He was infuriating, insufferable even, but there was no denying the connection you shared. The way he could make you laugh, even when you wanted to strangle him, the way he seemed to understand you in a way no one else did—it was all so complicated. And the jealousy you'd felt earlier, seeing him flirt so easily with the maid, had caught you off guard, forcing you to confront feelings you'd been trying to ignore.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This was no time for distractions. You had to focus on what lay ahead, on the decisions that would shape not only your future but the future of the kingdom. Yet, as you stood there, looking out at the world beyond the palace walls, you couldn't help but wish for a different life—one where you had the freedom to choose your own path, to follow your heart instead of your duty.

But that was a fantasy, one that had no place in the reality you faced. With a resigned sigh, you turned away from the window, the cool air brushing against your skin like a fleeting promise of the freedom you could never truly have.

Just as you turned away from the window, lost in your thoughts, the door to your chambers creaked open. You glanced up, startled, to see Satoru stepping inside without so much as a knock. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a more serious expression that caught you off guard.

"Satoru," you began, but he raised a hand to stop you, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

"You were thinking too hard, I could hear you from my room" he said, his tone half-joking, half-concerned as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

You gave him a tired look, your earlier frustration with him simmering just beneath the surface. "Do you ever knock?"

He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I figured you could use the company."

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the window, though you were acutely aware of his presence just a few steps away. "I'm not in the mood for your teasing tonight, Satoru."

For a moment, he said nothing, and you almost thought he'd left. But then you heard his footsteps, soft on the thick carpet, as he moved closer. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious than you were used to from him.

"Alright, no more jokes," he said. "You seem to be carrying a lot. What's going on?" His unexpected sincerity made you glance at him. He stood beside you, looking out at the same view you had been absorbed in moments before.

"Why are you here, Satoru?" you asked quietly, your exhaustion evident in your voice.

He didn't answer immediately, his blue eyes scanning the emerging stars. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted, his tone unusually candid. "Maybe because I care."

You gave a tired chuckle, the edge of your frustration softening. "Wow, Gojo Satoru cares? That's new."

He looked at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I might surprise you sometimes."

You shook your head, a wry smile forming on your lips despite yourself. "Is this one of those rare moments?"

"Maybe," he replied with a playful glint in his eye. "Or maybe I just know when someone I care about is struggling."

You felt a flicker of warmth at his words, but you quickly suppressed it, reminding yourself that this was Satoru—the same infuriating man who'd spent the day flirting with maids and poking fun at you.

"You don't have to worry about me," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," he replied, his gaze finally shifting from the window to you. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop caring or offering support. Sometimes, it's the least I can do."

You studied his face, trying to reconcile this unexpected display of concern with the Satoru you were used to. The genuine look in his eyes was at odds with his usual playful demeanor, and it made you feel vulnerable.

"This is all just... politics," you said, trying to sound dismissive. "I'll go to the ball, meet the suitors, and do what's expected of me. It's what I've been trained for, after all."

Satoru's expression darkened slightly, and you noticed his hands clenching at his sides. "And that's it? You're just going to do what they tell you, marry some royal from another family because it's what's 'expected'?"

The edge in his voice surprised you, but you refused to let it sway you. "That's what being a princess is, Satoru. It's about duty, about sacrifice."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the small space between you. "And what about what you want? What about your happiness?"

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "What I want doesn't matter," you said, more harshly than you intended. "This isn't about me."

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then Satoru sighed,"You're always doing this," he muttered, half to himself.

"Doing what?" you demanded, crossing your arms defensively.

Satoru's frustration was palpable as he ran a hand through his hair. "You put everyone else first, always sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of duty."

His words hit harder than you expected. "What do you know about it, Satoru?" you retorted. "You're not the one expected to marry for political gain. You don't have to choose between what's right for the kingdom and what's right for yourself."

Satoru's gaze was intense, his voice low but steady. "Maybe I don't, but I know you're more than just a pawn in this game. You deserve to have a say in your own life."

You shook your head, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. "I've accepted my role. It's my responsibility."

Satoru stepped even closer, his voice softening. "But does that mean you have to resign yourself to a future you don't want? I know you feel trapped, but you can still fight for what you want."

For a moment, the room was heavy with silence, the tension thickening the air. You looked away,"It's not that simple," you said, your voice trembling. "There are consequences I can't ignore."

Satoru's eyes were soft with concern. "What consequences?"

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts turning to the day's events. "You saw what happened today when I defied my father and went into the forest instead of attending the council meeting. He was furious. I need to do better, follow the rules."

You turned to him, feeling a surge of frustration.

"You even told me to stop being reckless, saying, 'One day your luck will run out and no one will be there to save you.' Remember? So why are you suddenly against me acting like a princess? What changed?"

Satoru's expression softened, his gaze searching yours. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated, the weight of his own words clearly affecting him.

He looked at you. "Just please be yourself," he said earnestly. "I don't mind if you're reckless or if you make mistakes. I just don't want to see you lose who you are trying to fit into a mold that's not you."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "It's not that simple, Satoru."

He shook his head gently. "I know it's not easy, but you're stronger than you think. And whatever happens, I'll be here for you."

The sincerity in his voice was comforting, and you allowed yourself a moment of respite from your worries. "Thank you, Satoru. I appreciate it."

He gave a playful shrug, the familiar smirk returning. "Don't mention it. Besides, it's not every day I get to be the serious one. I'm kind of enjoying it."

A genuine laugh escaped you, the tension easing just a bit. "Don't get used to it."

"Whatever you say, Princess," he said, his voice light again, though you could see the shadow in his eyes. "Just remember, I'll be there at that ball. And I'll be watching."

You forced a smile in return, though it didn't reach your eyes. "Good. Maybe you can keep me entertained while I'm paraded around."

He laughed, the sound almost normal, but as he turned to leave, you couldn't shake the feeling that something important had just been left unsaid.

As the door closed behind him, you were left alone once more, staring at the spot where he'd stood, your thoughts more tangled than ever.

Whatever you were feeling, it didn't matter. Satoru was your childhood friend, someone who had always been there, someone you could rely on. He was insufferable, always flirting and teasing, but that was just who he was. There was nothing more to it, nothing more to analyze.

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

banner art belongs to _3aem

[luvt0kki]

003 | on this ship

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

🎧 : NFWMB - Hozier

previous | 003 | next

pairings: ot8 x reader ( yungi x reader)

w.c : 7.5k ( this one’s long)

cw: mature, lots of world building in this chapter I’m sorry,minors do not interact, nsfw, mentions of assassination, hinted violence, slow burn ( for Wooyoung), polyamory, smut ahead , dom!Mingi and Yunho for this chapter, threesome, bath/shower seggs, oral, size kink, eavesdropping, Mingi’s nickname for reader is baby, masturbation, Wooyoung blue balls again, Yeosang is very sweet here, some humor ahead, San is a cutie as always, hongjoong is unreadable as ever, Wooyoung thinks he’s connected the dots but he hasnt connected sht

REMINDER : my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n : thank you so much for all the support! Here is part 3! There’s uhhhh smut…but then a lot of world building and interactions between the crew that will kind of show just how close they are with y/n. It’s a bit long 😭 I’m sorry but hehe chapter 4 is already in the works! Don’t forget to fangirl and scream in my askbox about what you think of this Chapter 💕

The warm water embraced you in much-needed comfort and it took away the fatigue you felt. Your mind was still hazy and you just stared at the rippling surface, the bubbles foaming up in white pearlescent colors. The smell of sweet watermelon and coconut filled your senses and you moaned when the fingers massaging your scalp found the pressure points that made you melt forward, leaning your torso onto your thighs.

“If you keep moaning like that, I’ll get hard again.” Mingi’s deep voice echoed in the bathroom, the big man sat across you, massaging your calves under the water while Yunho’s fingers continued to shampoo your hair and massage your scalp.

“Mingi, if we go again, I won’t be able to walk for two days,” you pouted, feeling the soapy foam of the shampoo run down your back.

“And that’s a bad thing, how?” He raised a groomed brow.

You looked at him. His pink hair was a deeper shade of the color and it was pointing in different directions while also flat on his head from being wet. He still looked so handsome and his eyes were doing that thing, the thing where they were soft and round, almost childlike. “I have things to do, Mingi. I can’t be bedridden all because of your libido.”

“Baby, it would help me if we fucked more. It was torture to be away from you for so long. The videos and pictures, as much as I love them, can’t compare to the real thing.”

“And how is fucking more helping your libido?”

“It might return to baseline. Normal Mingi libido.”

He had said that with such a serious face, it was kind of cute. Okay, it was cute. Dumb but cute.

“You said ‘might’. You’re not even sure!” You splashed some water onto his face, Yunho’s fingers now massaging your lower scalp close to the pressure points of your neck. “Oh.”

“Then we have to find out!” Mingi turned his head to the side, avoiding your cute yet innocent expression from the way you moaned and relaxed from Yunho’s touch.

“I can’t believe you referred to your sex drive as Mingi libido.” Yunho chuckled from behind you and finished shampooing and rinsing your hair. “You sore, sweetheart?” He kissed the nape of your neck.

“Not as much as I thought,” you leaned your head back, perfectly fitting on Yunho’s shoulder. “But if I go another two rounds with Mingi, I might not be able to walk tomorrow. And, if I go one more time with both of you, you two are the ones who are going to have to tell Hongjoong why I refuse to go to the upper deck.”

Yunho wrapped his arms around and kissed your temple.

Mingi relaxed and smiled softly at the sight. You were back home, where you belong. Where you were safest. Nothing and no one could hurt you here, and if anyone ever tried ( not that anyone could), they wouldn’t leave alive.

Yunho pressed his lips close to your ear to whisper. “So…we can go again?”

“Oh my god.”

“You did say you can go one more time with me and Yunho,” Mingi smirked, scooting closer.

It’s actually amazing how two of the tallest of your lovers could fit in the tub with you. Sure the bathtub was big but to fit the three of you? Jongho wouldn’t believe it if you told him.

“But we’ll have to bathe again…” you huffed, Yunho leaving hot kisses along your neck, sucking and nibbling at your sensitive spot. It was hard to say no. “Your bed will get really wet if we go back right now.” You whined, Yunho’s pretty slender fingers cupping your breasts and pinching at your nipples.

“We don’t have to go back to my room.” Mingi settled himself between your legs, hooking your right leg over his shoulder and kissing your inner thigh. “We can fuck here.”

“I thought we finally crossed off shower sex on your bucket list?” You threaded your fingers through Yunho’s hair as he continued to kiss and fondle you.

“Trust me, baby, I know,” Mingi replied, reaching for the nozzle to drain the tub.

“It’s on my bucket list.” Yunho nipped at your ear. “Mingi, put her other leg over the edge of the tub.”

Mingi does as he says and he bit his lip at the sight of your pussy again. His cock twitched when Yunho’s right hand left your breast to slide down to massage your clit.

“Yunho…” you sighed, hips twitching at the feeling, not sure if you were moving away from his touch or if you wanted more.

The lower the water got, the more you could see of Mingi. The bubbles and foam stuck to your skin and when the cool air began to hit your skin that had been submerged in warm water, you shivered.

“We’ll be gentle,” Yunho told you, biting your neck. “But usually you’ll always beg for us to go harder.” He teased, dipping two fingers into your entrance, not plunging further which made you whine as he spread your slick all over your folds.

“And I thought you were being so sweet shampooing my hair and all. You’re just as mean.” You bit back, your resolve crumbling when he finally slipped his fingers into your sore yet welcoming, velvety walls. “F-fuck. Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Mingi watched Yunho’s fingers slip in and out of your heat.

“We go another round but please let’s go to my room. The bathtub isn’t really the most comfortable place for the three of us.” You said through gritted teeth, squeezing Yunho’s thighs as he curled his fingers inside you. “And last time we fucked here, Mingi, you slipped and bruised your elbow.”

“Baby, that’s between us.” He groaned, keeping your legs from closing watching your cunt suck Yunho’s fingers in and soak them in your slick.

“I had a feeling it wasn’t because you elbowed someone.” Yunho tutted before focusing on the movements of his fingers, humming when he felt your walls squeeze him. “Even after taking Mingi and I, you’re still so tight.”

“Yuyu…” you whimpered the nickname you endearingly called him, tugging at his hair as you bucked your hips into his palm.

“Always so wet and ready for us, aren’t you?” He curled his fingers faster, his long digits reaching you deeper than your fingers could ever do. His palm made contact with your clit as he moved which made your nails dig into his thighs.

“She’s our pretty girl.” Mingi cooed, scooting closer and keeping your legs apart then lifted you a little so you were on his lap and squeezed between him and Yunho without disrupting his best friend’s actions. “Fuck, do you hear how wet you are?”

You could but you didn’t have time to be embarrassed about it when Mingi took one of your breasts into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around your sensitive peak and sucking which earned him a very cute squeak from you.

“Yeah…we’re not going to make it to the bedroom, sweetheart,” Yunho growled in your ear, not slowing down the pumping of his fingers and knowing that you were gonna cum soon. They knew your body well and they pride themselves in being lovers that never disappointed you. “Once, I make you cum. Mingi’s gonna clean up the sweet mess you made…” His lower register made you squeeze around his fingers again, knowing full well the effect that tone had on you. “Then I’m gonna fuck your perfect cunt.”

You felt your lower abs tighten and your legs began to tense, shaking around Mingi’s torso who suckled and massaged your breasts. Your legs wanted to close so badly as your orgasm was approaching fast and it didn’t help that Yunho was whispering filthy things in your ear in that stupid perfect deep register of his.

“Yunho…please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for. “Please.”

“This time, sweetheart…,” He paused a beat to kiss the spot beneath your ear before continuing. “I won’t cum on your pretty tits. I’ll fill you up nice and good like Mingi did.”

The idea had you cumming hard, your lips parting in a silent scream as your walls spasmed around his fingers.

“Good girl.” He cooed, kissing your temple as your body shook from the pleasure, slowing down his fingers and taking them out of your pulsing heat, only to to bring his digits to his mouth to have a taste of your sweet essence.

Without another word, Mingi halted his attack on your breasts and Yunho hooked his hands beneath your knees to open you up for the pink-haired man. He dipped low and you cried out when he started to kitten lick your sensitive pussy.

“Mingi! Too much! W-wait, please.” You whimpered, trying to fight against Yunho’s hold who kept your legs wide open so Mingi could lap up your juices.

“Tastes so good, baby.” He moaned against your core, the obscene slurping making heat explode in your cheeks. He was licking you up with that stupidly heavenly tongue of his like a man starved.

Mingi kissed your clit before wrapping his plump lips around the sensitive bud and making you squirm.

“Hear that? Mingi said you taste so good.” Yunho unlike Mingi right now, who was drunk on your pussy, was gentle and sweet again.The two of them balanced each other out in ways you could never really explain.

Knowing he won’t ever get enough of you, Mingi lapped your juices up one last time before sitting up and adoring the way you looked so fucked out. Yunho hadn’t even stuffed you with his cock yet and you were this buzzed out already.

“Here, baby.”

“Huh?” You blinked at him and before you could react, his lips were on yours and your surprised gasp let him slip his tongue inside.

“Mmhf.” Your head was spinning. The salty yet sweet taste of yourself on his tongue was sinfully erotic and his eagerness to kiss you made you kiss him back. Mingi sucked on your bottom lip before parting from you, his forehead resting on yours as you two caught your breaths.

“So?” Yunho slowly let your legs down, letting in fall limp around Mingi’s body. “How do you taste?”

“G-good.” You panted, releasing your death grip on Yunho’s thighs, the way your nails dug into them left crescent marks on his skin.

“Awe, is our pretty girl tired? Too tired to take my cock?”

“N-no.” Your body felt light and heavy at the same time but even after cumming around his fingers and Mingi overstimulating you. Your walls craved for more. It needed more than just his fingers. “Want you. Please.”

With Yunho, you never ever had to ask twice.

And…he was right earlier. The three of you couldn’t make it to the bedroom. So here you all were, way past the midnight hour with you sandwiched between the two men, their hips moving in tandem with one another as they stuffed you full. Your arms hung loosely over Yunho’s shoulders as Mingi’s big strong arms hoisted you up. Yunho was rutting up into your leaking cunt, his lengthy cock hitting your g-spot easily while Mingi fucked your other tight hole, the gunner praising you for taking his fat cock after he had prepped you for him.

There was nothing coherent in your head. All you could think about was how their cocks were rubbing your insides and how good they felt inside of you. It was so much.

“S-so full.” You moaned, head falling back onto Mingi’s shoulder as they bounced you on their cocks, the wet smacking sounds echoing in the shared shower room.

“You’re taking us so well, sweetheart.” Yunho praised, groaning when your walls began to grip him tighter and feeling Mingi’s thick cock fill you up on the other end. “I’m close. Fuck.”

“Y-yeah. Me too.” Mingi whined from behind you, his strong hips smacking against your ass. “Let Yunho fill you up, baby. I want you so full of his cum you’re leaking for days.”

Mingi’s words turned Yunho on even more, making him chase his release, his hips digging deeper into you.

“P-please, please, please.” That’s all you could say as your body buzzed and craved for them as if you could never be satiated. You felt like you were going insane with how good they felt inside of you.

Their thrusts in perfect rhythm with each other and how perfectly shaped Yunho’s cock was to hit your g-spot effortlessly, had you coming undone so easily. You came hard, mind going completely blank as your orgasm crashed over you. Every fiber of your being was electrified and when you came to it, you could feel that soothing familiar warmth filling your belly.

The two men panted as they finished inside your body that welcomed them. Months of pent-up sexual frustration finally being satiated and emptied inside of you.

“I missed you, sweetheart.” Yunho sighed into your neck, completely emptying every last drop of his release into you, marking you in his own way. “We all did. I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself.”

“I-it’s okay.” You murmured, limp in Mingi’s and Yunho’s hold. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you all for so long.”

You winced when Mingi slowly slipped his cock from your ass, his cum leaking out your abused hole and when Yunho did the same, a mess of white fell onto the bathroom floor but Yunho was quick to carry you bridal style before your limbs could touch the floor.

“You two…I swear…” you murmured, letting the two take care of you just like clockwork. Like all the times before.

They were gentle as they cleaned you up, this time under the rain of water from one of the shower stalls. Mingi helped wrap you into a fuzzy soft grey towel before Yunho handed you over to him so he could dry himself before they retreated to your bedroom since Mingi’s bed was sheetless after the mess the three of you made.

“So…” Yunho was the first to speak when you three were snuggled under the comforter of your bed, the two of them on either side of you to keep you warm. “Is it back to baseline?”

You frowned, blinking sleepily at his handsome face while Mingi cuddled you from behind.

“Yeah…normal Mingi libido.”

Not having the energy to retort, you only shook your head and smiled. You were tired but you were happy and safe in their arms. Yunho’s hand on your hip lazily caressed you while Mingi had his arm draped over your waist and he pressed his naked torso on your back, preferring your body warmth over anything else to keep him warm and fall asleep to.

“Hongjoong is going to kill us,” Mingi muttered, his own eyes unable to remain open any longer.

“Kill us? No.” Yunho yawned, noticing how you had fallen asleep already with such a peaceful look on your pretty face. “But he’ll definitely give us an earful…or a sex ban.”

The docks at the outskirts of Xileon were quiet as dawn began to break. It was almost unbelievable that the planet with its infamous capital called the Night City actually experienced daylight. The parties have to end somehow and they go back to their day lives only to repeat and indulge in what they could only do in the dark, and in Night City, no night was ever the same.

And yet as the sun rose and began to light up the black sky, hints of dark navy and light blue faded in as the morning came and Wooyoung admired the view from the window of the dining kitchen area of the mid-deck. The scent of coffee that he had begun to brew right after he woke wafted through the air. It’s been a while since he’s seen a morning sky.

Xileon’s sky could not compare to Jupiter’s. It was prettier and glowed with the aurora that floated in the dark starry sky every night.

“You’re up early.” Seonghwa entered the kitchen, and his black silk robe that matched his loungewear flowed elegantly with his movements.

“Well, someone’s got to cook for you all.” Wooyoung shrugged moving from the dining area with the big window that looked out the sky to the kitchen. “I’m never letting Yunho in my kitchen again.”

“He made a delicious dinner that time.” Seonghwa chuckled, defending the tall mechanic and medic of their crew.

“But the mess he left?” Wooyoung shook his head, opening the fridge and grabbing the ingredients he might need to start breakfast. “It’s like a hurricane destroyed the place. Anyways, what does Y/N like to have for breakfast?”

Seonghwa paused pouring himself a cup of coffee momentarily, not expecting that question from Wooyoung this morning. His lips curved into a small pleased smile.

“She likes sweet things. French toast with berries if we have them or pancakes. She’s not a picky eater but those are just some of her favorites.”

Wooyoung bit his lip as he went through the cupboards and the pantry.

“So what are we having for breakfast?” Seonghwa asked, taking his seat at the dining table by the window, appreciating the view.

Tossing the bag of flour onto the kitchen counter, Wooyoung grabbed a bowl from the cupboards before going to the fridge and deciding that the frozen berries would make do.

“Pancakes.”

Seonghwa smiled at his response, not needing to say anything more and letting the former heir of a duke to his work while he sipped his coffee and enjoyed the calm morning and the view of the rising sun.

“I smell coffee.” The cheery voice announced the very familiar sunshine like presence.

“Just pour yourself a cup and don’t touch anything.” Wooyoung narrowed his eyes in jest at Yunho who walked in with a bounce in his step.

“Hey, I made a mess one time.”

“And it will be the last time.”

Yunho only smiled and got himself coffee before joining Seonghwa at the unset table. Wooyoung focused on cooking and as the sun rose higher and higher, the members were arriving in the dining area one by one.

Jongho entered with Hongjoong, the two talking about something in the magazine their youngest was holding. Probably another thing Jongho added to his wishlist for upgrades to the ship.

Yeosang helped set the table before joining the lighthearted conversation with the others.

Mingi was the last to enter groaning about how bright the sunlight was as he was slipping a black shirt over his torso.

“Y/N?” San asked, quietly taking note of the reddish love bites on Mingi’s neck and before the gunner’s shirt covered his body, they all got a glimpse of the long pink lines on his back.

“I didn’t want to wake her so I’ll get her breakfast and go back.” He went to the fridge and gulped down some milk from the carton.

“Use a glass, you heathen.” Wooyoung clicked his tongue and focused on serving up the pancakes on a big plate.

“Oh, you made pancakes. Nice timing. She loves those.” Mingi’s eyes stared at the fresh from the pan confectionary and took his and your plates to get a serving for you both. “Where’s the tray?” He rummaged through the kitchen, a vein popping on Wooyoung’s forehead at the clang and clatter of items in HIS kitchen.

“Get her some orange juice for the vitamin C,” Yunho told Mingi, opening the Xileon newspaper.

“Got it.” Mingi did as he said, getting a glass and pouring the orange juice in it.

Wooyoung was glad he and the pink haired man were not making eye contact, and that there was no weird vibe from Mingi’s end. He must admit, Mingi was a caring boyfriend if he was going out of his way to bring you breakfast in bed. Breakfast that he made.

“We’ll be departing Xileon by noon so if any of you need to get things, get it done before then,” Hongjoong informed the crew. “And get back to Yeosang so he can take note of the expenses.”

Mingi was focused as he crossed the dining area with the tray in his hands, steadying his hands.

“Relay the info to Y/N,” Hongjoong added.

“Mhm.” Mingi hummed in response.

“Oh, and Mingi…”

“Yeah?”

Hongjoong without looking at Mingi and opening the book he has been reading the past month, and sounding like a father scolding his son, spoke.

“Make sure to close the door next time.”

Mingi groaned as the rest of the crew cackled and laughed at his embarrassment, and he quickly vacated the room. He wasn’t going to let their teasing ruin his very good morning.

Wooyoung sat with the rest once the big plate of pancakes for everyone with the side of maple syrup and frozen berries were on the table, ready to be eaten. He sat in front of Yunho who had his ever-present soft puppy smile on his face, which was very deceiving.

