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perlelune · 11 months ago

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Grandma’am’s dissonant notes fill your room as you lie on the bed. The old woman’s wobbly soprano has been the background noise to your awakening this early morning.

At least it diverted you from your dire thoughts.

You rose with low spirits, defeated. You didn’t dare leave the cover of the warm blankets.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for so long, the flower patterns have morphed into smudges of pale color swirling in your vision. It’s all you did the entire morning. Stare at the ceiling while awful thoughts collide in your head. Perhaps for hours. You’re not sure. Time has been a foggy concept as of late.

You can’t even remember when everything started spinning out of control. The beginning of your unraveling.

The day before Coryo held you as you wept in his arms. For a while, in the warmth of his embrace, the uproar in your head fell silent.

Now it’s all noise again. Chaos. You have no desire to climb out of bed, face the day. Perhaps it makes you a bad guest. But hiding is easier. So it’s exactly what you elect to do.

Hiding until it becomes an impossibility.

Or until the door knocks in that case.

The sound startles you.

You don’t answer. Instead, you burrow yourself further beneath the sheets.

The knock starts again. Stubbornly, you ignore it.

“I’m coming in,” a familiar, airy voice announces.

The creaking of the door reaches you and your brows crumple. A slight weight plops on the mattress, making it dip under you. You freeze, willing yourself to remain still.

A delicate perfume hangs in the air. Guilt seeps through you. It’s not like she’s done anything to you. If anything, she’s been kind. It’s about the hot layer of shame that has grown thick roots into your being.

Her gentle lilt flutters above you.

“I won’t move until you talk to me; I’m worried.”

You gnaw on your lip. The seconds stretch to minutes, arduously long, seemingly endless as she remains on your bed. It dawns on you how deadly serious the older of the Snow cousins is. She will not go away until you speak to her.

Besides, your mother’s voice echoes somewhere in your head. Your behavior is ill-fitted for a lady. Here you are, a guest in someone else’s house, acting like a petulant child.

Though you balk at the prospect, it’s time to face the world.

You huff out a quiet sigh under your breath before peeking above the blanket.

“Tigris,” you mumble.

Her thin blonde brows are pinched.

“You missed breakfast,” she notes. She tilts her head, scrutinizing you as her frown deepens. “First dinner, now breakfast. It’s becoming a habit.”

Concern glimmers in her honey orbs. Your chest squeezes. The last thing you want is for someone else to feel terrible. You push the blanket further away from you, sitting up as a contrite smile tugs your lips.

“Sorry.”

Tigris’ slender fingers latch onto your forearm.

“Don’t apologize. Just keep me company today.”

You attempt to deflect, “What about Coryo?”

The blonde releases a deep exhale, crossing her arms in frustration. You’ve gazed upon a similar crease on Coriolanus’ face before.

“He barely has time for me these days. Between his work with Dr Gaul, the University and…” A small smile plays on her lips as her voice trails off. “You of course.” Your cheeks heat at her implication. Of course, you’re aware of Coriolanus’ dedication to showing up for you as of late. But it never occurred to you that it could impede on Tigris’ time with him. It saddens you.

From what you recall of the glimpses of them you caught growing up, there was a time the two Snow cousins were inseparable. After all, ever since they were young, Tigris has been everything to him. A mother, a sister, a best friend. It was clear on Coriolanus’ face too. Fondness was etched on his face whenever he looked at his cousin.

She leans over you, her tone pleading.

“Come on, I really need a friend, and something tells me you do too.”

Shoulders sagging in surrender, you concede, “I’ll get dressed.”

She leaps to her feet, a victorious smile breaking onto her face.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food before we go,” she sings. “When’s the last time you ate anyways?”

You purse your lips, shocked at the realization of how long it’s been since your last meal, eating having toppled to the bottom of your list of priorities the last two days.

You give an honest reply.

“I…can’t remember.”

Concern scrunches Tigris’ angular features once more. She then takes her leave and you glumly get ready for the day.

Food is brought up to your room. You nibble down every bite of cheese, bread and eggs until you’re full.

You find the massive trunk Coriolanus had the staff carry up to your room. You marvel as you peer inside, rummaging in search of an outfit for the day. His thoughtfulness astounds you. You don’t deserve a friend like Coryo.

Once you’ve removed your night robe, it pools at your feet. Your stomach sinks at the sight of your bare form. Bruises still speckle your skin. They are starting to fade but the ones on your hips and thighs are still quite prominent. The thought of Coryo touching you this way crosses your mind and you shudder.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way.

It’s like your friend said. It’s better that it was him than some stranger with nefarious intentions. After all, you were both drunk. You both didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s obvious Coriolanus is as inconvenienced by this as you are.

You should move on, let the incident scatter amidst the unfortunate mistakes of youth. It’s what common sense dictates. Otherwise guilt will chew you to the bone.

But you can’t.

Every time you think of that night, you’re unsettled, an inkling of wrong humming through you.

It haunts you. Though you wished it didn’t.

The remainder of the morning is spent with Tigris. The two of you scour the city in search of various fabrics and items her boss, Fabricia Whatnot, asks her to collect.

It’s a nice change of scenery and you welcome it.

You even get to see Tigris work on a dress, a magnificent wedding gown whose sight stirs a bittersweet feeling within you. It reminds you that your own dress was ruined, a matter you’ve yet to solve.

…If there’ll even still be a wedding.

As the afternoon sun crests to a scorching peak in the bright blue sky, she offers to stop by a café which you readily accept. You both sit beneath a wide umbrella on the outdoor terrace.

You take small bites of your petit fours, the sugar melting on your tongue providing much needed comfort.

“Does your grandmother do this every morning?”

Tigris’ lips pause above the rim of her porcelain cup, her honey gaze widening at your question. Realization then lights up her face.

“Oh, the singing? Yes, almost.” A fond smile spreads onto her thin lips. “Grandma’am likes to reminisce about the