“I finished up the repairs on Mingi’s gun last night by the way,” Yunho told him, dousing the pancakes on his plate with a lot of maple syrup. “It still is a mystery to me how whatever weapons he borrows or uses come back broken or in need of repairs.”

“He’s a big guy and a clumsy person,” Yeosang commented.

“But he never misses his shots though.” San added.

Wooyoung tuned them out as he thought about how so far, everything was okay. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be when he saw Mingi and maybe if he avoided you, his infatuation will fade away. It won’t be forever but just until he doesn’t think about burying his face in your pussy or having you bounce on his cock—

“You okay?” Yeosang asked when they doing the dishes together in the kitchen, the rest of the crew going off to do their individual schedules.

“Um, why wouldn’t I be?” Woo replied, washing and soaping the dishes while Yeosang rinsed and dried them.

“Should I point out the obvious?”

Yeosang was met with silence and he decided to go on.

“You’re kind of snappy but not too snappy. You’re nice enough because you just made pancakes out of the blue when I was sure you were going to make the usual eggs and bacon.” He was speaking his facts fast, something he got from Wooyoung who did the same when he wanted to prove his point. “Someone probably told you that Y/N likes sweet things which I’m guessing was Seonghwa since after you, he’s the second to wake up early among us. You made the pancakes for—“

“Ah! Okay, stop! I should’ve never taken you under my wing. It’s biting me back in the ass.” He scrubbed the plates with the sponge harder. “What’s your point anyways?”

Yeosang observed his best friend. His ears were slightly red although he had an annoyed pout on his face. He wondered how safe he needed to play it …

“You’re trying to impress her.”

“I made her one of her favorite dishes. I do that for you guys from time to time too…” Wooyoung trailed off, trying to stop himself from confiding with his childhood best friend. Which was hard. Back then, they told each other everything and when they reunited, it’s like nothing changed. “Maybe…I am trying to impress her. She is a member of our crew, is she not? I’m new.”

He opened up to Yeosang who smiled triumphantly to himself.

“Plus, I didn’t really make a good impression on her…when I danced with her, we got really…uh yeah…and when I didn’t know you guys knew her, I was whipping out bill after bill in that room.” Then the image of you tugging that purple lace panties to the side flashed before his eyes again.

“So you feel bad for playing into Y/N’s stripper cover? We played along because we couldn’t compromise her and risk putting her in danger. You’re not at any fault, Woo.“

He did have a point but speaking of faults, Wooyoung did have one and he didn’t want Yeosang to know that he saw you and Mingi then proceeded to jack off in his room to the sound of you both.

“I guess.”

“And if you’re a little attracted to her it’s fine,” Yeosang added which made his friend’s eyes widen.

“W-what?”

“We all are. She’s an attractive woman and when you get to know her, you’ll see that she’s lovely and sweet. She cares for all of us and she will care for you too, if you’ll let her.”

Yeosang hoped that that was enough to hint at the relationship they all had with you and that Wooyoung’s brain could put two and two together.

“Can I ask you something about her?” Wooyoung asked, handing Yeosang the last rinsed dish.

“Shoot.”

“San…” Wooyoung began, unsure of how to tread the subject. He wasn’t sure if he was analyzing it too much and what he assumed could be completely wrong. “San and Y/N knew each other before she joined the crew—

“If you want to ask about their past, I think it’s better you ask her or Sannie…or both. It’s their story to tell not mine.” Yeosang cut him off with a gentle smile, something that was natural to him despite having been a Prince.

“I was meaning to ask San about that but what I’m asking you is different.” He wiped his hands on his navy apron before taking it off and folding it neatly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I just couldn’t help but notice the way San looks at her.” Actually all of them but it was San or the Captain’s gaze towards you that really stood out to him.

“Like she’s the universe?” Yeosang tilted his head to the side.

“Like…he’s in love with her.”

Yeosang thought of how to respond to that and his pause did not go unnoticed by Wooyoung so when his best friend finally reacted to what he said, he knew that his little speculation hit a spot.

“Ah…” Yeosang trailed off awkwardly, his eyes shifting away and anywhere from him.

He knew what that meant. Yeosang was never good at hiding secrets or denying things because after knowing him since they were children, he knew that little action his eyes did when he was meant to hide something.

“So he is in love with her?” Wooyoung pressed as they headed to the lounge together.

“They’re very close friends.” Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck. It really wasn’t his place to tell.

But his evading of questions only caused Wooyoung to create conspiracy theories that were far yet close to the truth.

“Oh, hey, guys!”

Speak of the devil.

San with his dark cropped hair and oversized black fluffy sweater jogged towards them. “You guys wanna come with me when I head out? I just came back from Y/N’s room and she asked me to get some stuff for her.”

“Uh…” Yeosang wasn’t sure if that was a good day but then he felt Wooyoung’s hands on his shoulders.

“Sure! The more the merrier right?” Wooyoung grinned at the former assassin.

But even though they did head out and got what each of them needed, Wooyoung did not get the answers he expected to get from San. He got nothing. Nada. Zilch. It didn’t help that Yeosang just smiled at him whenever he questioned San’s behavior which was cheerful. He had a swing in his step as they shopped and when he saw something, be it candy or apparel and accessories you might like, he’d turn to Yeosang and say ‘This would be pretty on Y/N’ or ‘Y/N likes this color’.

So as days passed and they safely departed Xileon, Wooyoung concluded that San was in love with you and that he didn’t act on it and disguised his love with the long friendship you guys had as merely platonic.

Wooyoung patted himself on the back for connecting the dots.

Every longing stare he gave you made him pity San. Even though you smiled back at him with such warmth, Wooyoung concluded with such surety that his one-sided love must hurt him deeply but he settled for being on the sidelines. To love you from afar while Mingi loved you and made you smile.

Yeah. Wooyoung was 100 percent sure this was the tension he was feeling from both of you. Now, next on his suspect list was Hongjoong.

“So pieces of the Cromer have been scattered across the galaxy, I’ve managed to find one but the others may have already fallen in the hands of other travelers or the Black Market,” you spoke from where you stood next to Yunho, tapping on the hologram of information and images you uploaded to the Destiny’s server. You swiped away the bracket of Jupiter, canceling it out from where the other pieces could be. “Luckily, I found three of the four possible locations.”

“Three?” Seonghwa’s jaw dropped a little, the shock in his eyes hardening to concern. It was too good to be true…and what did you go through to get all this info?

“That’s my girl.” Hongjoong grinned, the information you were briefing them with made him swell with pride.

Wooyoung glanced at Mingi for his reaction when the Captain called you his…but the gunner was completely focused on your presentation.

“It’s kinda scary how you were able to get all this.” Jongho shook his head quickly, taken aback by your ability to gather information that would’ve taken them years to find.

“Find the right lead and it’ll lead you to more.” You responded with a small smile.

“No hope for the fourth location?” Hongjoong urged you to continue.

“That’s what’s tricky…since the entire civilization of that location is artificial and they don’t orbit a system…”

“Don’t tell me—,” Jongho’s cute round eyes widened further.

“It’s in KWANGYA, most likely N-City.” You enlarged the holographic image of the artificial never stagnant artificial planet. “It’s hard to pinpoint where they might be right now in the galaxy…So I think it’s best we focus on the other locations.”

They were left speechless. This was crucial information to their Captain but while they were shocked and processing what you gathered, Hongjoong’s grin never left his face. It was rather unsettling that expression of his.

“Ondion, Gevora and…Sector 1.” You listed them down and Yeosang moved from where he stood to stand next to you so that he could toggle the map and begin calculations to the next destination.

“What would it be doing in Sector 1?” San frowned deeply.

“I don’t know…but I’m not looking forward to going there.” You fiddled with your fingers behind you, hiding the extent of your distaste for the planet.

“You won’t have to come off the ship when we get there’,” Hongjoong interjected. “I know it may be hard for you but you can stay here with San while the rest of us look for the missing piece:”

“N-no I’ll be fine. Do you really think I’ll let you all on that planet without me? It’s dangerous. There’s a reason it doesn’t have a proper name.”

“What’s Sector 1?” Wooyoung asked. He’s never ever heard of that place but it clearly hit a nerve with you.

“One of the layers of hell.” You uttered with such venom, your eyes void of the warmth and gentleness they had when you looked at any of them.

“We’ll be going to Gevora first,” Yeosang’s voice brought you out of that dark growing cloud before it churned into a hurricane. The former Prince discreetly without alarming anyone stepped closer to you. His gentle fingers brushed over your knuckles. Your hands had clutched into fists behind your back with nails digging into your palms. “I’ll set the coordinates by your command, Captain.” He slipped his hand in yours and all Wooyoung could see was how that empty and dark look in your eyes disappeared.

“You may do so, Yeo.” He raised his hand to gesture his permission.

Hongjoong got up from where he had been sitting and glanced at you. “We’ll be heading to Gevora. Since our hyperdrive is still currently being fixed, the journey will take approximately…” he looked at Yeosang who had a neutral expression.

“A month.” The crew's navigator replied to their Captain.

“Make any needed preparations for then. Rest up and when we’re close, we’ll have another meeting before we land.”

Hongjoong left the bridge and disappeared into his office. San who was next to Wooyoung made movement to go to you, only for Mingi to reach you first.

“You okay, baby?” He kissed your temple.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” With Yeosang’s comforting touch and Mingi’s concern, it was hard to entertain any horrible thought about Sector 1. “I just really hate that place.”

San remained by Wooyoung’s side.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and coddle our pretty princess,” Jongho went up to you and embraced you briefly. “I have to fix the hyperdrive system.”

“Awe, don’t work too hard, Jongho. I’ll come see you to make sure you take a break.” You told the mechanic. “Anyways, don’t worry too much about me. I’m going to go to my room and start up on that book Hwa gave me.”

Mingi followed right after you as everyone dispersed, off to do their own agendas.

“You okay?” Wooyoung asked San on their way to the gym.

“That’s out of the blue. Yeah, I’m okay.” He smiled softly. “Was just worried about Y/N. That’s all.”

“Sector 1 seemed to be a touchy topic.”

“Well because it is,” San confirmed and Wooyoung was suddenly in full alert. “It’s where we were trained.”

From what San had opened up to him about his past, Wooyoung felt his stomach drop. “You sure you’re okay?”

San smiled warmly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be? In fact, I’m really happy. Y/N’s back where she belongs. Safe with us. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Wooyoung bit his tongue and fought the urge to say ‘You sure about that?’. Successfully he did so.

“Anyways for today’s, sparring session, I’m going to train you to improve your hand-to-hand combat.” San changed the subject quickly. “You’re good with a sword and not too bad with a gun but your unarmed combat needs improvement.”

“Ugh…you’re going to count how many times I fall on my ass again, aren’t you?” Wooyoung groaned.

“Of course I am.” San chuckled, his eyes smiling with mischief. “If you think hand-to-hand combat with me is difficult, try Y/N. Before you can even pull a punch, you’ll be kissing the ground.”

“What are you doing up?” Your voice broke the silence in the dark kitchen, the only light coming from the open refrigerator.

Wooyoung swore in his head as he felt his heart race.

“I- I could ask you the same.” He took a deep breath before turning around, feeling his throat dry at the sight of your bare legs. You were wearing a black thin sweater that was far too big on you and he definitely was sure that he saw San wear it…Do you borrow their clothing as a comfort thing? Would you want any of his? He needed to do laundry.

He averted his eyes immediately…his throat drying up as he felt guilt shiver up his spine after what he had done again tonight. After what you and Mingi did again.

“Water…and maybe a midnight snack.” You replied, walking over to the fridge, bare feet on the cold floor as you stood next to Wooyoung. “You?”

“Midnight snack.”

“Ooo, so what does Jung Wooyoung have for a midnight snack?” Your tone was friendly and inviting, hoping that it’d calm whatever reason it was that made Wooyoung seemed nervous.

“Well, I made a batch of strawberries dipped in chocolate when we left Xileon. It’s probably set by now.” He opened the chiller to see the tray of dessert he made, feeling proud to see how pretty the dusted pink sugar glitter settled with the chocolate.

He took the tray out and set it on the kitchen counter, your eyes on the pretty strawberries lined up in organized rows.

“Here have one,” he pinched the leaf part and held it your way for you to take.

Not thinking much of it, you took a couple of steps forward and took a bite, unaware of how your lips brushing his fingertips made Wooyoung gulp.

“Mhm.” You closed your eyes, moaning at the sweet burst of the strawberry with chocolate in your mouth. For you, it may have been a brief moment but for Wooyoung, it was as if time slowed down and your lips wrapped around the lucky strawberry made him think of how pretty your lips would be wrapped around his—

“Oh my god, that’s delicious.” You squeaked happily, doing this little cute shimmy at how much you liked the dessert he made.

“U-Uh yeah. Thanks.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and played it cool.

“So how does a former noble know how to make such treats?” You wondered out loud, flashing him a smile that made his heart flutter. “Let alone cook. Yeosang told me you’re the one making the meals around here now.” You picked up another piece of strawberry. “I really loved the pancakes on my first day back, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m glad you loved them. And to answer your question, I hung around the kitchens a lot as a kid.”

“And your father let you do that?” You tilted your head, leaning against the counter.

“No, I did what any good kid being told not to do something do.” He picked up a strawberry and took a bite, missing the way your eyes flashed to lips and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he ate. “I didn’t listen.”

There was a beat of silence as you admired his handsome features. He was really handsome. Was being handsome part of the requirements of being in this crew or something?

“I heard you trained with Sannie today,” you looked him up and down, noticing the light bruise on his arm. Your brows knitted as your lips pursed at the sight and reached out to brush your fingers on the skin lightly. “You’re not that badly bruised. Which means you must be better than the average trained fighter.”

Wooyoung felt a rush of electricity wash over him with your light touch and your movement made the wide boat neckline of the sweater slip your left shoulder, showcasing the dark ruby marks along your neck and collarbone.

They were fresh…

“I heard you’re quite the master combatant.” He couldn’t help but take note that you’re braless. There was no sign of a strap on your delicate shoulders.

“I wouldn’t say master,” you hopped onto the counter, the edge of the sweater rising higher over your pretty thighs. “Did Sannie say that I was?”

“He hinted it.”

“Awe, how sweet of him.” You giggled, taking another piece of strawberry and holding it out to him. “Don’t make me eat by myself.”

Wooyoung matched your playful smile and went to pick up the strawberry but you pulled it back and away from him. There was a glint in your eye and in his view, you were glowing. The same magnetic feeling he felt when he saw you in the club returned and he inched closer to you til his hands rested on the countertop on either side of you. He could get a whiff of your natural sweet scent that had a hint of masculine musk which made sense since you and Mingi go at it like fucking bunnies and he heard you two every time. Turns out the room across his was yours. When he made that discovery he didn’t know if he was happy about it or hated it.

Now that he was closer, your legs parted to make room for him. One more step and he was in between them.

He kept his gaze locked on your face, trying to read your next move as well as trying to take in every detail of your features. He was so lost in the moment, he forgot the fact you were with Mingi. Was it so bad that he wanted you too?

You brought the strawberry to his lips, brushing the chocolate-dipped tip on them, tracing their plump curve. He looked into your eyes for permission, not sure why he did so. But your delighted nod at the gesture made him forget about that thought as his pretty lips parted and he took a bite.

“Good boy.” You purred, the same way you did when you two were grinding your hips on one another the night you two danced.

The way the praise fell from your lips sent heat straight to his cock and when he took his bite and met your eyes again, there was this thinning string inside of him that was ready to snap. Taking away the stem and leaving the strawberry in his mouth, he swallowed as he watched you toss the stem into the bin and as if his predicament couldn’t get worse, you licked the excess strawberry juice and melted chocolate off your fingers.

Wooyoung swore and cursed silently, feeling his cock twitch at the sight. He already jacked off in his room…and yet he was getting turned on by this simple interaction. Well, it wasn’t simple. In fact, it was rather intimate. What was going on? Were you flirting with him?

“So-,” he cleared his throat, breaking away from your gaze, and looked down, only to be met with the sight of naked soft, pillowy thighs and the hem of the flimsy sweater just a couple of inches away from showing him what he had been thinking about since he’s seen it in the private dance room. “You and Mingi?”

“What about me and Mingi?” You tilted your head, trying to meet his gaze again because you thought his eyes were pretty. Where was the arrogant man you had danced with?

“How long have you been together?”

“Almost two years.” You hopped off the counter and went to grab a small bowl, deciding to get some for San who was waiting in your bedroom… long enough.

“That’s a long time.”

You chuckled, moving over to the fridge and completely aware of Wooyoung’s eyes on you. Why was he being so jumpy around you? Or reserved? This really wasn’t the flirt you danced with and you had thought bringing him closer with your little playful strawberry trick would tease that out of him.

Smirking to yourself as you opened the fridge door, you bent over and pretended to look through the drinks selection. Wooyoung sucked in a breath as he saw the hem of the sweater rise dangerously high and he almost thought you weren’t wearing underwear til he saw black lace hugging your plump ass and covering your mound. It would be so easily to slip the flimsy fabric aside to see what he missed.

“Well, anyways, I should be heading back.” You grabbed a bottle of water and stood up straight, closing the fridge door. “It was nice talking to you, Woo.” You smiled at him, getting close to him on your way out. “Thank you for the strawberries.” Knowing exactly what you were doing, you leaned close to give him a small peck on the cheek before saying goodnight and heading back to your room.

Wooyoung watched you leave, heart racing and mind all jumbled up with thoughts of you, with what happened. When he saw you bent over like that, he immediately thought of how pretty you’d look bent over the island counter as he eats your pussy out.

Snapping out of it, he goes to put away the tray of strawberries but hisses when he felt the fabric of his sweats shuffle against his groin. Wooyoung groaned as he glanced down. He was bulging against his briefs.

On his way back to his room, he contemplated on fucking his fist again or letting his hard-on die down on its own. He stopped by your door and listened for any sounds of you and Mingi. A couple of seconds passed and he heard nothing. Okay, so maybe he won’t jack off…but the image of your ass in those black lace panties was so fresh that maybe another round won’t hurt.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Jongho’s voice made him jump away from your door, the youngest just turned the hall and saw him just standing there.

“Oh, I was just heading to bed.”

Jongho narrowed his eyes at Wooyoung. “Okay…weird. I’m too tired to question you right now. So just…okay. Goodnight.” The mechanic yawned, trudging towards his bedroom. He didn’t want to say much so that Wooyoung’s current assumptions would change, he didn’t want to lose his bet with San, Seonghwa, and Hongjoong.

He wondered just how long Wooyoung would agonise over his infatuation with you and how long it’d take for him to find out the relationship you had with all of them.

Oh, and most excitingly, how and what would happen when he breaks?

-- feel free to scream in my askbox about the fic I will gladly famgor; with you &lt;3

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF MY WORK HERE. I DO NOT NOR WILL ALLOW IT.

Taglist : @endeav0rsb1tch @eastleighsblog @scarfac3 @deadgirlwalking3 @ddaeing @lexiigom @lesyeuxdeanna @ja3hwa @prettyjewel93 @deardreamie @ashrocker123 @kookibuns @i2hyun0 @kpopismyescape23 @alex-tiny @hyukssunflower @honeypaintedskies @peachyproductions @dawn-iscozy @waitingtillthesmilescomeback @asjkdk @voicesinmyhead-rc @not-everything-is-so-primitive @atinytinaa @songmingisthighs @sanniesbum @angelluh @teenyfinds @vannabanana1995 @huachengsbestie01 @judasamorr @lovinghologramtrash @anxiousskylar @megseungmin @chnt1 @dezmybelovedddd @khuyyn @trippoverrt

-bolded users cannot be tagged

[calypsocolada]

how they kissed you for the first time... ft. soshiro, gen, & kafka

authors note: kaiju no. 8 is addictive. i bought the first manga then proceeded to buy the next nine. i'm obsessed with these three <3

cw: light violence

wc: 2.8k

click here for my masterlist

“Burning the midnight oil?” A familiar voice asked. You practically jumped out of your skin as you spun around in your wooden chair. Vice Captain Hoshina was comfortably leaning against the door to the library, eyes amusedly taking you in. 

“Vice Captain!” You gasped, holding a hand over your heart as you quickly gathered up your things. “I-- I apologize, sir.” Hoshina chuckled playfully, pushing off the door as he approached your table.

“No need to apologize, cadet. But you do know sleeping is a part of the job too.”

“I know. I’m just… not tired. Thought I would study a bit.” You responded as Hoshina snickered slightly. He ruffled your hair.

“This late? You’re a real overachiever aren’t you?” He teases as you fix your hair, blushing slightly.

“I just like to be prepared, that's all.” You huffed slightly as Hoshina leaned against the desk beside you, he looked down at you.

“You say you’re not tired but look moments away from falling asleep.” He points out.

“Well… maybe it is getting a little late.” 

Hoshina chuckled again, that same smug look on his face. He nodded, a small hint of concern in his expression. “Yeah, it is. And you should be in bed like everyone else. Besides-”

He stood up straight and pushed himself off the desk, crossing his arms and towering over you for a moment. He returned to his playful smirk and spoke. “-We have drills tomorrow and I can’t have you falling asleep during it, can I?”

No, sir.” You responded, turning and hiding the blush on your face. He chuckled softly and gave you a smug smirk, he was an observant person so of course he saw your blush before you could hide it. 

“Don’t act so embarrassed, I’m just looking out for you.” He chuckled again and that damn smirk grew slightly.

“I’m going, sir.” You answered quickly, loading yourself with books. Hoshina watched you amused until you dropped one. He caught it with ease, cocking his head.

“Do you really need all of these?” He asked as you pouted slightly. 

“I only have the hold on these books for two more days.” You said as he sighed softly, reaching and grabbing over half of what you were holding. 

“Lead the way.” He said as you nodded your head, walking out of the library and down the dark halls of the agency. Your room was a short walk and when you arrived you quickly unlocked the door and Hoshina followed you in, placing your books on your desk.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s just us, you can call me Soshiro.” Hoshina said over his shoulder. You froze, staring at his back as he straightened, his eyes taking in your private quarters. You jumped when your door fell shut behind you and when you turned back Hoshina was looking at you. A smug and satisfied look on his devilishly handsome features. “Go on, I give you permission.” Your mouth goes dry, your lips parting but no sound comes out. He laughs then. He knew the effect he had on you, knew exactly the kind of attack he just dolled out on your nervous system. Hoshina, up to this point, had been nothing but mostly professional around you. The only thing unprofessional before was his constant joking but other than that he had been an angel. Kind of. But you on the other hand fell fast and hard. It was embarrassing and something you would try very hard to take to your grave. “Did I make you nervous?”

“What-- n-no. It’s just-- I’m tired, that's all.” You covered, albeit sloppily. Hoshina raised his head slightly, a brow quirking up.

“Well… I wouldn’t want to keep you from sleeping.” He says, there was a glimmer of something in his eyes as he walked towards you, you moved out of the way of the door and gave him a terse smile. He looked down at you. “You’re actually going to sleep, right? You won’t read those books once I leave?” He jests as you nod your head. 

“I’m going to sleep.” You affirm shakily. He was standing so close. You could move your hand a few inches and you’d be touching him. You could take one step and meet his lips with ease. You looked away quickly at that thought. Ashamed of where your mind could take you. 

“Good night.” He says softly, hand reaching for the door. You’re not entirely sure what came over you but he was so close. Just right there. And walked you back to your room, carrying your things, talked to you like that and you were so weak already for him. You kissed him. It was probably the quickest kiss known to man. You had just gently pressed your lips against his in a quick peck and pulled back faster than you’d ever pulled back. Your face was beat red.

“M-my apologies, sir.” You said, turning and moving away but he caught your wrist. 

“You call that a kiss, Cadet?” He asked and when your wide eyes met his he pulled you back to him and lowered his lips to yours.

-

Your breath caught in your throat as you stopped mid walk into the doorway of your boss’s office. To call it a disaster would be an understatement. For the past week you’d been on a much needed vacation. 

“Y/n?” A voice exclaimed, surprised to your right. You almost dropped your tray of tea. 

“Mr. Narumi, you startled me!” You gasped, turning.

“You’re back a day early?”

“Mr. Hasegawa asked me to.” You said, walking carefully over the discarded boxes of yamazon orders to place the tea on his desk. Gen’s jaw tightened.

“He did, did he?” He asks as you nod your head.

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to clean up your office a bit-”

“No. No, I will take care of it. You should be home, enjoying your last day of vacation.”

“It’s alright, sir,” You reach and grab a trash bag but Gen reaches out, hand gracing yours to grab it away from you. 

“I wanted,” He sighs. “I wanted to clean this place before you got back.” He mumbled, cheeks red in embarrassment. 

“I really don’t mind, Mr. Narumi, it’s my job to help you out.” You say and Gen shakes his head. 

“This is my mess, you can go home early.”

“I just got here, sir.”

“And I’m giving you the rest of the day off, as well as tomorrow. Both paid of course.” He says, crossing his arms. You stare at him for a moment, parting your lips but Gen just shakes his head. “Go on, enjoy it.” He says, turning to start cleaning up his own mess. 

“Alright, thank you sir.” You say, leaving the tray behind as you make your way towards the door, glancing back to see Gen dutifully shoving things into a trash bag. 

An hour later you knock on his door and when he opens the door you hold up take out from his favorite restaurant.

“Before you try and send me home I thought we could have lunch together.” You say and his eyes sharpen before he inevitably steps to the side and lets you in. His office is much cleaner and this time you walk with ease to his desk, he follows behind and grabs two drinks out of a fridge as you pull out the food. “It looks nice in here.”

“Can you pretend you didn’t see the mess this morning?” He asks as you smile.

“What mess?” You ask and watch his face relax as he grabs and drags his chair to sit beside you. 

“I… wanted you to come back unstressed from your vacation but Eiji just had to ruin that.” He says, taking a drink before popping open the container of his food.

“I’m not stressed.” You say, popping open your own container as you feel Gen’s eyes on you.

“Would you like the rest of the week off too? Paid of course.”

“No!” You laugh, shaking your head. “Seriously, sir, I feel fine. It was a good vacation, I feel rested and relaxed. Ready to work.” You say, taking a bite of your food. 

“Are you sure?” He asks as you finally meet his eyes, he looks so worried for you. You furrowed your brow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, he looks back at his food. 

“You deserve better than to be my assistant.” He says and you pout slightly, tilting your head.

“What? I like being your assistant, sir.” You say as Gen sort of sighs, it was clear something heavy was weighing on him. You should’ve known he was acting strange from the first moment you talked with him.

“I don’t want you to be.” He finally says. You stare at him, shocked and slightly hurt. 

“Oh.” You say, the bite of food you were about to eat paused. “I… I apologize. Did I do something to upset you?” Gen’s eyes fly up to yours.

“What! N-no of course not, Y/n.” 

“I can speak with Mr. Hasegawa and have him transfer me to-”

“That’s not… I didn’t mean it like that.” Gen says, rubbing his forehead in a stressed sort of way.

“What way did you mean it, sir?” You ask. Gen looks down at his food, he then inhales deeply and turns towards you. You hadn’t noticed how close you two were sitting until right now. He was so close, his eyes soft on yours until they dipped low to your lips then snapped back up. Your stomach flipped at that little action. 

“I want… more.” He says and your lips part in surprise. 

“More?”

“More.” He affirms. “May I… kiss you?”

“Kiss?” You echo, eyes sort of wide. He reaches over and tucks your hair out of your face. 

“Yes. May I?” You can’t wipe the shocked expression off your face. Your lips barely form the word yes and he’s leaning in, hand sliding across your cheek to pull you to meet his lips impatiently. He wanted it and needed it.

-

You breathed heavily, staggering to the side, hand placed on debris to keep yourself standing. You were sure you were dead. The jaws of a kaiju opened up to swallow you whole but suddenly you were on the ground, dizzy and unaware of how you got there. But then you saw it. The infamous Kaiju no. 8. You watched as it killed the kaiju that had you in its clutches moments ago. You staggered back when the kaiju turned to face you, fear jolting through you as you fumbled over debris to get away. 

“Y/n! Be careful, you're injured!” The kaiju said as it ran over to you. You screamed, you didn’t know those things could talk! You scrambled to your feet, rushing and dizzily falling as you tried to get to the gun you’d dropped in your fight with the last kaiju. Strong hands gently grabbed you and when you turned you were face to face with kaiju no. 8. You screamed and threw a punch, connecting with its jaw but the creature just stared at you, seemingly hurt until its eyes connected with something behind you. “Oh… shit.” The creature grunted as you stared at it, shell shocked. It’s voice… somehow familiar. Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, the kaiju still had a tight hold on you as you glanced back. The creature was looking at its reflection? There was only so much strangeness you could take as your body practically shut down, the adrenaline that was fueling you moments ago drained out as your legs gave out and you fell backwards into the Kaiju’s arms. “Y/n! S-shit… we have to get you to the infirmary!” The kaiju expressed and in that moment, seconds before you lost consciousness one name left your lips.

“Kafka?” You breathed out completely dumbfounded.

When you woke up it was light, almost a blinding white. You blinked a few times, groggily yawning as you carefully sat up, your entire body ached as you gently stretched out your muscles.

“You’re awake!” A voice to your right exclaimed in a breathy whisper. You turned and there was Kafka, he dropped his coffee and dive bombed towards you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight bear hug. You grunted in surprise as he held you tightly, as if he was keeping you grounded from floating away and never being seen again. Your mind was still a bit foggy on things as you gently pushed Kafka back.

“How long was I out?”

“Days… at least two or three.” He answers, his face clearly worried. It was also clear he hadn’t slept, dark circles had formed beneath his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine… a bit sore.” You answered as he sat on the side of your hospital bed and sighed out in relief. 

“I was worried.” He said, forcing a small smile on his face. He was still worried as you winced slightly, pushing down your blanket and inspecting the bandage across your midsection. His eyes followed your movements and when you looked up at him he had this intensely worried look on his face. 

“I’m fine, Kafka.” You implored as his eyes snapped up to yours. He nodded his head and swallowed. 

“Do you… remember anything? Anything at all?” He asks. You blink a few times, pursing your lips.

“I remember you… being there? Did you save me?” You ask, trying hard to recall what exactly had happened. You retraced your steps as Kafka fumbled through his words.

“I--- yes-- I was… there… technically.” You remembered a kaiju swiping at you, you lost your gun in the scuffle. You recalled it grabbing you up and tossing you towards its open mouth but you never landed in there but rather on your feet on the concrete. You blinked a few times as things started to piece together. 

“I saw… kaiju no. 8.” You said and watched Kafka’s face go pale white. “It…” you trailed off when you remembered its voice, remembering it grab you as you passed out. Remember saying a name. “You…” Your eyes snapped to Kafka’s. He looked stricken, scared and caught all at once. “Kafka… you… you’re-”

“Yes.” Kafka breathes out quickly. Like he’d been dying to tell you. “Yes… that was me.. I’m-”

“A kaiju.” You finished his sentence unblinking. You swallowed as Kafka’s lip trembled and he gave you a curt nod of the head. He looked embarrassed and guilty. 

“I’m a monster… I wanted-- I wanted to wait until you woke up to- to turn myself in because I wanted… no I needed to know you were going to be okay. I needed to tell you that I-”

“Kafka,” You interrupted, shocked by this revelation. He looked at you with a pained expression. 

“I promise I’ll turn myself in I just need to tell you that-”

“No!” You jerked up, wincing in pain.

“C-careful!” Kafka admonished, you reached for him, barely grabbing his shirt.

“Don’t turn yourself in. I-- I don’t want you to.” You stuttered painfully. Kafka’s lips parted wordlessly. 

“What? I was sure you would want me to…”

“That’s the last thing I want.” You said, trying to wrap your head around this all. You tighten the hold on his shirt and look at him. “They would… kill you and turn you into a weapon, Kafka.” You say as Kafka looks down, nodding his head.

“I know that.”

“And you think I would want that for you?” You hissed as his eyes snap back up to yours, a shocked expression on his face.

“You… hate kaiju.”

“I don’t hate you. No matter what you are.” You said, yanking his shirt towards you as you wrapped him in a tight hug. “Don’t you dare turn yourself in.” You warned, he was stiff in your arms for only a few seconds before he completely melted, the fear and anxiety of you possibly hating him kept him up for days. He wrapped you in a hug and you felt him breathe out and relax, hands sliding across your back, gently gripping your shirt as he held onto you. You could tell then that he’d really expected a different outcome. He’d expected you to tell him to turn himself in. When you pulled back to say something his mouth pressed against yours, stopping your words and your thoughts. His arms were still around you as he kissed you tentatively.

[rubra-wav]

Hello! I saw asks were open and I wanted to drop a request! What if Husk, Angeldust, and Alastor (separate) had a s/o who revealed that they could break deals on their (the collared's) end given some time?

Husk, Angel Dust and Alastor with a Dealbreaker S/O

[Part 2]

A/N: Alastor's is written as purely platonic tho per my personal boundaries

My Hazbin OC actually is a powerful Dealbreaker, so I'm going off of the lore I've thought up on this topic for him haha

I will maybe write a part 2 where reader actually manages to break the contracts rather than just saying they could.

CW: Sfw, angsty asf in places, reference to addiction, mention/reference to violence, Angel's touches a bit more on abuse response/trauma response type stuff, body/ horror imagery in Alastor's (Alastor being the creature he is basically)

Husk

- Husk would not believe you at all at first.

- He would be tending the bar and then stop mid-drying a glass as a heartbreaking hint of hope (the first hope he'd felt in centuries) passes over his face for a second before crumpling and turning to extreme bitterness.

- "That's not funny." He'd growl through grit teeth at you, thinking it was some kind of cruel joke.

- When reassured that you are absolutely serious, he gives you more of a look of almost pity, sighing as if deeply tired.

- He tells you that multiple people have told him the same thing over the years, and that they have all failed just the same.

- All skilled people who were known to be able to break even soul ownership deals wide open.

- The leash Alastor had on him was air-tight.

- He basically tells you it would be a giant waste of time and that you should give up and focus your time on something better then a poor old sinner like himself.

- When you don't back down from the discouragement, he sighs again, but feels warmth burning in his chest at the fact you wanted to help him so badly.

- He's not hopeful, but he wants to have faith in you even if he's trying to discourage you and scare you straight as much as possible.

- He wants so badly to be free so he can be with you without any limits of his commitment to you and only you. To not have to think about whether he's going to be summoned to some bullshit getup again whenever Alastor gets bored of the Hazbin Hotel.

- Deep down he's absolutely desperate for you to succeed in your mission.

- He wants the catalyst for his alcohol problem to go away so he can live and finally actually be happy without the heaviness of his deal weighing on him at all times, making him desperately need the escape.

- He absolutely will tell you very very seriously to not to let this slip that you're doing this to anybody though - or talk about this in a place you aren't absolutely confident doesn't have any certain member of the hotel listening in.

- Husk doesn't think that Alastor would harm you physically over this, that asshole would probably just find it amusing. However.

- Husk's worst fear would be you trying to get him his soul back by signing away yours, something very possible Alastor would offer as a trick.

- He'd be skeptical, fearful of you succumbing to a deal with Alastor, and not very hopeful at all as he's tried time and time again to break the contract on his soul. You are so... optimistic that you'll find a way, but again, his collar is air-tight. You'll have your work cut out for you breaking the deal of someone who's notoriously a dealmaker.

Angel Dust

- When you tell him that, he tenses up with a sharp inhale of breath, a complete 180 from how he just was seconds before, winding down from his night in his hotel room with you.

- Angel's deal would be logically way more easier to break. However, what Valentino's deal doesn't directly hold of Angel, the moth's manipulation keeps him stuck imprisoned under him.

- Angel absolutely would have thought of contacting a dealbreaker, however never actually would due to how terrified he is. If it turned out one of those people were a mole for Val trying to catch him out, Angel would be in so much pain from the punishment that that would entail. You cannot trust someone claiming to be a dealbreaker in hell isn't lying to you through their teeth.

- When he realises you are absolutely serious though, and obviously confident in your abilities, a myriad of harsh emotions pass across Angel's face. Fear (for both his and your safety), and hope made themselves the most apparent.

- Fear of what Val would do to him if he ever found out about this conversation. What he'd do to you.

- Valentino was certainly not above hurting people to get his way. Angel knew that better then anybody. But if Val ever caught wind that Angel's secret lover behind the scenes was trying to steal away Val's biggest money maker and favourite toy, he'd kill you. Straight up.

- That fear was there and was deeply terrifying to him. But so was the hope. A flurry of hope that fills him with relief and brings tears pricking at his eyes at the idea that he could actually be free of his captor and go do whatever you two decide and be fully happy without fear of Val.

- Live with you not as Angel Dust, but as Anthony. Completely his real, authentic self.

- "How." He whispers breathlessly.

- You tell him that you need to see the contract itself, analyse all the ins and outs and come up with a counter-contract.

- There would be a few ways you could actually break the deal from there, and although they would be time consuming and possibly (very much probably) dangerous, you were confident you could break him out.

- Angel would be extremely fearful, but also hopeful. You seem confident in your ability as his contract is messy and poorly crafted. He's reassured as you say that what's mostly chaining him down is the psychological control Val has over him.

Alastor

- When you tell Alastor this, I feel he could respond two ways depending on how you've learnt that information.

If he hasn't told you himself:

- If he hasn't told you this or doesn't know how you've found out, he's going to be absolutely pissed. At you and probably Husk (assuming Husk told you)

- He'd turn towards you with jerky, unnatural movements, bones and joints cracking loudly in a cringe worthy way. Overhead, the lights would be flickering as static begins to fill your head.

- Towering over you, he'd be still bent in that weird position as he grips sharpened claws into your shoulders. Your friendship is the only thing keeping him from making you nothing more then a stain on the wall.

- "Who told you about that."

- When you tell how you've found out, he likely let's out a chuckle dripping with anger that makes you want to cover your ears as the sound scrapes into them. "And what makes you think you could do what even I cannot?"

- He has analysed every single last clause, letter, meaning of the words used, every possible loophole in his contract to the point it's driven him to have multiple psychological breakdowns. To him there is no doubt in his mind at all that he's completely fucked by the contract he was tricked into and there's no chance in hell that you would ever be able to even assist.

- When you push and say that you want to do this for him, he's not even a little flattered at all, in fact, it bruises his ego massively that you'd have the audacity to confidently imply you could do what he's worked so hard to for 7 years.

- In instance one, he's incredibly pissed off at you for claiming you could ever undo his contract after learning about it from someone other then him, so angry he almost kills you. Leaves you alone shaking and afraid in the hall telling you not to say anything to anybody else about his deal, and to never so flagrantly exaggerate your own worth so massively again. Your prior confidence stamped down to embers.

If you are close enough of a person to him that he's confided in you about his collar however:

- He'd just chuckle, calling it cute that you thought you could do that while walking away.

- You miss the way his eye twitches.

- He'd still be incredibly angry about it, but due to not being surprised you knew of his biggest secret, he'd hide it much better.

- Continues to laugh when you insist you can do it, and would passive aggressively respond about how you should not overestimate your abilities and mind your own business essentially.

- Again, he's pissed off and his ego is bruised about it. But this time, he's hiding it behind his smile and is passive aggressive as fuck about it rather then outwardly aggressive. He won't let you know how much you've actually gotten to him even though he would have let his walls down to some extent to ever tell you that.

A/N I was actually already planning a fully written x reader fic that's not just the dot points with Angel at some point where reader saves him from his contract, so like... Maybe I'll do full fics for dealbreaking Husk and Alastor's contracts as well because I'm kind of interested in exploring a fic w them after writing this now

(I'm probably gonna say this then eat shit via the universe straight after lmfao 💀)

[nolovelingers]

WHEN THEY’RE JEALOUS ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆ ★ movies :: scream ,, scream v ,, scream vi

characters used ᝰ.ᐟ billy loomis / stu macher / sidney prescott / wes hicks / ethan kirsch (landry) / tara carpenter / mindy meeks martin / chad meeks martin

🎧 cw — jealousy (obvi) ,, violence and dark themes (only for the ghost faces) ,, possessiveness ,, gn!reader except for stu and mindys part !!!

——————————————————————————

ೄྀ࿐ BILLY LOOMIS ˊˎ-

billy doesn’t really get jealous often. he’s extremely self-confident in himself and knows that there really is no one better than him. he knows you wouldn’t dare leave him for another, but that doesn’t stop the occasional feeling of possessiveness creeping through his mind at the sight of seeing you with another guy.

he definitely doesn’t mention it to you, not wanting you to know that the sight got to him, even if it was only slightly, and resorts to sending a glare in the person of interests direction when you’re not facing him. the second you turn around he gives you a sweet toothy smile, both cunning and sly all the same and he makes sure to lock eyes with the person while bringing you in for a deep kiss, hand gripping your face securely as if you were a possession.

and of course, he’d send stu to kill the person later that night; not feeling like their death was worth his own time.

彡 “billy, hey.” turning to greet your boyfriend with a chastened and quick kiss to his mouth, he hums, savoring the feeling of your lips moving against his that was all too short in his opinion.

“hey doll.” the corners of his mouth itched up, a smirk creasing over his face that held mischief, a dark sense of playful fun as he observed you, eyes quickly flicking from you to the boy you were currently talking to. he looked at the kid for not longer than a few seconds before returning his stone cold gaze back to you, like the man wasn’t good enough for his eyes to settle on.

“who you talking to?” he asks, only a hint of actual curiosity lingering in his voice, meeting your eyes with his and wrapping an arm around your lower body.

“oh, this is daniel. he’s in my history class.”

billy hums, returning his eyes back to the boy, who’s name was apparently daniel, in an almost predatory way. daniel felt unease through his veins as the loomis boy studied him, and smiled a bit. “nice to meet you.” he said, and billy nodded with a straight face, suddenly holding out his hand to shake. daniel accepted the gesture, loosely shaking his hand but finding himself wincing a bit at the intensity of the blonde haired boys grip.

“im billy. (y/n)‘s boyfriend.” quick to annunciate the boyfriend bit, daniel took the hint, gulping but nodding in understandment.

“alright well, i gotta run. ill see you tomorrow.” excusing himself from the conversation, daniel walks away from the scene, shaking his hand a bit as a way to soothe some of the pain from the hand crushing grip billy had him in; and you were completely oblivious as billy smirked in victory, guiding you back to the school parking lot and quickly taking out his flip phone to text stu about their next possible victim.

ೄྀ࿐ STU MACHER ˊˎ-

unlike billy, stu is an extremely jealous cretin who quickly doubts himself when it comes to his worth in the relationship. after his very first girlfriend, casey becker, left him in the snap of her fingers for a jock, he was left to be decently insecure.

he would do anything to prevent you from having any male interaction and if he could he would have a camera on you at all times to watch you go about your day and see how you’re interacting with others who aren’t him. when he actually witnesses you talking to a guy, he’s quick to jump in.

he’s not subtle at all about it and immediately gets very touchy with you, kissing your cheek and neck in front of the dude as a ‘joke’ and goes out of his way to mock and make fun of the person in question. he will whine and beg you to leave and once you’re away from the person he asks you millions of questions, especially whether or not you were attracted to them.

just like billy, he wants the person dead and for the rest of the day all he can think about is ripping their intestines out and crucifying them to a wall. his imagination runs wild with all the ways he wanted to kill him. he asks billy about it, but billy couldn’t be bothered to care that much and unless it was really, genuinely bothering stu he’d tell him to take care of it himself. after the first three guys billy had helped stu kill all cause of his jealousy, he couldn’t be bothered anymore and he knew you would start to get suspicious. every guy you talked to was disappearing at this rate.

彡 “hey babe, who’s this?” stu jogs up to you from behind, almost crashing into your back as he slings an arm around your shoulder lazily and looks at you with a shit eating grin.

“jackson.” the man introduces himself before you can to the macher killer, and stu swivels his head to the boy. his jealousy only furthering deeper as he noticed the man to be wearing a school football uniform, a jock.

“aww, i wasn’t asking you, jason.” stu’s face falls completely and you turn to him with a devastated look, feeling embarrassed in front of your classmate. “i was asking my beautiful girlfriend.” he pulls you closer to him, his big signature wide mouth smile making its way back over his face. “dont you think she’s beautiful? isn’t she just so pretty? come on jerry you can be honest, my girlfriends hot, isn’t she?” the boys tone had drastically went from playful to deadly, like he was testing him

“stu macher, this is my english teachers teaching assistant!” you warn, your face flushing a red color at stu’s outburst but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to care at all as he doesn’t even look at you, taking a bit of a step closer to the jock.

“oh, so you’re smart then, huh? well, clearly not that much, wearing something as tacky as that. you get dressed in the dark this morning?” he sticks his tongue out, laughing at his own joke and apparently thinking it was the funniest thing in the world as he starts to giggle with a crazed look in his eye, and though jackson felt offended and wanted nothing more than to step forward and suckerpunch macher right in the face, something about the way his eyes held mania and instability freaked the jock out.

he scoffed, rolling his eyes and walking away from the couple. jackson doesn’t even make it three feet away and you can’t get the words out to scold your boyfriend for his behavior before he’s turning you to face him and holding both your shoulders, a serious look on his face.

“babe, be honest with me, did you think he’s cute?”

ೄྀ࿐ SIDNEY PRESCOTT ˊˎ-

sidney was a fairly innocent girl who wasn’t used to all the feelings that came along in a relationship, and she never could quite put a label on the word she felt when she saw you talking to other girls. not every girl, just the ones who in her own eyes were particularly pretty or were openly flirty.

she found it hard to trust again after her last relationship, obviously not ending well since he killed all/most her friends and then tried to go after her, but after some time once she started to heal and you showed her love and how a healthy relationship should look and act she was quick to ease into the breath of fresh air you gave her.

she pouts a bit when she’s jealous, and she doesn’t make too big of a deal out of it. depending on her scale of jealousy she’d either mention it briefly to you so you could reassure her or she’d just make sure to be extra lovey with you the rest of the day to earn more of your love and give you extra of hers.

unlike stu or billy she doesn’t make herself present in the conversation, she’ll usually glance from a distance and maybe bring it up to her friends to ask about the girl you were talking to. not that she’d do anything with the information anyway. if she ends up meeting the girl, whether it’s while she’s with you or running into her when it’s just the two of them, she’s very friendly and would even try befriending the person to see the kind of people you surround yourself with.

彡 sidney watched from a short distance the interaction you shared with a girl who’s face was unfamiliar to her. she stood by her locker, face half hidden by the door and taking a glance in your direction every couple minutes.

she couldn’t deny that there was something about seeing you talk to another girl who in her mind was one of the most gorgeous people she’s ever seen, definitely far prettier than her, making her stomach twist and turn with uneasiness.

gnawing her lip a bit she tried to pay no mind to it, being respectful as she waited for you to finish your conversation so you could walk home together like you usually do. her patience worked as it often did, and within minutes she felt your hands snake around her back, and a sweet kiss being pressed to her temple. “hey sid.” you greeted, and she hummed, leaning her weight back into your arms.

“hi.” her voice rasped, a soft and gentle whisper and a smile made its way to her features while she turned around to face you, holding her hand out for you to take, which you gladly did.

“ready to go?”

“yeah.” she smiled, and you briskly leaned in to connect your lips with hers. her heart fluttered at the action and all her worries melted away. there was no reason to be jealous, she was definitely overreacting. she trusted you and the love you had for her.

ೄྀ࿐ WES HICKS ˊˎ-

by nature, wes was a very trusting and caring person. he’s gotten jealous maybe a total of two times throughout your entire relationship. he may have occasional worries, but it’s not typically jealousy he feels. he gets more insecure than he does jealous and reflects it on himself; wondering if he’s really good enough to be your boyfriend.

he is often very protective over you and while there are times you notice his body tense or a light touch of his hand pressed to the small of your back it’s not really jealousy he’s feeling, growing up in a household where his mother is a cop he was raised to be on high alert at all times; afraid a guy might do something to mess with you or make you uncomfortable.

however, on the very very few occasions where it’s jealousy he’s feeling rather than simple protectiveness, he seems to go eerily quiet. his eyes dart back and fourth from your face to the persons, studying your interaction and the body language you’re giving off. if asked about it he’ll brush it off as nothing and force a reassuring smile that fades the second you look away and forms again when you look back.

he won’t mention it ever again and within a few hours he’s back to his normal self. but unless you’re able to notice his jealousy the second it starts, he’s not one to talk or ask about it.

彡 the sun was shining down on the both of you as you sat outside against the tree located right outside tara’s house. you had made plans with all of your friends to have a big hangout and like usual you and your boyfriend had strayed off from the rest of the group to have some alone time.

wes was always huge on private intimacy and liked it better when it was just the two of you. not anything against his friends, he loved all of them, it was just nice to spend time with just his partner. mindy, tara and chad payed no attention as the couple wondered off outside and perched themselves against a woodsy tree. wes had his back completely against the tree, legs widened while you sat between them, your back on his chest and his head on his shoulder while he held onto your body with protective arms; his muscles flexing against you.

you were laughing at something the bleached-haired boy had said when your alone time was cut short, the sound of a door opening and chad stepping outside.

“what’re you two losers doing?” he asked, a teasing lopsided grin on his face as he approached you two after closing the door.

“hey chad, just hanging out.” you greet him with a smile and wes greets him with a ‘hey’ as well, still keeping his arms secured around you.

“mind if i join you? those two girls are kind of driving me crazy right now.” he chuckles, sitting down in front of the both of you and not paying any mind to the fact that you were both cuddled up. “(y/n), you should’ve stayed inside. mindy started recreating a scene from the mummy, it was sorta funny but made me concerned about my relations to her.” you don’t question why chad had aimed the conversation towards you but it’s enough for wes’ jaw to clench against your shoulder before he brought his head up all together and off of you.

“really? wow, im sorry i missed it.” you laugh a bit and chad smiles and laughs with you as you do. you wish you could see your boyfriends face right now as he then removed his arms from around you as well, but since you were sitting up against him you couldn’t turn around and see without making it obvious.

you try not to pay any attention to his sudden change in behavior as you continue making friendly banter with chad, noticing wes completely going mute until he dismisses himself with a toothless smile and a small apology, going back inside and leaving you and chad alone and confused.

ೄྀ࿐ ETHAN LANDRY ˊˎ-

ethan gets jealous over you almost every other day, sometimes just by simply thinking about you with someone else. he doesn’t even have to see you talk to someone, or flirt, or interact; he often accidentally makes himself jealous at the idea of being jealous. when he’s jealous he then gets flustered, and has no idea how to express the way he’s feeling.

when he actually sees someone flirting with you though, it ignites a fire in him that would sometimes scare himself. obviously he’s a violent guy, but when it comes to a potential threat between your relationship it only intensifies. he’d kill the person in the most brutal way imaginable, even torturing or fucking with them before hand.

assuming you don’t yet know about his ghostface identity, he’s still the sweet, awkward and adorable ethan youve grown to know and love. in the moment he won’t do much about it, maybe standing behind you and locking eye contact with the person, resting a hand on your hip with fragility and having mock friendliness. the second they leave though is when he gets more vocal about it, pestering you with questions and dread spilling throughout his body the more he thinks about it.

however if you were already aware of his identity he wouldn’t bother to hide his disdain, looking at the mystery person with pure unfiltered disgust and hatred as he kept you close to him and dismissed you from the conversation himself. if they dared to try and intervene or call him out on his behavior they’d better prepare for a good beating, he wouldn’t hesitate before pushing them to the ground and kicking them in the stomach and all over their body repeatedly like a typical 80s bully. he’d come back for the final kill another time when you weren’t with him.

彡 “can we go? im tired.” a very grumpy brunette mumbled from his spot next to you, defensively staring at the male you were talking to. an ‘old friend’ of yours.

“one second e,” you dismissed him without so much as a glance, continuing in your conversation with the guy in front of you. he was maybe 5’10, dark brown hair and hazel green eyes that ethan imagined running red with blood and tears. ethan could definitely take him in a fight.

he was quiet for about a whole minute before he sighs, rather loudly, glancing around the room and waiting for you to notice him. when you don’t face him at his first sigh, ethan let’s out a second huff of air, louder this time.

and you ignore him again. and he sighs again. and again. and agai-

“ethan, i swear to god.” you lecture, finally turning to face him and the guy in front of you laughs a bit at the two of you, which only makes ethan feel angrier.

“im tired. please can we go. pleasee!” he whines, articulating his best puppy dog eyes as he bats his long and dark lashes at you. and of course it works, it always does.

you agree, waving your friend goodbye who understands and sends you off with a smile. as you walk back to your dorms the questions finally roll in.

who was that guy? where’d you meet? did he go to school with the both of you? how long have you known him? what’s his relationship with his family like? do you think hes funny?

you humor him as much as you can before the questions start to get more and more invasive and you finally shut him down, leaving him with a pout as he sadly stares at the floor, making you feel bad and quickly cupping his face and peppering kisses all over. he smiles finally.

by the end of the day, none of the questions actually mattered. ethan decided already the second you approached him that he was a dead man.

ೄྀ࿐ TARA CARPENTER ˊˎ-

contrary to popular belief, tara could actually get jealous quite frequently. though it’s not as often as others on the list, she’s lost a good amount of people in her life and isn’t about to risk loosing the few she now has left.

when she’s jealous she can get snappy as well as sarcastic, to both you and the person she’s feeling jealous of. it’s either that, or she’s just sickeningly nice to both of you to mask her feelings. so sweet in fact that it’s mostly taken as being mocked by the one on the receiving end, which is usually what it is anyway.

she’ll stand by you as you converse, her arms crossed defensively and an rbf like you’ve never seen, but if you try to leave the conversation or ask her if something’s up she’ll tell you to just keep talking to the other person in an annoyed voice.

彡 “you’re so funny!” you blush a bit, embarrassed by the sudden compliment and attention you were receiving from the girl in front of you that originally only approached you for a question she had about the homework in the math class you shared.

“you’re SO funny!” behind you, an annoyed tara mocks the girl, raising her voice to sound high pitched and squeaky as she defensively held her arms crossed against her chest.

“tara,” you mumble, glancing at her expectantly and she sends you a glare, huffing and turning her head away from the both of you.

the girl in front of you awkwardly scratches her head and you give her a sympathetic smile. “thank you maria. ill see you tomorrow.” she nods, sending you an appreciative smile back before glancing at your girlfriend for a second and then quickly away as she realizes the girl was already glaring in her direction before walking away from the two of you.

you sigh, turning to face your girlfriend who still looks pissed off, a grouchy look on her face and arms crossed as she meets your eyes. “tara.” you repeat her name, saying so many things without saying another word. she sighs, dropping her arms back to her sides and looking away from you now in a bit of embarrassment.

“sorry.” she mutters, not meeting your eyes.

“no you’re not.”

she smirks a little. “no im not.”

ೄྀ࿐ MINDY MEEKS MARTIN ˊˎ-

( ↺ please only read mindys if you identify as female !! )

mindy isn’t often the jealous type and doesn’t really see many people if any at all as a threat to her. especially for no reason. the only exception for her small bursts of jealousy is when someone knows you’re dating and still goes out of their way to make a move on you.

when this happens she gets rather ticked off, probably yelling at or lecturing the person for trying to hit on someone while knowing they’re in a happy relationship. and she’ll really specify that happy bit as if to rub it in their face.

her fits don’t last very long and though she may continue to pout over it for maybe 10 minutes max afterwards all it takes is a little reassuring and she’s back to her usual self. all in all, if she’s jealous she’ll speak out about it herself.

彡 “mindy, look at me.” you instruct your girlfriend, who in fact does not look at you as she zones off into the distance with an aggravated expression.

“i do not understand how some people have the nerve. i mean seriously, she knew you had a girlfriend, she knew that girl was me, and she still went out of her way to flirt with you.” rambling on, you’re unable to get the short haired girl’s attention as she’s lost in thought.

“mindy, will you look at me?” you repeat, currently crouched down in front of her while she rocked back and fourth on a recliner.

“it’s just- it’s so frustrating! she’s such a- a- a snake!” this emits a soft chuckle to part from your lips and you finally decide to just make your girlfriend look at you instead of desperately calling out for her which didn’t seem to be working.

“i love you.” you affirm, cupping the both of her cheeks. the martin girl blushes a bit, taken off guard.

“what?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too, baby.” she smiles, and you lean up to initiate a soft kiss, her current thoughts pausing temporarily.

by the time you pull away she’s looking at you like you’re the only thing left in the world, cheekily smiling while you continue holding her face in your hands.

“sorry for making a scene back there.” she apologies, referring to back when the entire situation went down and she ended up yelling at the girl who was trying to make a move on you in the first place.

“it’s okay. it was cute. turned me on a little.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.” you giggled, and mindy was fast to forget about the entire situation as her priorities shifted entirely to you.

ೄྀ࿐ CHAD MEEKS MARTIN ˊˎ-

depending on how long the two of you have been together is how chad would go about handling his own jealousy. if the relationship is fairly new or it’s only in the talking stage, he’s the type to go flirt with someone else to make you jealous back, even though you weren’t doing it intentionally.

if you’re about 3 months or so into the relationship though or if he’d liked you for a really long time he wouldn’t resort to that. instead he’d try his best to intimidate the person, keep an arm around you and amplify his personality.

he’d constantly interrupt the two of you rather rudely and make his own conversation, add his own thoughts or ask random questions to the stranger. he’s shameless about it too and does it all with a smile. he’d be friendly enough to the person, trying to make his own opinion on them.

would definitely be unnecessarily affectionate, holding your hand and pressing kisses to the back of your palm or making you randomly sit on one of his legs while bouncing you up and down.

彡 you groaned a bit, your boyfriend now interrupting the conversation for what felt like the twentieth time as he continued to make his presence known, both arms hung over your shoulders as he has you pressed into his chest and his head hovering over yours.

“chad, honey, what are you doing?” you finally ask, excusing yourself for a moment from your friend to talk privately.

“what?” he feigns obliviousness, a knowing smirk on his face as he reached his hands out for you again, pulling you closer to him and resting his hands on your waist.

“you know what.” you sigh, hating the fact you were already trying to fight back a smile the boy made contort on your face.

“just tryna get to know your friends.” he shrugged, leaning a little closer to you. “seeing what’s up. making sure there’s no competition.”

you roll your eyes, finally a small laugh leaving your lips.

“but chad, i get doing that to my guy friends, i guess, but do you really have to do that to the girls too?”

“what? my sisters gay, im just being precautious. nothing unusual.” he shrugged innocently and you smiled as he pulled you into a hug.

“wait, you have guy friends?”

.ೃ࿐ a/n : this took so long to finish , towards the last couple the quality kinda worsened cause i spent all day writing these and finished those ones at night

started 08.05.23. finished 08.05.23.

( scream masterlist )

©️nolovelingers 2023

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cute Uglies [Bruce]

AN: Shout out to @luckyarchaeologist whose comments inspired me to go a completely different direction to what I had envisioned.🩷 And everyone else who reblogged/comments/voted for a part 2! I hope it lives up 🩷

GN!Reader/Bruce Wayne, 1.6K Words [2/?]

Part One >[Here]<

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, teasing

His hands are soft, and warm, soothing the tension from your body as he uses them to cup your face and hold you steady as he pushes closer, pressing your body deeper into the wall with his broad chest. Up close you can see a smattering of his five o’clock stubble coming through, even under the dim slivers of moonlight breaking through the gloomy alley. You note a hint of coffee on his breath before his lips brush against-

Loud banging at your apartment door startles you awake. Tired eyes sluggishly take in the time on the nearest clock, you’re barely able to process the numbers before the knocks come again. It’s too early. It’s your day of for goodness’ sake and it sounds like someone is trying to break down your door with their fists. When you answer it’s an equally disgruntled delivery driver. They ask your name before bombarding you with a large box and snapping a proof of delivery photo. You ponder your unkempt morning appearance and pray the sender of this parcel doesn’t ever check that photo.

It was almost certainly not from you because you hadn’t ordered anything, especially not anything this big. You don’t recognise the logo, but it, the matte black tape, and the distinct florally smell permeating from the smooth white container tells you that whatever is inside is expensive. That or it’s a trap, designed to lure you in with its unsuspecting exterior, then BAM Ivy toxin or Joker gas. You’re not dumb, you’ve seen the PSAs.

30 minutes, one morning brew, one disposable mask, one sharp knife, 2 gloves, and a whole lot of nerve later you gently remove the contents from its packaging. It’s wrapped in a layer of security card and glittery tissue paper but it’s pretty evident what it is. It’s a very nice bouquet of flowers. A mix of carnations, hyacinths, and baby’s-breath, already sitting in a pretty crystal vase that probably cost more than your rent.  A gold envelope stands out amongst the colourful petals, and you fork it out to read despite being certain you already know who it's from. Nobody else in your life would spend this much money on flowers for you, even if it were a special occasion. The repercussions of telling your name to a stranger, even a famous stranger, who you’d known of all your life, but never known hadn’t occurred to you until you see it printed in foil against the high-quality textured card.

“As you understandably didn’t allow me the chance to apologise last night, please accept these as a token of my penitence. Regards, B.W.”

You’re not sure which irks you most, him cornering you in a dark alley in the first place, his seeking you out to apologise in an unsettlingly short amount of time, the absurd display of wealth, his pretentiously unironic use of the word ‘Penitence’, or the fact that you kinda liked it. The fact that you’d spend the night dreaming about slivers of moonlight and soft hands that didn’t exist. In actual fact, the remainder of the scene had been clumsy and anticlimactic.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?” You squint to read his expressions, barely able to make him out under the faint light of apartment windows high above your figures. There's a disconnect between the upper and lower halves of his face that adds to your already heightened nerves. His jaw and lips remain in an ever-present scowl, but steely blue eyes seem to soften as you tell him your name. “I'm not following you.” Your voice is stunted, weak due to the unrelenting pressure actual billionaire Bruce Wayne is applying to it. “I swear! It’s a coincidence.” He seems to believe you, or at least, he doesn’t consider you much of a threat because his grip loosens enough for you to find your footing again. Before he can change his mind, you scramble out of there, almost tripping on your accidentally discarded bag on the way. Whatever is up with him is not your problem. “I-“ “Save it.” Creep. You’re not interested in his apologies or excuses. You’re just an average person trying to make their way in the crime capital of the world, probably. It’s a miracle he didn’t put you in an early grave due to a heart attack. You could see the headlines now: ‘Playboy Billionaire Charged with Manslaughter: Officials unsure why he corned innocent Gothamite’ which is to presume a man with as much wealth as Bruce Wayne would ever be charged with a crime. Rich, ill-mannered, paranoid, handsome, creep. “Just stay away from me.”

As you stand motionless, relaying the events of the previous night in your head, it occurs to you that there's still something in the envelope, something slightly smaller and thicker than the apology card. You slip it out and flip it between your fingers, a gift card to the coffee shop you’d first seen him in, with a pre-paid value high enough to keep you and all your colleagues caffeinated for the rest of the year, if not longer.

The remainder of your day is spent relocating the two gifts between errands and relaxation time. The gift card is inserted and removed from the card section of your wallet so many times you’ve probably incidentally rubbed off its magnetic strip. Accepting it, and using it wasn’t bad, not really. He wasn’t buying you or your forgiveness it's just a show good intent, not to mention it was basically pocket change to a man with that much money.

But it did feel a little bit like being bought.

And the flowers reminded you of that conflict every time you looked at them, so they made their way onto every feasible surface and counter until you found a spot with enough light to keep them alive that wasn’t in plain sight 90% of the time. Maybe you could sell or donate the vase once the flowers are dead. It really did make the rest of your living space look shabby-er in comparison.  Or maybe you could paint it to match the rest of its new home, cover it in acrylic paint and use it to hold anything else. If you ever see Bruce again you could show him a photo, see if he really did give it in good faith to be used however you pleased, or if it makes him uncomfortable.

In fact, on your next day back at work you’re scrolling through Pinterest for design inspiration as you queue up for the first of many Wayne-funded drinks when you sense it. Him. The enticing scent of his cologne clueing you into his presence. You cast a look over your shoulder and there he is, smiling at you with perfect white teeth. He seems more casual today, his hair still perfectly styled but appearing free of any products, his suit traded in for just the slacks and button-up. Once again, you’re reminded of his player image, it’s not hard to tell why so many people swoon all over him.

“Oh, hello.” He greets, raising his hand as though to wave at you. His fingers don’t look nearly as soft as you’d imagined. They look sturdy and calloused, strange for a man who guzzles champagne and stands behind a podium, smiling for photographers more days than not. Paperwork does not account for skin that thick. “I was hoping to run into you here.”

“Really?” Internally you’re suspicious, but your voice comes out an octave higher than usual, your skin growing warm under his gaze. It’s stupid to think that he’s pursuing you, flirting with you. He’s probably just looking for closure on his apology, ensuring you don’t slander his image by selling the story to the papers. He really is buying you. Your silence. “Why?”

“I was hoping I could buy you a drink.” And without your confirmation he sides steps around you, joining you in your spot amongst everybody else waiting to be served.

“You’re already buying me coffee.” You flash him the gift card he’d paid for. “Or did you forget casually dropping this much cash?”

He laughs at that, like you’ve made a joke. He’s deflecting? Maybe. But he sounds so genuine, so hearty it’s contagious. Your laugh isn’t as cheery as his, but it slips past your lips regardless.

“No, no. I didn’t forget. I couldn’t forget anything about you. Especially not after seeing you in that delivery photo.” He finishes with a wink. That was flirting, definitely flirting. Or maybe an insult. Either way, you’re feeling just as nervous, if not more than you had been that night in the alley. This is just a different kind of nerves, it’s the butterflies in your belly instead of the pit in your stomach kind. “What’s one more between new friends, huh?”

“Friends?” You raise your brows. He does not have the decency to look sheepish under your dubious stare, he just looks back at you calm and collected, just like he is on the TV. A few days ago, you might have bought it, but you’ve seen him lose his cool in person. Something feels off.

“I’d like to be friends, or I’d at least like to apologise in person. If you’ll let me.” For a man so bent on making amends with you, there isn’t a hint of sorrow in his tone or posture.

It’s almost your turn at the counter, you have seconds to make your decision.

The barista gestures for the next customer, as you answer. “Okay fine, let’s be friends.”

“Excellent. You just made my day.” And then his hand cups the small of your back as the two of you step up to order. He does it so casually that you almost don’t notice, you’re not sure if you’re just susceptible to his moves, or if he’s practised them to perfection. Maybe you’re reading too much into it, maybe all pretty boy billionaires act like this, maybe it’s all strategy to keep his image clean, or maybe there’s something shady about Bruce Wayne and his weirdly hard, slick hands. Maybe he's hiding something, and whatever it is, you intend to figure it out.

If you should enjoy the view along the way, well, who could blame you?

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[froggibus]

Mask Off - Stu Macher! Ghostface

Pairing: Stu Macher! Ghostface x f! reader

Genre: smut/NSFW (w a sprinkle of hurt/comfort cause, cmon guys, it’s me)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: at a party at Stu’s, the last thing you’re expecting is for the masked killer to save you from the man who tried to assault you, or for him to take his turn right after

CW: SA, murder, blood, knives, violence, standard Ghostface stuff, breath play, knife play, unprotected sex (make good choices), creampie, blood kink?, hints of a mask kink, degradation, lots of dirty talk, reader is referred to as a slut/whore, they fuck next to a dead body, established relationship, soft! Stu, Ghostface reveal

guys I just watched Scream 6 and I am so soft for Stu rn idek why. i usually don’t write stuff like this but the Scream movies are some of my favorites (def not cause me and the final girl have the same name…definitely not) and I’ve had HARD ghostface brain rot lately so…here’s this lol

————

Sitting on the living room floor of your boyfriend’s house, half drunk and watching movies, everything feels right. Sure, there’s a psycho killer on the loose, and everyone in the house is technically breaking curfew, but you couldn’t care less. Even with Randy geeking out over the Jamie Lee horror movie playing on the tv, you can’t complain. 

The guy next to you on the floor, a couple more beers in than you are, shuffles closer. You side eye him, but don’t say anything. You find yourself looking for Stu—you know how jealous he can get. But your boyfriend is nowhere to be found. 

You take a deep breath and another chug of your beer, hoping to calm the nerves that have found their way into your stomach. You don’t like the idea of your boyfriend being MIA when there’s a killer around. 

Your nerves are shoved away when you feel a warm hand on your thigh. You turn to the guy next to you, who gives you a nod and a smirk. 

He must be an idiot, or not well versed in the politics of Woodsboro Seniors, or else he would know that he’s in your boyfriend's house, trying to feel you up. You roll your eyes, finish chugging your drink, and head upstairs to try to find your boyfriend. 

You don’t even hear the guy get up behind you. 

You duck into Stu’s room, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to go back downstairs, you fall backwards onto his bed and relax into the sheets. They smell like him, and the scent is so comforting, it’s almost enough to put you to sleep. 

Almost. 

The door opens and you sit up instantly, expecting to find your boyfriend but disappointed to see the guy from earlier. 

“What do you want?” You squint at him. 

“You disappeared on me, baby.”

“Look, I don’t even know who you are, and clearly you don’t know me, or else you would know that this is my boyfriend’s house. And believe me when I say he’s the jealous type.”

He sits down on the bed, and you shuffle to the other side, drawing your knees to your chest. He seems to take that as a challenge, smirking even wider. 

“Your boyfriend never needs to know.”

“Get lost, dude.”

He’s on you in an instant, lips pressing against yours, body on top of yours. You shove him hard, but that only makes him lean in more. He’s so much bigger than you, so much stronger. The reality of your situation starts to set in, and you drive a knee into his groin. 

He groans, pulling back and slapping you hard. He squeezes your face, eyes angry. “Listen, slut, hit me again and the killer on the loose is the last thing you have to worry about. Do you understand?”

You go to bite his finger but he clamped his hand over your mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

He presses his hand down hard enough to keep you quiet, trailing his hand up your stomach. You squirm as his hand gets to your chest, still trying to deter him. 

Just as he slips his hand up your shirt, you see the cloaked figure behind him. You let out a gasp that he takes as you enjoying what he’s doing. 

You think it’s a prank, that someone is just trying to scare the people hooking up at the party. But the mask…the cloak…it’s all too real. And then you see the glint of silver and your blood runs cold. 

You want to scream and run away, but at the same time, you want the man on top of you to suffer. You want to hear the knife sink into him and you want to see his blood come pouring out. And with the way he’s touching you, you would rather die than have to tell Stu what happened. 

Not that he wouldn’t understand, but because you’re sure things would never be the same. 

The guy doesn’t even notice the figure approaching, doesn’t even notice the way you’re almost crying into his palm. The figure, that the news has dubbed Ghostface, tilts his head at you. 

You should be scared, you should be running, but you aren’t. Something about him, something about the way he’s looking at you, makes you feel almost safe. At least, safer than the guy currently forcing himself on you. 

He pulls his arm back, revealing the sharpened knife once more, before driving it into the back of the man on top of you. He spasms, blood dripping out of his mouth and down your neck. 

Ghostface doesn’t let up, though. He drives the knife in and out of him, penetrating his skin over and over and over. The sound of sharp metal against soft skin fills your ears, and warm blood covers you. 

Finally, the man goes limp, and Ghostface practically throws him off of the bed. He crawls on top of you, replacing the dead man. His body is warm on yours, and he smells like blood and an almost familiar cologne. 

He slides the flat end of the blade across your cheek, down your jaw and onto your throat. You suck in a breath, trying not to let your fear show. You can hear his breathing through the mask, and the feeling of the cold metal on your skin sends waves of arousal through you. 

You should probably consult a therapist on that, given you survive. 

He pulls the knife away from you, tucking it into his waistband. You squint. Isn’t he going to kill you? 

He lifts up his hands, and for a second you think he’s going to strangle you. But no, he does something that surprises you even more. He removes the mask. 

You gasp, covering your mouth in shock. You’re not sure who you were expecting, but it wasn’t your boyfriend. 

He tilts his head at you, giving you a lopsided grin. “Sorry, baby. I lost my temper.”

You nod slowly, the idea that Stu is the Ghostface killer not quite registering in your mind. He wipes blood off of your face, licking it off of his fingers. Something about the action is so erotic that it has you clenching your thighs. 

“I-I’m sorry,” your voice comes out strained. You’re not even sure what you’re apologizing for—for the guy who assaulted you or for your shock or for seeing him without his mask. 

He pushes the hair out of your face. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding and your clit throbbing. 

His hand moves from your hair to your neck, squeezing gently. Stu was always fascinated with stuff like that—pain and breath play and knives. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t fascinate you, too. 

He kisses you, lips hungrily devouring yours. You can taste blood, but you’re not sure if it’s from his face or yours. His hand slides down your waist, bunching up the fabric of your t-shirt and sliding his hand under it. 

“Are you scared?” There’s a smirk on his lips, something dark in his eyes. 

“A little,” you admit. 

“Of me?”

“Not of you. Never of you.”

He just killed a man in front of you—on top of you—but you’ve never felt more safe. And that’s what scares you. Your own desires, your own fucked up thoughts and feelings. 

“You know I’d never let anything hurt you,” he taps his fingers on your throat. “I would never hurt you. You’re mine, and mine alone.”

You tug him to you by the collar of his cloak, shoving your lips against his. He smiles against you, tightening his grip on your throat. Not enough to hurt, just enough so that you can feel the pressure. 

He slides his hand into your pants, laughing at how wet your panties are. He rubs your clit through the fabric, moving his lips to suck and bite at your neck. 

“D’you want me, baby?”

You bite your lip and nod, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Please.”

He’s ripping your panties off and tugging his boxers down in an instant, pulling up his cloak just enough so that he has easy access. He rubs the head of his cock through your folds, gathering up your slick. He kisses you deeply just as he sinks his cock inside of you. 

You never get used to the stretch, the delicious feeling of him moulding your walls to the shape of his cock. 

He pulls out and thrusts back in, his cock going even deeper. You whine, throwing your head back. He laughs at your moans and keeps going, shoving into you at a brutal pace. You cry out in response, the moans falling out before you can stop them. 

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. Do you really want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Do you want someone to walk in on you fucking the killer like a whore?”

His words only make you wetter, pussy clenching tighter around him. It only eggs him on more, his thrusts becoming harder and more forceful as he nears his high. 

“Mm, I forgot you like being my slut,” he laughs in your ear, gasping whenever you clench around him. “Fucking me in the bed of the guy I just killed for you?”

You hate how much his words turn you on, hate how they only push you further towards your climax. You dig your nails into his shoulders, bunching up the black fabric. 

He slams harder into you and you know he’s close. You wrap your arms around him, tugging him in closer. He thrust a few more times, movements sloppier, before his cock twitches and you’re filled with hot cum. 

The feeling of his cum pooling inside of you is enough to send you over the edge, leaving you a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him. 

He kisses your forehead, holding you closer to him. “As sexy as you look covered in blood, you should probably change.”

“What are you gonna do?”

He plants a sloppy kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, ‘kay?”

You nod, rolling out of his arms and standing up on shaky legs. You’re covered in bed, your clothes absolutely soaked through. You head straight for the bathroom, soaking a cloth to wipe the blood from your skin. 

“Y/n,” he knocks gently, “I left some of my clothes out here for you to change into. Go through the window and head through the basement door—I don’t want you getting caught up in this.”

You change into his clothes, trying to ignore the light bruises on your throat and thighs. You love how his clothes fit on you, though. You love being claimed by him. 

You do as he says, sneaking through the basement door and pretending like you were just bringing up another case of beer. 

Randy turns his head to look at you, and for a minute you think that you’re caught. He’s going to say something about your disappearance and change of clothes. 

Instead, he just shakes his head at you. “Where’ve you been? You missed Basic Instinct!”

An arm wraps around your shoulder, the familiar cream coloured sweater draping over you. “She was just helping me get more beer,” Stu shrugs. 

Randy makes a face, but says nothing. He turns back to the tv, and Stu takes that as an opportunity to kiss your neck. “Just so you know,” his voice is barely a whisper in your ear, “I’m keeping the mask on next time.”

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + four

authors note: hi! thank you so much for everyone who has left such kind words for this story! i'm so appreciative for the support and interest!

this one, i think, depicts a lot of contradicting thoughts and feelings for our two favorite characters. that's intentional.

i also take some creative liberties with medical and wrestling shit. let's just go with it, friends, por favor.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence, sexual harassment, hints at past self-harm, allusions to past suicide attempt, references to traumatic pasts

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 10k

Roman has spent years coming home to a dark, empty house. It’s been his preference for just as long, enjoying the isolation following day after day of shit that needs to be handled. Because that’s usually how shit plays out for him. Roman’s always calling the shots, always figuring out how to navigate difficult, sticky situations. 

It's just what he does.

It’s why he’s been able to advance the Bloodline as much as he has. Because Roman is a man playing professional chess among a group of elementary checker players.

And he’d never voice or admit it to anyone, but the weight does sometimes get to him in one way or another. So, he’s learned to appreciate solitude. 

But he’s not met with solitude upon entering his home, which is both surprising and irritating considering it’s pushing 2 o’clock in the morning.

The only sound he should hear is the sound of his heavy footsteps from the front door to the bedroom. Instead, his feet carry him into the source of said sounds that are more pots banging and dishes being washed.

That’s how he immediately knows who it is without needing to check. But, Roman is more curious as to why she’s in the damn kitchen at this time of night instead of sleeping than the noise itself.

And he goes to ask as such when he gets even closer and realizes there’s more to the sound than clanging pots and running water. A soft, melodic, almost soothing voice singing in a language he doesn’t understand but recognizes as Spanish. 

Solana is singing, and she’s singing well, beautiful even. So much so that he finds himself leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, watching as she moves about, earbuds pressed in her ears making her oblivious to his presence.

There’s a sense of relaxation to her, an almost smile as she sings. She doesn’t seem nervous nor skittish….just at peace.

That is she turns around and realizes he's standing there, watching her.

She snatches her earbuds out and immediately jumps on the train of unnecessary apologies. “I’m sorry! I didn’t—-you said you’d be back late.”

He chuckles, calmly pointing out, “it’s almost 2am.”

Her face is flushed red with unnecessary embarrassment. “I thought—I guess I figured that meant you’d come back in the morning.”

“I sleep in my own bed, if I can help it.” It’s a comfort thing, a nod to his preference for solitude. He’s never even stayed the night with Samantha, mostly because he knows her ass would see that as a damn marriage proposal.

Well, maybe not anymore.

“Why are you still up?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep.” It’s a simple answer he’s certain also includes a very real, dark backstory as to why she can’t sleep. He’s been there.

He gets it.

“I’ll be done soon—"

“You can stay up as long as you want. I don’t care.” And it’s true. The house is big enough for her to be making as much noise as she needs, and he probably wouldn’t hear anything from where his room is. He also recognizes the misery that comes with wanting but not being able to sleep, so if being in the kitchen is her distraction, then he’s good with that.

Of course, she continues with the apologies. “I’m sorry about the music—I just—the house was too quiet. I—I don’t like the quiet.”

“Solana.” He has to interrupt her. Roman’s not in the mood for her apology tour. Granted, he does hone in on the part of not liking the quietness of the house. Of course she would be the opposite of him. “I don’t care. Do what you want. Shit doesn’t impact me.”

Roman can see she’s unsure of how to take his words, most likely wondering if there’s some catch, if it’s followed up with a stipulation. But, there is none. As long as it doesn’t impact him, she can do what she wants.

“You have a nice voice,” he compliments, because again, it’s the truth. He’d never taken her as the singing type, but gradually, Roman is starting to see there may be more to Solana than meets the eye. 

Her unsure expression remains unchanged with the exception of her blush deepening as she mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

Compliments of any sort seem to bother her, or maybe it’s less they bother her and more she’s unsure of how to respond because she’s not used to them.

He’d lean more on the side of that being the case.

Nevertheless, Roman decides to leave her be. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay,” she says almost sheepishly, adding a quiet, “goodnight.”

Roman takes her in, the quietness and passiveness no longer as irritating as he once thought and believed it to be. It might still irk him, but the level of irritation isn’t as high as it used to be.

Whatever that means.

“Goodnight, Solana….”

————

From day one of moving into Roman's mansion, Solana has noticed the watch dogs that occasionally patrol the premises along with the armed guards. And while she’s always been tempted to ask to pet one, she’s also always decided against it. These dogs, like their handlers, are trained killers, not emotional support animals.

They’re not there for her to treat like objects.

But it’s when she walks outside, ready to head off to work, that she notices one guard with a dog Solana hasn’t seen before, a puppy, that she finds it in her to approach. With a couple minutes to spare before she has to leave for work, interacting with a dog seems like a nice way to start off the day.

Hand on her purse strap, she shoves back her anxiety about approaching this strange man, asking in a soft voice, “i–is he new?”

The guard sizes her up and down, answering with a gruff, “yeah.” 

Solana looks down at the dog who’s also staring up at her with just as much curiosity. Smiling gently, she carefully crouches down and waits for him to move closer. There's a generous leeway of his leash that would allow him to do so. 

Sure enough, the dog walks over to her, ears down. Giggling, she cautiously moves to pet him. “You’re so sweet….” And he is. Solana wonders if he’ll retain that sweetness once he undergoes his training. Unlikely. “Good boy…”

“He’s not a fucking pet.” The guard harshly scolds, giving a tug on the leash that makes the dog start to growl. Solana frowns, recognizing he’s annoyed with her interruption.

“I’m sor—”

But before she can finish her sentence, there’s a flash before her that seems almost too quick for her vision to process. But, when she does, she realizes Roman is now present, directly in front of the guard, hand wrapped around his throat. 

“Speak to her like that again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out your mouth.” His voice is as menacing and terrifying as the fire in his eyes. Roman shoves the man forward and demands. “Apologize. Now.”

The man is coughing, struggling to regulate his breathing but still manages to cough up a muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Solana feels and probably looks stumped at hearing such a thing. She can’t recall the last time someone has ever uttered those words to her. Understandably, she doesn’t know how to respond or react. 

“Leave,” Roman demands. And Solana isn’t sure she’s seen a man haul off as quickly as he does, guiding the dog along with him. 

Roman takes in her appearance as she stands up, nervously brushing any invisible lint off her pants. “You good?”

She nods, still not quite knowing how to take this. How to take Roman seemingly defending her. Or maybe he’s just defending what belongs to him. It has to be the latter of the two, because why would he care about defending her?

Red-faced, she tries to explain her actions. “It—it was my fault. I just—I saw the dog, and I just—I wanted to pet it.”

“Why are you apologizing for someone being rude to you? Does that shit make sense to you?” When he says it like that, no, it doesn’t. But it’s clearly meant to be rhetorical, as he then asks, “you like dogs?”

Nodding, she clarifies. “Small dogs, mostly. Big ones, umm, they kinda scare me.” As do most things. This, she’s sure, he’s noticed by now. “Uhh—what time do you want dinner ready?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Oh.” Solana is unsure why there’s a strange sense of disappointment in her belly at this. Late….

In her experience with her dad and brother, that usually means they won’t be back until the next day, most likely in the morning. 

This should make her feel a bit relieved, not having to be on edge, feeling worried about upsetting him. 

Even if the only thing regarding her that she’s seen upset him is when he perceives she’s being disrespected.

She’s not quite sure what to make of that either.

“Ayo, Lil’ Soso.” A new voice enters the conversation, one she’s gradually growing comfortable and used to. Jey walks out with a rubbermaid container in his hand, chewing obnoxiously as he approaches Solana and Roman. “What are these things? They’re pretty good.”

There’s a couple of things to process in that one interaction, starting with the nickname Jey has used to refer to her in the times she’s run into him in the house. The twins, along with Paul, seem to be at the mansion often. The interactions though, have allowed her to feel less tense around him. Around Jimmy too.

She hasn’t had enough interaction with Paul to feel that way about him, and she’s certain that won’t change. He seems only concerned with Roman and no one else, which is valid and fair considering his role as Roman’s chief advisor.

Going back to his question, she answers, “conchas.”

“Con what?”

His expression and delivery make her smile. “Conchas. It’s a Mexican pan dulce. Sweet bread.”

“I don’t know half of what you said, but this shit good as hell. You got any more?”

“Don’t you have fucking food at your house?” Solana would never show or admit to it, but it’s sometimes funny to her how Roman seems almost always annoyed with his eccentric cousins. There’s no doubt in her mind though that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill for them, that he’s probably done so. And vice versa.

But they also seem to get on his nerves just as much. 

“Man, Nicki on that shit again, talking about she ain’t cooking until I start treating her right. Me and the kids been eating out.”

Kids? That surprises her. She didn’t know Jey was a father. 

“Solana! When you train with Naomi, can you exchange some recipes with her or something?” Jimmy also joins in the conversation, walking over while rubbing his stomach. “Cause I don’t know what that meal was in the blue container, but shit slapped.”

It takes a minute for her to remember which one that was. She’s always been a bit meticulous about separating her meals accordingly. “Carnitas Huevos Rancheros.”

Jimmy hesitates. “Yeah sure, that.”

“Am I running a fucking food pantry?” It’s hard to tell if Roman is genuinely annoyed. Something tells her it’s that type of irritation he naturally gets with the twins but won’t actually do anything about. “It’s not her job to feed you idiots.”

“I don’t mind,” she offers, adding. “I–I like to cook.” And it’s the truth. It reminds Solana of her mom, of all the times she’d spend in the kitchen learning from and spending time with the one and only person on this planet who ever loved her. 

“See, Uce, she likes to cook,” Jey points out, wiping the crumbs off his fingers on his pants and tucking the now empty container under his arm. “I’ll just take this off your hands.”

Solana’s watch vibrating, reminding her that her shift starts in half an hour, is the perfect reminder that while this conversation is comical, it’s also interfering with her schedule. She’s also certain Solo is waiting patiently, or impatiently, by the SUV for her to jump in so they can get a move on. “I—I’ve gotta get to work, but I can have the food ready by tomorrow. I’ll just come home and cook after training.”

“If you feel like it,” Roman adds, and she knows better than to push back and tell him cooking is one of the few escapes she has. It’s become even more of an escape without the anxiety and pressure of her dad and brother demanding the food always be ready in sometimes unrealistic time frames and lashing out when that doesn’t happen.

To Roman’s credit, if he’s ever been annoyed with waiting a few extra minutes for meals, he’s done a perfect job not showing as such. 

She simply nods, acknowledging his stipulation, offering a quiet ‘bye’ as she jogs off to the SUV with Solo ready to escort her to work.

It’s when she’s gone that Jimmy walks up beside Roman. “Man, she can cook, she don’t got a smartass mouth, and she got a body? Shit, Uce, ain’t you glad I told you to go with her?” Roman doesn’t offer a reply, but he definitely gives Jimmy that look that lets his cousin know to get away from him. Roman’s always been big on personal space.

“Does she cook every night?” Jey comes up, asking with an almost level of excitement. “Shit, me and the kids finna start coming over here.”

“Shut up.” The hell they will. Roman is still adjusting to living with someone. The last thing he needs is his cousin and his spawns running around his place, making noise, breaking and touching shit. Not going to happen. “Is Paul already at the office?”

“Yeah. He’s got the updated figures for you to go over. And the RKO proposal was sent over as well for you to review.”

Nodding, Roman starts to create a mental agenda for tasks he needs to complete for the day. And it goes without saying that he’s forever impressed how his cousins are easily able to slide back and forth between professional bag and bumbling morons. 

It’s one of the reasons he keeps them around and as high up in command as they are.

“Good,” Roman acknowledges, sliding his sunglasses over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

————

“Hey!”

Naomi’s smile is just as bright and genuine as the first time Solana met her, and that’s something she doesn’t know how to take. A part of her figured Naomi was just being nice to her because Roman was around, because she was given an order, and no one defies the Tribal Chief’s orders.

And maybe she could even chalk this up to being an order as well, Roman tasking her with training Solana on how to fight, hence the continued kindness.

Regardless of the motivating factor, this woman is clearly a capable and trained fighter. A killer. 

Solana would do well to stay on her good side.

“It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much, but obviously, I’m Naomi. Jimmy’s wife.” For some reason, Solana can see it. Can see these two together, even if she’s only been around both less than a handful of times. “I train a lot of the new recruits, mostly women, some men.”

“Men?”

Naomi chuckles. “That’s typically their reaction too. Right before I remind them who I am and what I can do.”

Solana isn’t sure she wants to know the answer to either of those. 

“Just out of curiosity, do you have any kind of combat training? Fighting knowledge in general?” It’s a valid question that only has one embarrassing answer. Solana guesses that Naomi picks up on this embarrassment, adding gently, “it’s okay if you don’t. It just gives me a baseline on where we should start.”

“No—I—I’ve never done anything like this before.” And she’s still not sure if she wants to, not sure what Roman thinks she will get from this. Him, along with everyone else around her, learned how to shoot a gun at the same time they learned how to walk. She doesn’t think she’s ever even held a gun. There’s no way humanly possible she could ever be even a fraction as good at this. 

And Roman has to know this.

So, why is he making me do it?

Again, either Naomi is insanely perceptive or Solana is much worse at hiding her emotions than she initially believed. 

She’d bet on the latter of the two.

“He doesn’t want you to be like us. He just—”

“He wants you to stop being so damn weak,” a new voice interjects. Solana recognizes the tall, intimidating woman from before when Roman had taken her to the Warehouse. She hadn’t had any direct interaction, but just the mere fact alone that she’d simply looked at Solana with disgust told her all she needed to know. “Wants you to grow a backbone.”

“Nia.” Naomi’s smile is dropped, traded for an intense stare. “Lay off her, okay? You heard what Roman said.”

“Oh yeah, we have to be nice to her.” Nia’s smile is mocking, her unimpressed gaze taking in Solana from head to toe. But Solana focuses on what Nia just said versus her judgmental countenance. Did Roman really tell them to be nice to her? Why? Why would he do that?

Nia walks over, crossing her arms over her body. “Well, here’s some kind advice, I can tell from one look at you that life hasn’t been very nice to you. But that doesn’t make you special.”

Naomi steps in. “Nia!”

“Bad shit happens to people all the time. At some point, you have to stop allowing yourself to be a victim.” If not for the fact that Solana knows Nia can’t stand her, she’d almost think Nia is offering what she believes to be genuine advice vs judging her. “You’re here. You survived it. Make that survival worth something.”

Naomi pushes Nia away from Solana, saying something to her that appears to be in defense of Solana, which she’d appreciate if not for the fact that she’s now in her head.

Nothing Nia said is inherently wrong. The world is undoubtedly both good and bad, perfect yet imperfect, wholly and incompletely balanced. These are all facts she’s well aware of, but what Nia doesn’t know or understand yet is that a person still being here doesn’t mean they survived. 

Solana is already broken.

There is no survival.

There’s just existence.

“Don’t listen to Nia,” Naomi advises. Looking around, Solana sees that at some point in her dissociation, Nia departed. Naomi continues with that same warm smile. “She can be a bitch sometimes, but she does mean well…..occasionally.” Hands on her hip, Naomi brings the attention back to the whole reason Solana is even at the Warehouse. “How about we just start with flexibility and mobility? Most of us are smaller than the men, and you definitely are, girl.”

Small……

That’s a word Solana has never thought to use to describe herself. 

“Being smaller means we can move around faster, can navigate around an attacker in a bit of a quicker way. But, you also have to be able to move in a way that’s lithe. Don’t worry. I gotchu, girl.”

They are reassuring words, words that Solana is grateful for, especially as they begin and she feels completely out of her element. Because she is. Solana isn’t the least bit lithe, and she’s certain her hand eye coordination is straight up shit.

But regardless of all that, Naomi remains kind, patient, and even makes conversation with her.

It doesn’t feel like she’s being made to do this, but more like something she gets to do. And Solana is grateful for that interaction, for the space to not feel like she’s burdening someone. That feels nice. So, so nice.

But equilibrium is a hard thing to achieve and even harder to maintain, so while one safe space is being created, another unsafe space is gradually forming in the midst of her oblivion.

Austin Theory and Grayson Waller, two upcoming, arrogant, fighters and wannabe heads have used the Warehouse for their training space for the past few months after finally proving and gaining access to the elite training grounds. 

And while the initiation and acceptance process was brutal and would ward most off from fucking up their membership status, Austin and Grayson have always been hardheaded, too blinded by their own hubris to recognize when they’re about to shoot themselves in the foot.

And shooting themselves is the least of their worries when Grayson is casually surveying the gym to see who’s present, his eyes landing on a woman in particular who catches his interest almost instantaneously. 

“Well, who do we have here?” Austin is confused initially, Grayson motioning across the way to where Solana completes her cooldown with Naomi. 

Immediately, Austin scoffs. “Since when does this place offer a weight watchers class?”

Chuckling, Grayson still pushes back. “Hers is in the right places though, mate,” Grayson again advises Austin to watch Solana as she happens to be leaning back, palms flat on the ground making her top hug against her chest.

Austin makes a face. “Decent.”

“Who is she?” Grayson asks again as Austin notices a semi-familiar face walking nearby.

“Melo.”

Carmelo shifts his Beats headphones so they’re no longer covering his ears. “Whassup?”

Austin subtly gestures to Solana, asking, “who is that?”

Carmelo follows the line of vision and almost immediately snatches his eyes back to the duo. “Yo. You fuckin’ crazy?” 

“What?”

Carmelo repeats himself, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Do you know who that is?”

“Pretty sure that’s what we just fucking asked you, dumbass,” Austin slaps him upside the head. “Now who is she?”

“Solana Miller. Well, Solana Reigns now, I guess.” Carmelo lowers his voice, as if speaking too loudly will attract too much attention. And he’s not entirely wrong. “Roman’s wife.”

Grayson makes a face, looking between Carmelo and Austin for elaboration. “Reigns got married? Bullshit. That bloke is the last man to ever walk down the aisle.”

“You two would do well getting your head from up your asses every once in a while. It’s a recent thing, but still a thing. So unless you want your insides literally ripped from out of you, it’d be best to leave her the fuck alone.”

Austin, the most smug of the two, is the first to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those. Everyone makes Roman out to be this big bad who can’t be touched. He defends, what, once every six months?” Austin scoffs. The fear that the “Head of the Table” seems to have over everyone has never made sense to him. Sure, he’s heard things, even seen some things, but that’s always been because Roman called the shot. He’s not the one actually taking or making them. “Everyone knows he has his heron boys do his dirty work for him.”

“Plus, isn’t the guy pushing 40? What the fuck is he going to do?” Grayson laughs.

“Break his fucking hip trying to chase us.”

Carmelo shakes his head as the two dipshits laugh at their unfunny humor. “I’m telling ya’ll. Messing with her is a death wish. Plus, I heard she’s not even like that. That’s she’s like….shy and shit.”

If intended to ward the two off, it does the complete opposite. Theory smirks. “Those are always the freakiest.”

Carmelo backs away, lifting his hand in a surrender motion. “Can’t say I ain’t warn you. Dig your own graves.” With zero interest in having any part of what these two are clearly planning, Carmelo puts his headphones back over his ears and jogs off to start his training. 

And it’s a wise decision as Austin and Grayson, forever the patient predators stalking their prey wait for Naomi to walk off, time it well so that there’s an appropriate enough time for Solana to walk off to the showers, get clean, and walk out at the same time they happen to be lurking in the halls that lead to the locker rooms. 

That’s exactly how it plays out too, Solana looking down in her bag to grab her phone and text Solo that she’s done and ready to leave when a voice nearly knocks the wind out of her.

“Hi there.”

Solana gasps as loud as the sound of her back colliding with the brick wall behind her from how startled she is.

Instantly, she’s met with a set of cold blue eyes and wicked smile. “Solana, right?”

Breathing feels like it’s an optional thing, her hands still gripping the brick wall behind her. She can only nod her answer.

“Austin.” He then nods to the other man that Solana realizes is leaning back against the wall opposite her. The anxiety intensifies. “This is my buddy, Grayson. You must be new around here?”

Solana doesn’t want to speak, doesn't want to be near these two who have her practically cornered. But, she also doesn’t want to piss them off either. “Y—yeah.”

Austin’s eyes twinkle with nothing that seems good. “You really are shy, huh?”

“They make the best.” Grayson comments from his propped up position. Solana doesn’t allow herself to think too much about what he’s implying. She just wants to get the hell away from them. One look, and she knows they’re up to no good.

It makes her sick to her stomach.

The idea of walking past these two brings a visceral, physical response that has her mouth watering. She feels like she’s going to throw up, but she also knows she needs to get the hell away from them. “I—I have to go.” From where the next thing to come out her mouth stems from, she doesn’t know, but it’s blurted with all the nerves in her body. “R-Roman is waiting for me.”

He’s not. She actually has no idea where he is, but there’s a part of her that wonders if reminding them of who she is, who her husband is will make them back off.

“Of course,” the one with an accent speaks, motioning with his arm for her to leave. “Don’t want to keep the Chief waiting.”

The mockery in his tone unease her even more. Does he not realize just who Roman is? What he’s capable of. 

Regardless, the second Austin backs away a bit, she’s darting through the hall, trying to put as much distance between herself and the two men, but she’s not far enough to miss the ominous departing statement from Austin.

“See you around, Solana.”

Something tells her this won’t be the last time she runs into them, and it leaves a deep, disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach.

This isn’t good. 

It’s not good at all. 

————

Dear Mom,

I’m still alive. 

That’s a good thing, I guess. Life with Roman has been….a strange experience. The most important thing is that he hasn’t hit me yet, but I’ve been trying really hard not to upset him or get on his bad side. I do my best to make sure all of his meals are ready and on time, which I guess helps. 

But to be honest……he kinda confuses me. 

He hasn’t been unkind, and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced him really yelling at me. Not like I’ve seen him yell and scream at others. So, that’s also good. It’s a bit of walking on eggshells, just waiting for him to snap and hit me, but not as much as I was thinking.

I don’t know….it hasn’t been as bad here as I thought it would be. For the most part, he just leaves me alone. We don’t even eat dinner together, which is fine, cause I can’t see why he’d want to spend time with me anyway. 

But, he confuses me because it feels like sometimes he’s defending me or something, which doesn’t make sense because why would he do that? That would mean he has to care to some extent, right? I keep trying to remind myself that it’s probably not me he’s defending but his pride and standing, because I think being mean or disrespecting me is like disrespecting him? I’m not sure, but it’s definitely a new experience.

I haven't spoken to or heard from Wes and dad. Roman made me get a new phone with a new number that I’m not sure either of them have. I don’t know if I want to think too much about how bad it’s going to be when I finally do see them again…..

Wes made it clear I was supposed to be keeping in contact with them, but that hasn’t happened. Truth be told, I try not to think about that. Think about the fact that I’m somehow supposed be figuring out a way to…..to kill Roman. I could never do that. I could never kill anyone. You know that, mama. 

Even more….I feel like Roman is growing on me, like maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, like maybe there’s more to him than meets the eye.

I think….I think that I could learn to like living here.

—------

“WarGames?”

To Solana, it’s a simple question, because it’s definitely not an everyday term. But that’s clearly not the case given the startled expressions on both Bayley and Naomi’s face.

It’s becoming something she is slowly starting to enjoy. Not necessarily the training part, but the socialization. It’s something Solana has been deeply deprived of over the years, so to have someone to talk to, someone who wants to talk to her means a lot. 

Even if it’s technically a job she was assigned by Roman, Naomi has never made her feel like their interactions are forced. 

Moreover, it was just in last week’s training session, Solana was thoroughly and pleasantly surprised to find out Bayley is also a member of the Warehouse and friends with Naomi, that reunion almost giving Solana a sense of giddiness. 

She’s wanted to reach out since the wedding but never followed through based upon her fear that she’d be bothering Bayley. 

Clearly, that’s not the case. 

Solana is certain she’ll never forget Bayley’s kindness on a day where she really needed to believe in something, believe that there is always at least one reason to keep breathing, to be alive.

But, it’s when Solana asks about this topic Naomi and Bayley were discussing that attracts confounded expressions. 

“You’re kidding right?” Bayley is the first to speak, glancing between herself and Naomi. “He didn’t tell you?”

Still confused, Solana presses, “tell me what?”

“I’m not surprised Roman didn’t, but someone definitely should have.” Naomi shakes her head, shifting into an explanation.. “War Games. It’s an annual match. Super big deal. It’s a show of strength and dominance for the Bloodline. Kinda hard to explain. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

It sounds….intense. “I—I don’t think I’m invited.”

“Your hubby has clearly been a bachelor for way too long for him to realize that he has to tell you these things.” Bayley rolls her eyes but protests Solana’s belief that she would somehow not be invited to one of the Bloodline’s most important yearly events. “You’re definitely invited. As Roman’s wife, you have to be there. It would be seen as a sign of great disrespect to him if you didn’t.””

Disrespecting Roman…..never a good idea.

“When is it?”

Naomi seems to hesitate before answering. “Tomorrow night” And before Solana can panic at such short notice, Naomis is reassuring her that it will all work out. “Don’t worry. Bay and I will help you get ready.”

“Hell yeah.” Bayley already goes into strategizing mode. “I’ll handle your hair and makeup, and Naomi can find you a kickass dress.”

“Red, of course. That’s the only non-negotiable. Bloodline thing, ya know.” Solana figured as such. She also briefly wonders if that’s why Roman has been coming back home late the past few weeks, because he’s been training? “But, I will say we usually dress….well, like we’re going clubbing for these kinds of events, so it’s gonna be short, tight, and a tad bit revealing.”

That is something that gives Solana pause. None of those things scream appealing to her at all. She doesn’t have the body to dress like that. Not with the rolls, stretch marks, and scars that mar hers. 

“I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she finds it in herself to voice her opinion. A rarity. “I don’t—I don’t think I’d look good in something like that.”

Both Bayley and Naomi cast her confused expressions, Naomi being the first to speak. 

“Why?” Naomi presses, gesturing up and down. “Girl, you have a nice ass shape. You would fill out a bodycon dress nicely.”

Solana has a hard time digesting what Naomi is saying. She would look great in a dress like that. Naomi is both fit and curvy, the perfect amount of curves in the right places without unnecessary fat. Same for Bayley.

For Solana, the less skin she’s showing the better, though she wonders if the kind of attire they’re describing is some type of dress code, meaning there is no room to protest. 

The last thing she wants is for it to get back to Roman that she’s being “difficult.”

Defeated, she murmurs an ‘okay’ as the two of them engage in more conversation about this WarGames as well as fashion options. To be fair, they try to include her in, but Solana is too into her head about what this alleged night is as well as what it could include.

—---

Naomi wasn’t lying when she said that Solana would have to see WarGames for herself to understand it. That’s the absolute truth. 

It’s a spectacle, to say the least. 

For one, it’s a ton of people packed around the ring, the massive room where fights take place. The noise is boisterous, almost deafening, people drunk, swearing, placing bets, most of which are on the Bloodline.

And thankfully, Solana and Co. are seated in the upper area, a VIP box of sorts, away from the unruly crowd. She’s thankful for this for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being the fact that she feels extremely uncomfortable in her dress. And just in general, but mostly with how much scarred skin is showing.

The dress is exactly as Naomi said it would be: short, red, and a bit revealing. Thankfully Naomi picked out a dress with a halter neckline that prevents any cleavage from showing, but there’s a split high up on the thigh that she finds herself trying to constantly adjust.

“You look great, Solana.” Bayley wears that same friendly, encouraging smile from Solana’s wedding day. “And I get that you’re self-conscious about your body, but I can guarantee these men would line up by the dozen for a chance to go home with you if not for your psycho-killer husband.”

Bayley playfully nudges her shoulder, and while Solana can emit a chuckle, she can’t bring herself to laugh. That line of men would be just as disappointed as she’s sure her psycho-killer husband was on their wedding night.

But, this isn’t the time and place for that.

“You look nice,” Solana compliments, partially a deflection technique but mostly the truth. Bayley, Naomi, and Nicki, who she met earlier that night and learned was Jey’s wife, all look exceptional in their numbers. Bayley is the only one not wearing red, for obvious reasons, but the jade green compliments her complexion well.

“We all look nice,” she says loud enough for the other two to hear.

Nicki opens her mouth to respond when the lights in the arena start to shift.  “Ugh. This bitch again.” Nicki’s scowl and expression of irritation draws Solana’s attention to the woman in the ring, who now has the spotlight on her, a woman she immediately recognizes as being there that night Roman woke her up from a nightmare.

The woman is tall, curvy in the right places, beautiful, bouncy curls cascading down her back. If she has a lot of makeup on, Solana can’t tell because it’s painfully obvious she’s been blessed with natural beauty. Everything about her is just so gorgeous.

At the time, she didn’t think anything of it, too caught in the haze of trauma. But now, curious and believing she can receive an answer, Solana asks, “who is she?”

“The most annoying person ever,” Nicki answers, taking a swig of her drink. In only knowing Nicki for less than an hour, Solana both does and doesn’t understand the compatibility between herself and Jey. They seem very much alike yet dissimilar. It makes sense why they fight as much as they do.

“That’s Samantha.” There’s no way to misinterpret the disgust in Nicki’s voice even as she pronounces Samantha’s name with undeniable distaste. “She does the announcements for events, but her daytime job is being a professional hooker.”

“Nicki!” Naomi shakes her head. “I think she’s a paralegal for a lawyer or something, but she’s mostly known as a pain in everyone’s ass. Always has been. Ever since we were in high school. She thinks because she’s light skinned with ‘good hair’ that she’s better than everybody.”

“Don’t forget about Roman,” Nicki chimes with her nose upturned. “She really thinks she’s hot shit though because she’s number one on his ‘I want my dick sucked’ list.”

This causes Solana to pause for a second. “What?”

She’s not stupid. Why else would this Samantha have been over at the house that late at night? And with Roman? Solana figured early on that if he isn’t getting any from her, then he has to be getting it from somewhere. Truthfully, even if their marriage did involve sex, she’s not sure he still wouldn’t find his way in between the legs of another woman.

But, there’s something about having it confirmed, hearing for herself that he gets around, that he clearly has a high sex drive that adds a whole new layer of insecurity.

She’s known from day one she could never be anyone he wanted or needed, and he expressed as such that day at the library, but this conversation makes it feel more…..real.

And she’s unsure why or just what makes this bring on a sense of sadness.

“Come on, I get you’re quiet and innocent and shit, but everyone knows that man is a hoe. If you’re black or black–ish with a vagina, fat ass, and big titties, he’ll fuck you. Cause none of them fools fuck with white girls.” She glances at Bayley, almost sympathetically. “No offense.”

“I’m Mexican.”

This serves as a brief, nice distraction for Solana. She suspected that Bayley wasn’t entirely white, but hearing that she’s Hispanic, Mexican, makes Solana feel a small slice of excitement. She makes a mental note to ask her if she speaks Spanish. 

Solana hasn’t been able to communicate in the language her mother made sure to teach her in secret given Xavier’s protest since her murder. So, the idea of being able to communicate with another person in that language makes her feel a bit excited. Maybe more than a bit.

Nicki is dismissive, though there’s a hint of humor there. Like she knows and is just messing with the other woman. “Sure you are, Bay.”

Bayley rolls her eyes and assures Solana. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Ya’ll, don’t lie to this girl.” Nicki seems dead set on stressing this point, and Solana can’t figure out if it comes from a good place, a drunk place, or somewhere in between the two of them. “If it wasn’t common knowledge he don’t fuck none of these bitches raw and makes most get on birth control, I’d tell you to not let that fool touch you with a ten foot pole.”

Bayley is watching Solana, sees the discomfort growing at this conversation and moves to change the conversation. “Why don’t we talk about you and Jey and why I literally saw him flirting with Sasha the other day?”

At that, Nicki drops her drink, cussing loudly, “man, fuck him! I don’t give a fuck about him or that bony heifer! I’ll beat the shit out both of them.”

“Nicki. Shut the fuck up. You may beat her ass, but you gon be right back to drunk spilling about how good Jey’s dick is when it’s all said and done.” Naomi dismisses, and something tells Solana she’s not wrong. Nicki and Jey seem to have a bit of a…..tumultuous relationship.

“I mean it this time!”

“Uh huh, sure sis.”

“And if you don’t give a fuck about him, why are you here?” Naomi challenges. 

All eyes on her, even Solana’s slightly curious gaze, Nicki falls back in her chair and mumbles, “cause that’s my man.”

Naomi and Bayley are a chorus of laughter and whooping and hollering, roasting Nicki for her contradictory statements.

Flashing blue lights illuminate the arena as everyone immediately moves to their feet followed by opening music that almost instantly brings chills up Solana’s arms. The lights then transition to a combination of red and blue, the sound of cheering intensifying as she redirects her focus back to where the first group entered. 

Solana’s eyes instantly, maybe even naturally, land on Roman. He stands first among the men, shirtless, ula fala around his neck, championship belt around his waist, a look of fierce determination and stoicism painted across his handsome face. 

And that body…..rippling muscles glistening under the heat of the lights.

It’s a strange and miserable experience. Feeling all of the sensations and attractions a human typically has to another human being but having an almost inability to act on them. It’s not that Solana isn’t attracted to Roman. She finds him to be sinfully attractive. The issue is that whenever she thinks about what physical acts take place when two people find each other attractive is when her head is swarmed with vivid memories and flashbacks of being violated in the worst way possible.

And the attraction is stumped by fear and trauma. Fear of being touched. Fear of being with anyone in that way. 

It’s like Roman said. He can get that from anyone, so why would he bother with her?

When he has someone like Samantha, prettier, smaller, easier, at his disposal?

It brings a wave of sadness over her that she’s grateful isn’t noticed by the other ladies who are focused on the start of the match.

And to her credit, Solana tries to pay attention, grateful and thankful for Naomi and Bayley occasionally pointing out certain aspects of how it works, why the two groups are separated, individual members from each side periodically being sent into the line of fire.

“Roman always goes last,” Naomi explains at one point.

“Save the best for last type shit,” Bayley adds, finishing off her beer and asking for another. 

“More like once he gets his ass in there, it’s a wrap. Everyone left getting smashed.” Solana believes this wholeheartedly. She’s just not sure if she wants to see that, see that side of him up close. 

It exists, obviously, but it’s hard to compare the killer she knows he is to the man he’s been to in the short duration of their marriage.

Almost….almost kind. 

The fighting, brutal and bloody, all occurs in the ring, but Solana constantly finds her gaze falling back to Roman. He remains seated, patiently or maybe impatiently waiting for his turn, never once ripping his gaze from the match. She sees Paul outside the cage, occasionally speaking to Roman, advising as he always does. 

Solana can tell he’s completely immersed, focusing solely on the match before him. 

And it’s when there’s some type of in-ring argument between the twins and the other member-in-training of sorts, Sami, she thinks Naomi called him, that she turns to the ladies. “What are they doing?”

“Sealing a death wish,” Nicki answers with a shake of her head. “Roman gon’ have all they asses for this.”

Naomi sighs loudly, advising Solana after the bickering results in one of the men from the other group getting the upper hand, landing a particularly brutal looking kick to Jey. “There’s been some….contention between Sami and the twins, mostly Jey, but Nicki isn’t entirely wrong. They should know better than to let that shit interfere with a match. Roman will most likely make them stay after and……yeah.”

Solana doesn’t need a detailed explanation. She has a good idea of what Roman making them pay will look like. It’s also not something she wants to see.

The match, in and of itself, despite the excitement and pure interest of everyone around her, isn’t necessarily something she wants to see. Solana has seen, been exposed, and experienced enough fighting violence to last her a lifetime. 

This is entertainment to them, but for her, it’s been her lived experience.

So, she doesn’t feel any sort of adrenaline rush watching grown men beat the crap out of each other, blood, sweat, and bruised, battered bodies putting themselves through hell. It gives her some relief to see that the Bloodline, for the most part, remains with the upperhand. Even with their in-house argument earlier in the fight. 

But, it’s when the timer that ends with another man joining the brawl moves to a ten second countdown that her interest grows a bit more. It grows a bit because Roman is finally about to enter the ring.

She watches him, has mostly just watched him this entire time. He’s just as unbothered as he was the minute he walked in. Adjusting his gloves while Paul clearly tries to bestow some last minute wisdom before he makes his entrance.

It feels a bit redundant. She’s certain this man doesn’t need anyone helping him with anything.

And as soon as the timer winds down to zero, Roman gradually making his way to the ring, Solana knows she was right. Knows he doesn’t need help, because he’s been studying and planning for the past almost 45 minutes. Strategizing.

It shows the minute the men, all 10 of them go at it. It’s hard to keep track of all of the mayhem, fists flying, kicks landing in areas that are sure to require a couple days to recover. But, it’s Roman who still manages to catch and hold Solana’s attention. He moves with such precision and accuracy, blows every bit as barbarous and violent as his reputation warrants.

There’s a small part of her that experiences something she can’t quite label or understand when he takes a hit, especially when a member of the other team manages to catch Roman off guard, sending him into the table, the weight of him snapping it in half.

At that, she nervously starts to move her fingers up and down the side of her dress. But, Roman, while clearly impacted from the blow by the blood starting to stream down the back of his arm only seems further enraged. Like being attacked has somehow refueled him, recharged his already pre-existing rage.

“They are in trouble now….” Naomi murmurs, shaking her head, as if she knows what’s about to come. “Roman hates getting hit, and they made him bleed too?”

It’s the blood part, maybe, that bothers Solana. It’s silly given who he is and the fact that he’s clearly holding his own just fine, but Solana wonders why he doesn’t or can’t have that tended to. It has to hurt.

But, then again, it all hurts, so maybe the pain just numbs itself out.

And maybe Roman is clearly caught up and consumed in adrenaline, in the mad rush of the battle, because it seems from the table slam on out, no one is touching him. He’s all over the place, strong blows resulting in grown men crying out in pain. She’s certain those closer to the actual ring can hear the sound of bones crunching, an inevitable thing given the abnormal distortion of limbs she sees on the other team.

He yells and taunts his opponents, one by one, laying them out with the somewhat assistance of the rest of the men. Truth be told, Roman could have probably tagged out the other four men and handled the other team all on his own. 

He’s just that effective.

And when there’s only one man standing, barely, Roman moves to the other side of the ring, face turned up in rage, watching and waiting for the perfect moment for him to dart across, laughing into a spear so forceful that it knocks the man unconscious instantly, guaranteeing an instant, easy pin.

The crowd erupts in cheers, Roman’s music sounding as Samantha formally announces the Bloodline as the winners.

There’s a strange sense of relief that Solana has at that, at the fact that this is all over, that the fighting is done. That Roman is done, because her mind keeps going toward the fact that he probably needs some level of medical attention and when said attention is going to happen.  

But while she expects the Bloodline to start their exit, she’s instead met with security dragging the unconscious bodies of the losing team outside of the ring.

“What’s happening?” Solana asks Bayley, realizing that the women are starting to pack up to head out. “Isn’t—isn’t it over?”

“For us, yes.” Her eyes set on the twins, Solo, and Sami. “For them, it’s just beginning.” Solana reflects back on their in-ring argument and Naomi’s foreshadowing about this happening, about this punishment.

And one glance at Roman, his hulking shoulders lifting and lowering with his heavy panting. His eyes are flaming with a fury he clearly intends to take out on his team.

“Come on.” Naomi draws Solana’s attention. “I’ll ride home with you, cause Solo ain’t gon be free no time soon.”

None of them will.

Solana recognizes this and agrees, but it’s not without a sense of disappointment at not leaving with Roman.

And that confuses her. It confuses her a lot.

She didn’t arrive with him, so why would she leave with him?

More importantly, why does she care that she’s not leaving with him?

—----------

“I–I can do that for you.”

There are some things meant to be thought and some things meant to be said. This is one of those things that should have stayed in Solana’s head instead of rolling off her tongue the way it does. 

She was only supposed to ask him if he wanted her to make anything in particular for breakfast tomorrow, not offer to freaking suture stitches for him.

Well, that’s not entirely true, because as it’s almost damn midnight, she could and should at least be in bed trying to sleep. She’s been home for almost two hours, showered, changed into her oversized shirt and sweats. 

She shouldn’t even be standing before him, but there was some type of unease she had at trying to fall asleep without making sure he made it home, without seeing to it that he tended to any injuries he sustained tonight.

Solana almost feels like that’s what she should do, like she should make sure she’s available to assist him with anything he may need. Like it’s just another thing that could keep him from directing his anger from earlier towards her. 

And it’s slightly less stressful for her in knowing that he’s more likely to harshly dismiss her, maybe even chastise her for unintentionally implying he’s somehow incapable. However, instead of a rebuff, he simply looks at her, asking, “you know how?”

Solana doesn’t know why, but she takes this as a sign that he’s accepting her offer. Walking over to where he sits at the kitchen island, she sees he already has the supplies laid out. “I—I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Some of it from patching up her dad and brother but most of it from patching up herself over the years, from watching and learning from her mother tend to her wounds after sustaining beatings from Xavier. “My mom was also a nurse. She—she taught me a lot.” Like the proper way to suture. “Did—did you already disinfect?”

Solana is slightly nervous when he says no. That means she’s the one that’s going to have to inflict that brief but potent burning pain.

Lovely.

Nonetheless, she readies the cloth, holding it over the cut before warning, “this—this might sting.”

“I don’t care.” And she believes it. Seeing him in the ring tonight, his prowess, his brutality, she’s not sure if anything could hurt him.

Solana proceeds to clean and disinfect the area before grabbing the sutures to start stitching him back up.

Roman suddenly asks her. “Did you want to go into the medical field?” Roman recalls from the file he read on her that she never pursued any higher education beyond high school, something else he marked against her at the time. Education and knowledge have always been important to him.

But meeting her and slowly learning more about her backstory, he wonders if that was of her own choosing, hence his asking.

Solana, meanwhile, can’t figure out why he’s even talking to her in the first place. He seemed, justifiably, annoyed with and not wanting to be bothered with any and everyone post match. Now he’s asking her questions about things she hasn’t thought about in years. 

Still, she answers with the truth. “I—I wanted to be a nurse. Like my mom.” 

This doesn’t surprise Roman as he follows up with, “why didn’t you?”

A lot of reasons. Many of which she has very little desire to share, not that she could or would even want to ever voice as such to the man sitting in front of her. 

That’d be an instant death wish.

“My—my father. He, umm, didn’t want me to leave home.” It’s a version of the truth, the unabridged version being he didn’t want her to leave home because he wouldn’t be able to control her if she did so.

And Solana has a feeling that she doesn’t need to share all that, that Roman already knows this.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Roman’s delivery, like most of the time, is insensitive. But, he genuinely wants to know. For what reason did she stay there all those years, in a house of horrors instead of just leaving and never looking back?

It’s a fair, simple question with a complex, layered answer that she greatly simplifies. 

“I tried. It—it never worked out.” And it’s when Roman hears the sudden sadness in her voice, sees the way her eyes temporarily shift to her inner forearms, horizontal faded scars that he’s just now able to see from how close she is to him that he gets it.

He realizes that she tried in more ways than one, none of them being successful.

And in a truly coincidental way, Solana notices he’s also cut on the back of his bicep. It’s also in her being so close to him that she realizes underneath the intricacies of the tribal tattoos on his forearm, there are scars. Burn scars, nothing severe, but visible enough for her to notice. 

It makes her wonder about where he got them, how he got them, not that she’d ever have enough bravery to ask.

She instead clears her throat and gestures to the cut. “Do–do you want me to do that one too?”

It takes a second for Roman to think about what she’s asking. “Is it deep enough?”

Without thinking about it, she brings her hand to finger to lightly feel the cut that was clearly poorly and in a rush patched up post fight. Nodding, she explains, “it’s deeper than about 1/4th an inch, so yeah, I—you should let me.” And in realizing she’s touching him, like she isn’t doing the same thing while suturing, she snatches her hand back, apologizing quietly.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had a woman apologize for touching him.

“Okay.” 

And that’s it, he doesn’t protest, doesn’t chastise her for making it seem like he doesn’t know or understand injuries. He just allows her to work on him, Solana doing her best to ignore the fact that he’s so close to her, his big, strong body, even while seated, overwhelming her. 

But while this would typically cause Solana to go into panic mode, being so close to a half dressed man, she doesn’t feel that with Roman. She doesn’t feel anything at all. No anxiety, no fear, just some nameless emotion that doesn’t evoke her typical nervous responses.

“Okay.” Finishing up, Solana moves to clean up the supplies, discarding what is no longer usable. “Just….don’t get it wet for next few hours, and apply the ointment as needed, but—I’m sure you know all this already.” She feels silly for speaking to him as if he hasn’t patched himself up or been stitched up countless time before. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Not wanting to risk embarrassing herself further, she turns on the heel of her foot and starts walking off, only to stop when he calls for her. 

“Solana.”

She turns around, and Roman is briefly caught up in how she presses her lips together, trying to suppress a frown. She thinks she’s done something wrong.

One more sweep of her frame from bottom to top, remembering the stunning complement and contrast of the red dress against her complexion. He compliments, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

She looks absolutely taken back by what is an obvious statement. Taken back and confused. “M—me?” She’s pointing to herself, brows arching together. And for a second, there’s a small hint of a growing smile as she asks, as if he could have made a mistake. “Really?”

He didn’t.

Roman doesn’t make mistakes

Solana has a lot of things fucked up about her, but one thing not a damn person can deny is that she’s absolutely gorgeous with a body to match. That’s just a fact, why he felt the need to express said fact is a bit beyond him, but Roman doesn’t allow himself to think too much about it. It’s not a sentimental thing at all, just a plain fact being stated, if anything.

“Thank you,” she finally says as he notices the reddening of her cheeks. “Umm, good night.” Solana’s hand is on the banister, her finger squeezing tighter than the coils in her stomach. “Roman?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier if he would have just ignored her, but he doesn’t. His gaze snaps up to her from the phone now in his hand.

The same hand she witnessed just tonight pummel grown men, just as muscular and intimidating as he is to a bloody pulp. The same hand that could easily take her life, could have her clinging onto life with just one beating. And that’s all she can see at the thought of telling him about Grayson and Theory messing with her, that it’s now happened twice, they’ve caught her off guard and alone, sexually harassing her. 

Nia’s words from the other day return to the front of her mind.

“He wants you to stop being so weak.”

He’ll blame her. He’ll blame her the same way her father blamed her for what they did to her. He’ll blame her for being so weak. That’s what Solana knows will happen. Knows he’ll say she was leading them on, that she must have done something to garner their interest in her. And he’ll be angry.

He’ll be angry at her.

And nothing good ever comes out of Roman Reigns being angry.

She’s seen it for herself firsthand tonight.

Determine to find a way to deal with this on her own, she shakes her head, “nothing. S–sorry.” She’s turned back to the steps when he says her name this time. His tone clear and authoritative.

She jumps, immediately turning back around to face him. He’s now standing near the steps where she stands, halfway between rescue and ridicule.

Something flashes in his gaze at her obvious nervousness, but he quickly refocuses on the topic at hand. “You have something to say, so say it.”

A deep layer of regret and anxiety settles in at the realization that there is no lying to Roman. He’s adroitly skilled in reading between the lines and seeing through bullshit. Or maybe she’s just that bad at lying.

Hopefully not the latter because another lie is about to roll right out.

“I was just—I was gonna sleep in tomorrow, but I have to make your breakfast, so I’ll just—”

“You don’t have to do anything, Solana.” 

Roman knows she’s lying. Knows she just pulled that out of her ass instead of sharing whatever it is she initially wanted to say. It’s probably something stupid too, something he won’t give two shits about, but something she thinks he gives two shits about. And he’d push her if not for the fact he can tell she’s getting all nervous and shit on him again. The last thing he needs is her having another panic attack. 

“Sleep in,” he directs. This is a conversation, much to his chagrin, that will have to take part in sections. And it’s too late in the evening to hash out one of those sections. And to be fair, there is a part of him that recognizes she probably does feel like she needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn like him to have his first meal of the day ready to go. And his lunch. And his dinner.

Granted, Roman can’t and won’t complain about all of it, because the girl can cook her ass off.

But, it’s not necessary.

He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

He’s done so since he was 10 years old.

“Thank you.” She does that thing again where she smiles like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery or been given the cure to world hunger. It’s the simplest things that seem to make her happy. Considering the bar has already been set so low, it makes a bit of sense.

It makes a lot of sense.

“Goodnight.”

Roman is certain she’s intentional in the way she turns on the heel of her foot to move up the stairs, putting as much distance between the two of them to avoid a follow up question. Her avoidance behavior is a bit impressive, irksome, but still impressive, nonetheless.

And it would be remiss of Roman to not sneak a peak of her retreating form moving up the steps, his eyes glued to the sway of her ass, again remembering that short, red dress that momentarily distracted him when he laid eyes on her at the match.

Roman would never deny his physical attraction to her. That’s just a fact. She’s shaped in a way that makes his dick hard at the thought of having that body underneath his, writhing, begging for him to not stop fucking her in all the ways he would if he could.

But, that’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy because the reality is that he can’t even touch this girl without her freaking out on him, something that would annoy him greatly if he didn’t realize there’s a reason behind her jumpiness.

Something that’s beyond just her shitty father and brother. 

Roman doesn’t allow himself to travel down that path, to see what it might lead to because just the thought of what might be the reason she doesn’t like being touched has his fist forming at his side, nostrils flared, and anger brewing at an accelerated pace that doesn’t make sense.

It also doesn’t make sense when he grabs his phone, navigating to the desired thread, sending a text he doesn’t think much about.

Roman: Get me a list of dog breeders. Small dogs. Preferably local. We can travel if necessary.

Paul: Sir?

Roman: Just do it.

Paul: I’ll have it to you by tomorrow morning.

[fallingfavourites]

the fisher king - cm fanfic

summary: Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You stayed at home to relax. no one had expected the terrifying turn this vacation would take.

pairing: bau team x reader (platonic), hints/alludes at spencer reid x reader and elle greenaway x reader

cw/tw: typical cm violence, shooting, blood

word count: 8,568

a/n: basically just follows the fisher king episodes plot, english isn't my first language and im dyslexic so sorry in advance, tried to edit as best as i could! i hope this fic makes sense i dont even know anymore, enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated just dont be mean about it pls

masterlist

Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You had just ended up on your couch with a cozy blanket and a movie you had been meaning to watch. A sudden loud ringing made you jump up. Rubbing your eyes so they can refocus.

You had fallen asleep. You would’ve laughed at yourself if it wasn’t for the constant loud ringing. Finally, finding your phone between the blanket you picked up without looking at the caller ID.  “Y/n? Y/n?” It took a second for you to register JJ’s voice as she repeated your name.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m here is everything okay?” you asked, running a hand through your hair. “You need to get to the office. Now.” She sounded serious.

“What happened?” You asked as you vaguely heard someone talk to JJ. It kind of sounded like Gideon. If he came to the office, it must be serious.

“Tell me when I get there, I’m on my way.” You said, not even waiting for her to respond to your question and you hung up. A million thoughts race through your head as you put on a work-appropriate outfit. As soon as you were ready you got in your car and drove to the bau as quickly as you could.

When you arrive JJ immediately walks up to you and starts filling you in. Elle got arrested, Gideon received a head in the mail, Hotch had a strange phone call, and she had just gotten a framed butterfly. “So, someone is targeting the team?” Crossing your arms over your body. You’ve worked for the bau a few years now and have never experienced anything like this.

“You didn’t get anything?” JJ questioned. It was strange. “No, I haven’t.” You replied.

“Huh, that’s strange.” She said what you were just thinking. JJ frowned, clearly trying to think of a reason why you didn’t. “I’ll keep my eye out for anything strange.” You nodded as you told her.

After about 30 minutes of looking over all the evidence the team had gathered so far, Elle, Morgan, and Hotch stepped out of the elevator. JJ walked up to them, so you got up and made your way over.

“Virginia? You mean that son of a bitch is from here?” This is the first thing you hear Elle say as you open the glass doors. Talking about Frank Giles.

“I don’t know if he’s from here, but this is where he flew to. Arlington.” JJ started explaining as you stepped up next to her and Morgan. He gave you a nod as he acknowledged you.

“He’s got a long criminal record. Manslaughter, robbery, rape.” She continued as she read from the file.

“What about the victim?” You asked crossing your arms, “Marty Harris.” Derek filled in.

“Uh, he’s a two-time convicted fetish burglar, registered child sex offender…” JJ read from the other file. “And we have his head.” Gideon interrupted her. “CSU just positively identified the one delivered to my cabin.”

“Don’t waste time on the first victims. They were unrepentant, bad men. They only got what they deserved.” Hotch spoke up. “What is that?” Morgan asked him.

“I got a phone call last night before you called from Jamaica.” He said looking over at Derek.

“Any mention of a ‘her’?” Elle asks Hotch. “You must help him save her.”  he replies.

“Oh, so there’s a ‘him’ now, too?” Elle responds, clearly annoyed. Which is totally reasonable after getting arrested for murder and barely having any sleep.

“I think he means Reid.” You look over at Gideon. “Reid?” You and JJ both say at the same time. “We need to regroup.” Hotch says as last, and you all walk into the office.

You, JJ, Morgan, and Gideon are sitting at the round table. Hotch stood behind you and Elle stood near the tv screen. “So, clearly we have a psychopath intent on drawing us into his game.” Hotch said with his arms crossed. “Playing with us.” Gideon looked at his hands on the table. “Then let’s return the favor.” Elle says.

“He kept telling us repeatedly to save her. What ‘her’?” Derek questions.

“Items he’s sent must be some kind of clues.” You nod at what Gideon says. “Let’s get them up on the board.” Hotch nods towards the board as he says that.

“I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963, and I got a head in a box.” Gideon starts as JJ gets up walking up to the board. “I got a rare butterfly in a shadow box.” She says as she starts writing it down on the whiteboard. “And repeated messages to ‘save her.’” Hotch adds.

“I got the decapitated body.” Elle says smiling sarcastically. “And a nice visit to the Jamaican Police Headquarters.”

Hotch looks over to you to say what you got. “I didn’t get anything.” You shrug.

“Not even a phone call?” He questions, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head. It looked as if Hotch was going to say something, but Gideon changed the subject. “Reid called from Nevada. He's on the way back here with a skeleton key and a note he got, too.”.

“And the guys who called me said, ‘the youngest holds the key’” Hotch adds on. “That’s Reid.” Elle says as she keeps pacing.

“Okay but wait a minute.” You look over at Derek. “Unsubs, they don’t contact us this way. I mean they might taunt us, dare us to catch them, but they don’t drag us into their fantasy.”

“Why not?” JJ asks Morgan when he finishes.

“Because their fantasies are sexual fantasies.” You answer before he can. “Right, taunting us is a show of power, but making us the object is…” He tries to search for the right words, “I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“There’s something else about the baseball card.” You look back to Gideon as he starts a new theory. “Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox. I went to almost every game with my father that year. Fox was my hero.” He says as he leans back in the chair. “So, is it a coincidence that he sends this to me, or does he know how I feel about him?” He questions looking over at Hotch. This makes JJ turn around.

“I collected butterflies when I was a little girl.” You all look over at her. “That’s how I knew what butterfly was in the box.”

“So, he knows us?” You question. “I got an anonymous message.” Hotch slightly shrugs. “I got a police raid.” Elle adds on. “But he knew exactly where we were.” Morgan says, supporting your theory. “Hotel in Jamaica Gideon at the cabin, Reid in Vegas, you at your home.” He lists off.

“He got that from the Bureau computers.” Penelope's voice makes you turn around in your chair; she looks nervous and has a file in her hand. “Your locations are always in there so they can find you if they need you. And I checked the log. The hacker was definitely in the personnel folders” She explains. Your brows furrow, how could this happen. “There were room numbers to the hotel in Jamaica, the address of Gideon’s cabin… There’s a lot of information in those databases.” She finished. Something about the way she’s talking is putting you off. There is something she isn’t telling you.

“Have you figured out how he was able to get into the Bureau’s computers?” Hotch asks her. She is silent. Just for a second. “I’m still working on that.” Lying to a room full of profilers probably isn’t the smartest thing to do. “Garcia, if you know something…” Hotch asks, clearly also picking up some things off.

“No, it’s, um…” Penelope's voice breaks slightly. “It’s just… I…” She’s clearly trying to find the right words, scared of upsetting the team. You give her a supportive smile. You’ve known her for years and know she would never do a bad thing on purpose. “I was playing a game yesterday.” She is silent for a second.

You look back to the team and catch JJ’s reaction. She clearly knows what Penelope is talking about. “An online game.” You look back over at the blonde with glasses. Tears shined in her eyes under the LED lights.

“A game?” Gideon asks. “Not on the Bureau computers, sir.” She quickly clarifies. “On my own personal laptop.”

“No, Garcia. No, no, no.” Derek says shaking his head. You close your eyes and lean your head on your hand. “I don’t understand.” Hotch looks for clarification.

“Wireless Internet.” You simply say. “By wirelessly hooking into the Net here to get online, the hacker could have gotten into my computer first, and… I have far less protection on my own laptop.” Penelope stoically explains it to him.

“And he could have gotten into the entire Bureau computer system this way?” You can’t see Hotch’s face as he says it but by the tone of his voice, you have some idea. “Yeah, it’s possible.” Penelope nods.

“Playing a game?” Gideon says as he gets up. “How could you be that stupid?” Seeing the look on Penelope's face, you have to resist the urge to defend her. Yes, she did do something stupid, but Gideon didn’t have to talk to her like that. “Information, files. You have a responsibility.”

“I know, sir. I’m so sorry.” Penelope replies to him. Gideon doesn’t reply. He just turns around. There is an awkward silence that hangs in the air. “But I found him.” Penelope eventually says. Almost full-on crying by now.

“You did?” You ask hopefully. “I know who he is, the hacker. His name is Giles. Frank Giles.” You all look at each other hearing this information. “He lives in Arlington, Virginia, four miles from here. I have his address” She continues as she hands the file she was holding to Hotch.

“Garcia, you said Giles?” Morgan asks her, wanting to confirm he heard it right. She nods quickly. “Let’s go.” Hotch only has to say those two words, and everyone is up and walking out of the office.

The team and you put on your bulletproof vests and got into the black SUVs. Sirens blared as you raced through the streets to get to Frank Giles as quickly as you could. The adrenaline is already pumping through your veins. Finally getting answers about why this is happening. You entered the building with the swat team. Derek kicked the door in, as usual. Everybody walks in with their guns raised. You hear some yell out that it’s clear. You, Derek, and Elle stand for a closed door.

“Frank Giles. FBI.” Derek yells out.

“Come out Giles.” Elle yells. They look at each other and both give a small nod. Then open the doors. As you enter you lower your gun immediately. You see Frank Giles’s lifeless body, only wearing underwear, laying on a dirty old mattress. A sword stuck in him.

“You got to be kidding me.” Elle’s the first one to speak.

“Hotch! Gideon! I think you’re gonna want to see this.” Derek calls out to them. You tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene to look at Elle. But she’s looking at the wall in front of you. So you look up to see ‘here thy quest doth truly begin’ written on the wall in blood.

All of you start taking in the crime scene. Vests already taken off. “He’s definitely playing with us.” Hotch speaks up. “His identification checks out.” Elle says handing his wallet to Hotch. “That’s Frank Giles.”

“There’s a big ol’bag of money sitting right here on the dresser.” Morgan says as he walks over to the bright blue bag. “So, Giles took Harris to Jamaica to kill him.”

“And then the unsub killed Giles.” You finished Hotch’s sentence.

“Yeah, but he paid him first.” Morgan says, confused about it.

“And left the cash?” Elle questions. “He must be well off.” You say, putting your hands on your hips.

“He said these were ‘unrepentant, bad men.’ Are we looking for some kind of vigilante?” Hotch asks, looking over at Gideon.

“No. The bodies are nothing but a way to get us interested. They’re game pieces. The killings are secondary.” Gideon explains nonchalantly.

“Well, this guy likes to write things in blood on the walls.” Elle says as she inspects the bloody walls.

Suddenly your phone starts ringing. All eyes are on you, but you look to Hotch. Silently asking for permission to step out for a bit. He gives you a nod and you step out to the hallway of the apartment building.

When you're alone you answer your phone.

“L/n.” You say but it stays silent on the other end. Pulling the phone away from your ear to check if you hadn’t accidentally declined the call. “Hello?” You ask as you put the phone back to your ear but it’s silent again.

About to hang up suddenly a voice comes through your phone.

“Agent Y/n L/n.” The voice sounds hoarse, you don’t recognize it. “Who is this?” You ask confused. Putting your right hand on your hip.

“It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen.” The person ignores your question. You release this is the Unsub. “Do not let them stray.” He’s talking about the team.

He has to be. You’re about to respond as he hangs up.

“Damn it.” You let out a frustrated sigh. What could he have possibly meant by that? You keep staring at your phone.

“Hey,” a comforting voice takes you out of your thoughts, “You okay?” You look up to see Spencer walking up to you.

“What?” You look at him confused. Putting your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” You smile, somewhat awkwardly.

Reid nods and sends a just as awkward smile back. It’s good to see him again. He looks around the empty hallway, hands in his pockets, hair slicked back behind his ears.

“Why are you out here?” He asks you.

“Oh, uh, no reason.” You shrug and let out a laugh. Why did you just lie to him? You honestly don’t know. It just slipped out. He also clearly doesn’t believe you, but before he can question you, you speak up.

“Let’s go, we can use you in there, genius.” You say as you nod towards the room the team is in. This time the smile you give each other isn’t awkward. They both are genuine smiles. Reid always gets a slight blush when someone calls him genius.

You never say it to embarrass him though. You say it full of affection. When you joined the bau, in your first case you got paired up with Spencer. He had been working at the bau for about a year. The two of you hit it off very well.

Walking back into the room you hear Hotch and Derek, “Midnight wouldn’t cast a shadow.” “‘Hour be none.’”

“3 P.M.,” Reid says as you walk in side by side. “Hey, guys. Garcia told me where to find you.” Hotch crouched near the body glances past Reid to look at you with a questioning gaze, silently asking about the phone call. You shake your head telling him it wasn’t important. And again, you don’t know why you are lying to your team about this. You tell yourself it’s because there are more important things right now and that phone call didn’t even make sense.

“3 P.M?” Gideon asks disrupting your thoughts.

“It’s medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary.” Spencer begins to explain, “Prime, 6 A.M”., terce, 9 A.M., sext, 12 noon, none, 3 P.M., and vespers 6 P.M.”

Elle smiles at him fondly and points her finger at him, “Reid, do not ever go away again.” He smiles at her as Gideon starts talking. “Medieval. That’s why the language changed. ‘doth’”

“Everything this guy does is a clue.” Hotch says looking at the team.

 “Okay, but, guys, it’s 4:35. What do we do? Leave to the blade in till 3 P.M. tomorrow?” Derek asked.

“What if we block that window out?” You asked, pointing towards the window. Reid nodded at what you said and turned to one of the crime scene investigators. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?” He asked Gina.

“Sure.” She says as she's getting up, Elle thanks her.

When she came back with a flashlight she gave it to Reid. He crouched down next to where you were standing and pointed the light to the sword.

“See, this sun is right here at 5 P.M., Morgan, follow the shadow as I move the light higher.” Derek starts to move a small table out of the way to get closer to the wall. “Okay, and do what?” He asks when he’s finished.

“Tap.” Hotch instructs him. Derek starts tapping on the wall. He stops when he finds a hollow spot. “It’s hollow.” He says as he looks back at Hotch.

“Definitely an Indiana Jones movie.” Elle says looking over at you when you laugh at her joke.

“Feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.” Morgan says to Hotch. “Tear it open.” He replies. Derek takes a knife out of his pocket and starts cutting open the wallpaper. Pulling back the wall.

“It’s a box.” He states looking back at the team. “Pull it out.” Hotch instructs him again. “Wait, are we sure that’s safe?” Spencer asks as he stands up. You look over at him. “You think it’s a bomb?” You ask him questionably.

“It isn’t. You think he’d be playing this game just to blow us up?” Hotch retorts. “He’d have already done that as long as we’ve been standing here.” Derek agrees with him and pulls out the box from the hole. He placed it on the table from earlier.

Hotch crouches next to Gideon to get a better look at it. You make your way over to see what it is, while Spencer doesn’t move. Morgan tries to open it, but it seems like it won’t budge.

“It’s locked.” He confirms, “You want me to break it?”

“No, we should process it first.” Hotch answers his question.

“The youngest holds the key.” Gideon suddenly speaks up. And you, Hotch, and Morgan all look at Reid. Spencer searches his pants pockets for the key. Only to realize he put it in the pocket of his button-up.

He does a little jog up to the box and goes to open it. Putting the key in and backing up slightly as he turns it. Music starts to come from the box.

It takes a second for you to recognize it. Turns out all those failed piano lessons are good for something. “Schubert.” Gideon says but before he can say which piece you beat him to it.

“The Trout Quintet.” He looks over at you confused, clearly, he didn’t expect you to know it. You just shrug in reply as you focus on the note that Spencer pulled out of the box. “Five people fishing.” Hotch says, giving context to the song.

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.” Reid starts reading off the paper. “Well, that was worth it.” Elle says as she turns away.

“The lid.” Gideon points at the box, “Little tab right under the lock.” Morgan leans over Reid to open the lid.

As he opens it there’s a dvd in it, but also a blonde lock of hair tied with a pink bow.

“Jesus.” Slips out of you. “Oh, god.” Elle says at the same time.

Morgan pulls both out as Gideon lets out a tired sigh. Derek gives Elle the lock of hair. “Do you have that evidence bag?” She asks one of the CSI’s. “Here you go.” He replies as he holds out a bag for her to put the hair in.

“Thy quest.” Morgan says standing up and holding out the dvd so you all can see it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon putting his head in his hand. After everything is mostly wrapped up at the crime scene you all make your way back to the office.

Everyone is clearly tired and wants to catch this guy.

On the car ride back all you can think about is that phone call. It keeps repeating in your head. “Agent Y/n L/n.”  “Who is this?”  “It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen. Do not let them stray.” You just can’t seem to make sense of it. What is it that you need to make sure they listen to? Maybe this dvd?

Without even releasing you’re back, sitting at the round table. The dvd is playing.

You see a barely lit office. A man stumbles into the frame and sits down at the chair, you can’t make out a face though.

“He moves funny.” Hotch noted. Derek looks back at Hotch to reply, “It’s like he’s injured or something.”

The man in the video starts talking. “I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way.” It’s the same voice of the man who called you at Frank Giles’s place. You shift in your seat as he continues. “You might even thank me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag.” You see Hotch glance over at Elle as she says this.

“You know now you’re on a quest. A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.” The video shows a blonde girl being held captive. She’s throwing things at the camera and hitting the bars of the cage. “As you can see, she is quite beautiful and in distress.” The way he talks about her along with the footage makes your skin crawl.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule and this rule must be followed.” You sit up straighter in your chair. The things he said on the phone call must be about this.

“The one rule is, only the members of your team may participate in the quest: Jason Gideon, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Y/n L/n, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia.” As he said, all your names and pictures of everyone on the team showed on the screen.

“A quest must be completed in the proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple. Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you will need to finish the quest. You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many adventures like mine. Believe me, when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us.” The video stopped playing. You look at everyone on the team.

“This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle is the first one to speak up.

“What do we do now?” Reid asks Hotch.

“Well, the lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” He answers Reid.

“I’ll get Video to enhance the shots of the girl.” JJ says as she gets up to leave.

“Let's get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.” Hotch instructs.

“Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?” Elle asks him, frustrated.

“Do we have a choice?” Spencer replies. But you’re not focusing on their conversation anymore, you’re focused on Gideon. You can’t figure out what he’s up to as he’s about to leave the room.

Everyone else turns around when they hear the click of the door opening.

“Be right back. You guys keep working.” Hotch says as he gets up to talk to Gideon. However, you don’t listen. The rest of the team looks at you as you follow him.

You’re following him out of the room for two reasons. Wanting to know what’s going on, everyone has always told you you’re too curious for your own good. And thinking now might be a good time to also mention to Hotch that you got a call from the Unsub.

“Jason?” Hotch calls out as he follows Gideon, “Jason!” He calls out again when the older man doesn’t stop. Gideon walks into his office and lets the door slam closed behind him. Before Hotch follows Gideon into his office, he gives you a disapproving look for following him. “We’ll talk about this later.” He says dismissively and walks into Gideon's office.

You let out a sigh. Why did you think this would work. You turn back around to have your walk of shame back to the rest of the group.

Morgan lets out a small laugh as he sees you walking back into the room. Reid gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug it off.

Not long after Hotch handed a paper over to Reid and said Haley received it. You, Morgan, Elle, and Reid had been staring at these numbers for a while now.

“My eyes are so heavy I can barely see it.” Elle says with a sigh.

“It has to be some kind of code, right?” You question, leaning against the table next to Reid. “The Unsub said we needed a book, didn’t he?” Reid brings up. You look over at him, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. ‘a book that inspired many an adventure.’” Morgan quotes from the video.

“It’s a book code. Each one of these sets of numbers represents a particular word.” Spencer explains and points at one of the codes on the paper, “For instance, page 118, line 30, word three. We need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks.”

“Right, but we don’t know what book.” You respond, another dead end.

“And the trouble is, it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book that he used.” Reid adds on.

“Just got a DNA hit on the lock of hair.” JJ says as she walks into the room, “Rebecca Bryant.” She hands Elle a picture after showing it to you, “She’s been missing out of Boston for two years.”

You look over at her shocked, “Two years?” She nods as she looks at you.

“Guys, how are we supposed to figure out which book this code was copied out of?” Derek brings the conversation back after being handed the picture from Elle. “I have no idea.” Spencer replies. JJ walks up to the whiteboard and sticks the picture of Rebecca on it.

Reid was standing in front of the whiteboard, “He said we have everything needed to complete the quest.” he said as he turned around to look at you, Elle, and Derek. Derek was sitting on the chair backward, Elle practically laying in the leather chair, you were leaning against the table and JJ was sitting normally at the table looking over the evidence.

“The answer’s got to be up there somewhere.” Elle mumbles, very clearly tired.

“JJ, get some reporters here as soon as you can.” You quickly turn around as you hear Gideon say this. Alarm bells going off in your head.

Once again, the things the Unsub said on your phone call repeating themselves. It is your task to make sure they hear and they listen. Do not let them stray. Gideon’s not listening. “For what?” JJ asks him. “Just say we need help on a new case.” Is all he gives in response before he walks away.

You get up to follow him, again. You have to stop him from doing this. Gideon is always surprisingly fast for his age. You just barely catch up to him when he reaches Hotch again. “Sirs, you can’t do this.” You say, well it more sounds like you're begging.

Gideon and Hotch, both give you confused looks.

You take a deep breath. “He called me.” You say looking at them.

Their reactions are exactly what you expected. Gideon stays silent, he’s profiling you. “What? What do you mean he called you L/n?  When did this happen?” Hotch asks you with a stern look on his face as he crosses his arms. You feel ashamed. You should’ve told them. You know that. You just hoped you had figured out what he meant earlier so you could’ve given the team helpful evidence and not more questions. “Back at the apartment.” You say, placing your hands behind your back so they don’t notice how nervous you are.

Gideon just shakes his head and walks away. Obviously thinking he has better things to do than deal with you.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Hotch asks you.

“I… I don’t know,” The unsatisfied look Hotch gives you makes rethink your answer, “I wanted to figure out what he meant.”

“So, you could show off?” Hotch fills it in for himself. You quickly shake your head. That’s not why you did it. “No, no I didn’t want to add more unanswered questions for the team.” It sounds stupid and you realize that.

Hotch sighs and rubs his forehead, “What did he say to you?”

“He told me to make sure they hear, and they listen and to not let them stray. I think he was talking about the video.” You reply to him, “I think the press conference is a mistake, Hotch.”

“Gideon knows what he’s doing L/n, I trust him. You should’ve told us sooner.” He says before walking away. You couldn’t shake the nervous feeling. You went to get some coffee. Not ready to face your team yet.

On your third cup, you see Hotch walking back into the office. The press conference is over, there’s nothing you can do about it now. You see Elle walking out with Hotch.

“Anderson, take Greenaway home.” He says, looking over at him. “Yes, sir.” Anderson immediately replies.

“No, I’m fine.” Elle protests. “I’ll have your car brought over later.” Hotch tells her. “Alright, come on, Anderson.”

Do not let them stray. It repeats in your head.

“Sir, is it okay if I go with them? I can come back whenever you need me.” You ask Hotch. He hesitates for a moment, thinking it over. Elle smiles over at you, she appreciates it.

“Alright but keep your phone on and close L/n.” Hotch tells you.

Elle was struggling to stay awake the whole drive back to her house. Anderson dropped you both off and went back to the office. Elle let you into the house. You’ve been here before, many times, you and her occasionally have a drink after a case when neither of you wants to be alone.

Elle tosses her keys on the coffee table and drops her bag next to the couch and flops down on it. You can’t help but let out a laugh. She doesn’t even have the energy to glare at you, shifting on the couch to get into a more comfortable position.

You put down your own bag next to hers and take off your gun and gun holster placing them next to her keys on the table. You walked into her kitchen, you hadn’t eaten yet and doubted she had.

Opening the fridge just to find it practically empty. There are some leftovers, but they don’t look edible anymore. You grab them to throw them away, the smell hits you and you pull a face.

“Gross.” You mutter under your breath and throw it in the trash can. “Hey, I'm going to get some food, you want any?” You ask her as you walk back into her living room.

She lets out a noise that’s something between a hum and a groan.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” You say with a smile on your face, “I’m taking your keys, I’ll be right back.” Reaching for her keys on the table.

She gives you a thumbs-up while trying to stifle a yawn.

So, you lock the door behind you as you leave for the small supermarket near her house. It’s about a 10 minute walk away.

You grab some iced coffees and some simple heat-up meals. You’re done in about 5 minutes, pay for everything and walk back. The plastic bag is heavier than you expected it to be, it leaves imprints on your fingers.

You reach Elle’s front door and reach for the keys in your jacket. You try to open the lock as quietly as you can, not wanting to wake her up.

As you open the door you freeze. The plastic bag somehow becomes ten times heavier, and it drops to the floor. The ice coffee starts to leak but it’s the least of your concern.

Elle is laying on the floor covered in her own blood.

“Oh my god…” You whisper. You rush forward to her somehow without falling over your own feet. You fall to your knees. Hands reach up to her face. She isn’t conscious. You give her a few taps on her cheek and her eyes flutter slightly.

“Shit, Elle. You gotta stay awake, okay?” You look around helplessly. Her phone is on the floor next to her. Did she call 911?  You place one hand on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, knowing it isn’t doing much as you feel the red hot liquid slip right past your fingers.

You reach over her to check her phone. Luckily you know her password.

You check her out going call and see 911. A sigh of relief escapes you.

Help is on the way. You just have to do everything you can to keep her alive until then.

Blood is staining your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Her eyes closed.

“No, no, no, no, Elle, stay with me. Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open. Keep them open for me. Fuck. Elle. Come on. Please… I… I can’t lose you. Please.” A million things ran through your head. If you had been here, you could’ve stopped him.

If you hadn’t left, Elle would be okay. God, why did they have that press conference. Why hadn’t you been more demanding with Hotch that it was a bad idea.

Vague sirens interrupted your train of thought. Taking one hand to check Elle’s pulse. Time stopped. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Fuck.” Panicking. What would cpr do if she was bleeding out? Not like you had any other choice. You started compressions.

No thoughts run through your head anymore. Just pure focus on the task. Not even noticing the sirens getting louder and louder.

A paramedic pulls you away from Elle. Only now realizing they had arrived. Their mouths were moving but you couldn’t make out any of the words.

You stepped back. Letting them do their job.

Everything is hazy, you blink rapidly. Tears fall on your cheeks.

Have you been crying this whole time? You didn’t even realize it. They place Elle on a stretcher and make their way back to the ambulance. You follow them without saying a word. You don’t think about the fact that your phone is still in your bag.

Getting ready to step into the ambulance you noticed a car arriving. Anderson. He stumbled out of the SUV.

“L/n, what happened?” He tried not to show his fear but the tremble in his voice gave him away. “Call Hotch. Meet me at the hospital. I- I’ll explain there.” You spoke hurriedly while getting into the ambulance.

The paramedics are rushing the stretcher into the ER. You’re having a hard time keeping up with them. The doctors take Elle over.

“I’m sorry, we are taking her into surgery. You aren’t allowed any further.” One of the nurses is holding you back. You have no fight left in you, so you just nod and make your way to the waiting room.

Anderson is already there. His eyes are red. Had he been crying? He looked like a mess. You didn’t even want to think about what you looked like right now. The way Anderson’s eyes widened when he saw you back at the house told you enough. You definitely looked worse than him.

“I called Hotchner. Him and Agent Gideon are on their way now.” Wringing his hands as he spoke. He’s nervous. “Do you... um, do you know anything yet?” He barely could get the question out without tears threatening to spill.

“She’s in surgery.” Was all you could manage to get out as you spoke. Wanting to run your hand over your face but as you reached you noticed the deep maroon stains and how much it was shaking so you put your hand back down.

“If you want to, I can wait here, so you can get cleaned up.” He offered. You gave him a thankful but tired smile.

Making your way over to the bathroom. The door handle stuck to your hand slightly, leaving a slight red imprint on it.

You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against the door as you closed it behind you. Walking up to the sink you didn’t dare to look into the mirror.

You turned on the faucet and put your shaky hands under the ice cold water. The water colored red instantly. You tried not to think about the fact it was Elle’s blood you were washing off.

Keeping your hands under the water until it turned clear again made them start to tingle from the freezing water. Turning the faucet off, you placed your hands on the sides of the sink. Not daring to look at your own reflection.

Involuntarily you let out a shaky breath. Trying to recollect yourself.

Hotch and Gideon would arrive any moment. They would have questions for you. Questions that would force you to think back to what happened not even an hour ago, while all you’ve been trying this whole time is to forget about it. You couldn’t bear to try and remember.

You dried your hands and walked out of the bathroom, scanning the waiting room for Anderson. He was talking to two men in suits. Two men you could recognize anywhere. How did they get here so soon? How long had you been in the bathroom? You looked at your wrist. The face of your watch is stained with blood. You quickly pulled the sleeve of your jacket back over it.

“It appears she dialed 911 herself before she passed out.” You hear Anderson say as you get closer to them. Hotch and Gideon turned around when they noticed Anderson's gaze shifting to you.

The pity and maybe even guilt that Anderson feels when he makes eye contact with you is clear on his face. Or maybe it’s clear to you since profiling is your job, but then how come you couldn’t prevent Elle from dying. No. She isn’t dead. Not anymore. The paramedics shocked her back to life. She’s alive. She’ll be okay. She has to be. You would never be able to live with yourself if she wouldn’t be. Hotch keeps his eyes on you for a minute while Gideon turns back around.

“Why weren’t we notified?” He asks Anderson.

“The offender apparently took her ID and gun. The uniform I talked to didn’t even know she was in the Bureau until I arrived on scene.” He replies to Gideon quickly.

“Get back over there.” Hotch says turning back to look at Anderson. “This is a federal crime scene. Nobody touches anything. We process it.” He instructs the younger agent. “Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Anderson replies as he leaves to go and do exactly what Hotch told him to.

The two agents turn back around to observe you. You are staring into space; your mind is clouded. Nothing feels clear anymore. Hotch and Gideon glance at each other. Both concerned with the state you’re in currently. Gideon takes out his phone and walks a few steps away, going to call the office.

“L/n? Hey L/n?” An authoritative, yet comforting voice made you reorientate. Hotch squinted his eyes and ever so slightly tilted his head. He was profiling you. And you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so tired.

“Sorry, what were you saying sir?” Crossing your arms over each other.

“You’re lucky you weren’t there as well.” He said touching your shoulder. But you didn’t feel lucky. All you felt was guilt, but you simply nodded. “Is there anything you remember?” He crosses his arms just like you did.

“I-” You choke on your words. You close your eyes and shake your head trying to get your thoughts in order. “I wasn’t even gone for 30 minutes. If I had just… If I hadn’t left, she would be okay.”

“If you had been there, he most likely would’ve shot you as well L/n.” Hotch tells you. Before you can say anything, else Gideon walks back over to the two of you.

“Trap and trace got nothing.” He says leaning against the wall and putting his phone away. “Unsub used a disposable cell.” You look confused at that. Hotch notices.

“The unsub, he called us. Taunting us about Elle.” He explains to you. You let out an exhausted sigh. It’s as if this case never ends.

“We got our best CSU team. If he left anything, a print, a hair, sweat, anything…” “They’ll find it.” Gideon cuts Hotch off. You look down at your hands, they are still shaking.

“I’m going to grab a coffee.” You mutter out and leave the two agents.

After grabbing your coffee, you go and sit in the waiting room. It is completely empty. Would you rather have it be busy? You’re not sure which would be worse. Because now you must sit here in this hurt. This constant tight feeling in your chest, as if you’re not getting enough air.

A few minutes later Gideon walks in. He nods at you as you look at him. He sits down a few chairs away from where you’re sitting, giving you some space. You sit in silence, it’s not uncomfortable but it also isn’t exactly comfortable. “Hotch is calling JJ and Morgan.” He says, explaining where the other agent is. You just nod, not having the energy to reply. You look down at the coffee in your hands, you haven’t taken a single sip. It’s pretty much cold now. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon scrabbling things down on the magazines that lay down on the table. You don’t ask him about it.

After a while, Hotch walks in and you look up from your drink. He’s gotten rid of his suit jacket. “Any word?” He asks Gideon.

“Nope.” Gideon replies simply.

“I called JJ. I told her we’d call them if anything changed.” Hotch tells the two of you as he leans on the two chairs in front of him. Gideon and you simply nod at what he says.

“What’s all that?” Hotch asks as he notices the writing on the magazines.

“This unsub’s extremely organized.” Gideon explains instead of answering his question, “He sounded truly shocked that we didn’t follow the rules. He honestly believed we would simply listen to his directions.”

“He’s delusional. He thinks he’s a mythological king.” Hotch says, his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“But delusion and this level of organization are almost mutually exclusive.” Gideon corrects Hotch, “You don’t meticulously plan contacts in the real world if you’re suffering psychotic breaks from reality.” Before Hotch can reply to Anderson walks back in. “How is she?” he quietly asks. You stare back down at your coffee again.

“No word yet.” Hotch replies to him, “Is the scene processed?”

“They’re finished. We still have it locked up tight, though.” Anderson explains.

“They find anything?” Hotch asks, he sounds exhausted.

“CSU found a partial print.” You look up as Anderson says this. “The shooter wrote a message on the wall in blood and,” He did? How did you not notice that? Hotch and Gideon glance at you just for a second, probably thinking the same. “In one of the smudges, they found a whorl pattern.” Anderson hands over the file to Hotch. “They made a lift. They aren’t sure whether it’s enough to get a hit, but they are processing it now.” Anderson continues as Hotch hands the file over to Gideon. You get up from your seat, still holding your coffee, you walk closer to Gideon to look at the file.

He grabs the top picture of a bloody fingerprint to reveal what the unsub wrote on the wall. RULES. Dripping down the wall. You try to think back as hard as you can but don’t remember seeing it. You should’ve seen it. Gideon reads what’s on the picture and looks up at Hotch. He places the file back down on the table in front of him.

Hotch leaves to get coffee. Leaving you and Gideon alone again. You go to sit back down in the chair but stop.

You can’t help the words that slip out of your mouth. “You shouldn’t have done the press conference.” You turn around to face him. “I tried to warn you.”

Gideon doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the file. You want to yell at him. Scream that it’s his fault. But you bite the inside of your cheek.

“I was just doing my job.” He says quietly, so quiet it’s barely a whisper. You can’t help but let out a scoff and stare at him. If looks could kill Gideon would be six feet under by now. You respect him, you truly do, but he made a bad call and can’t own up to it.

The reasonable part of your brain tells you, you are projecting your own feelings of guilt and anger on him, but you don’t have it in you to be reasonable right now. So, you storm out of the waiting room. You throw your coffee in a trash can as you walk past it. Hotchner passes by you with two coffees in his hand, he’s put his jacket back on, he raises an eyebrow when you don’t acknowledge him. He looks back at you but keeps walking back to the waiting room.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You notice one of Elle’s doctors and go to ask if they have any new information.

She just tells you the same thing, “No, I’m sorry.” And she walks away.

You just wish someone could tell you something, anything. You’re tired, exhausted, angry, sad, terrified, guilty. Your eyes start to sting as you try and hold back your tears. You look around and walk into the nearest bathroom.

When the door closes the damn breaks and tears fall down your face. A sob escapes you and you place your hand over your mouth. You try to focus on your breathing to try and calm down. It works a little bit.

You decide washing your face might help you get grounded again, so you walk over to the sink. Turning it on and putting your hands under the water. Somehow the water of this sink is even colder than the one from before. You cup your hands under it and splash the water on your face.

You reach to grab a towel to dry your hands and face but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look even worse than you imagined. Your mascara is all over the place and so is your hair. There even is some dried blood on your face, you quickly scrub it off with a damp paper towel.

So many thoughts and feelings have been racing through your head over the past few hours, you can barely keep up with them. Did you overstep with Gideon just now? Possibly. You just couldn’t handle bearing all the guilt you were feeling anymore.

Before you leave you check yourself in the mirror again. You look… less chaotic to put it nicely. You smooth over your hair and clothes and walk out of the bathroom.

You start looking for Hotch and Gideon but only find the latter. He’s staring into space, the thing you’ve seen him do all day. You look around before approaching him, hoping to find Hotch instead.

“Hey…” You clear your throat as you stand next to the chair he’s sitting in. He takes a second to look up to his left and gives you a nod of acknowledgment. A certain awkwardness flows between you two. Neither saying a word.

His fingers are interlaced, resting on his lap. He’s trying to appear calm and collected, but his shaking knee is giving him away.

There’s a free chair next to him. You debate with yourself whether you should sit down or not. Gideon nods over to the chair as if he was reading your mind. “Just sit down, kid.”

A quick nod is all you give him in response as you go and sit down.

After sitting in this silence for a few minutes, you speak up. “She’s going to be okay right?” You rub your palms over your thighs, trying to shake the nervous feeling.

“Greenaway is strong, she’s a fighter.” He doesn’t know if she’ll be okay. He is probably as terrified as you are right now. Once again, you just nod. You wring your fingers. Letting out a sigh, you look over at Gideon.

“Sir, I’m sorry if I overstepped…” He looks over at you with a raised eyebrow, “Earlier, in the waiting room.” You remind him.

Gideon nods, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up again. He wasn’t mad at you; he was mad at himself. He should’ve listened. And he would regret the choice he made, along with all the other choices over his career. Gideon waved his hand at you, telling you that what happened didn’t matter.

You and Gideon sat in the hallway for another half hour before a doctor finally approached both of you. Hearing the news a sigh left you. Relief flooded your body.

Elle is okay. Elle is alive.

Gideon went to call the team as you followed the doctor. Elle was laying in the hospital bed. She looked peaceful. You can’t remember the last time you saw her this relaxed. You approach her bed and sit down in the chair next to it. All the memories of today wash over you again, the thought that you could’ve lost your friend. You wipe away a single tear that falls.  

Gideon walks up next to you after a few minutes. Laying his hand on your shoulder.

“They caught him, he’s dead.” You turn around to look at him, “They saved Rebecca.” You look back to Elle as you nod at what he says. Part of you wished you could’ve been there with the team. Gotten some justice for Elle. But you were where you needed to be. Right here. In the hospital, sitting next to Elle as she wakes up.

[lust4lore]

ARFARFARF so down bad for brattamer n casually dominant(by nature) kinda dark rafe n bimbo reader🤭🤭 imagine reader talkin to a random stranger in a bar or club or whateva she thinks its js a friendly interaction n shit after that rafes js there thinking 150 ways how to kill the guy for flirting wit his pretty little thing then she says it was a nice friendly convo n hes like whst???? yeah ahaha.... im obsessed pls forgive me

OH THIS GOT THE JUICES FLOWINGGG

the creative juices. get your head out of the gutter. that being said, thank you for your request! i hope i did it justice

CW: controlling!rafe, mildly dark!rafe, mmm kinda breaking my own guidelines w this one but VERY slight domestic violence? you get the point, manipulation

rafe cameron likes pretty things. so much, in fact, that he had known he was done for the second he saw you. you were cute— innocent— in a pink silk dress, ribbon in your hair and a sweet smile tugging at the corners of rosy lips. he just had to have you, and a year later, he did.

another well known fact about rafe cameron, though, is that he doesn’t share. and so, imagine his surprise when he comes back from the bathroom to see some man talking to you at the bar. he watches you for a moment, the rage settling in his veins enough to get his jaw clenching as you bat your eyelashes and giggle at whatever stupid joke that bastard just told you, pretty lips sucking at your straw as his gaze flickers down to your chest.

now that has rafe seeing red. he comes up behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist and causing you to slightly stumble back at the force of it. “hey, baby, who’s this?” he asks, fingers lightly twitching against your stomach. if you’re aware of the waves of fury radiating from him, you do nothing to show it, turning around in his hold with a naive smile and bright eyes. “rafey! this is alex, he wants to be friends,” you tell him, gesturing towards that sick perver— alex— behind you. “oh, does he?” he asks, but rafe isn’t talking to you, not really. if looks could kill, your new ‘friend’ would be further than six feet under the ground. “y’know, alex, i think my girl has enough friends already,” he squeezes your side, glancing down at you. “don’t you think, sweetheart?” the grasp he has on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your skin in a way that’ll probably bruise later.

you tilt your head, a crease forming between your brows as you lower your voice. “rafe, what- ow!” you yelp quietly as his iron grip bores into your ribs. he pays you no mind, though, still fixing alex with a chilling, eerily calm smile. “shit, man, i’m sorry, i’ll- m’gonna head out now,” the shorter boy mutters, looking intimidated as he staggers backward and rushes out the door. rafe gives a quiet chuckle at that and one of his hands grabs your wrist, yanking you closer. tears prick your eyes as he nearly cuts off the circulation in your hand, leaning in close to your face. “the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh? letting other guys flirt with you like that?”

you let out a whimper at his harsh words, a tear rolling down your pretty face. “he was jus’ being nice, i-” you whisper, and a hint of satisfaction cuts through his anger. look at you, you need him, who else’ll be there to protect you from all of those gross guys trying to get a piece of his sweet girl? he sighs, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. “c’mon, doll, you know better, did you see the way he was lookin’ at you?” you just look up at him, tears still sitting in your waterline as he presses a kiss to your trembling lips. “i didn’t mean to make you upset, a’ight? m’just trying to protect you,” he murmurs, and you instantly feel a little guilty for the way you reacted. “m’sorry, i didn’t know he was-” but rafe shushes you, stroking your cheek gently.

“s’okay, baby, you’ll remember who you belong to when we get home,”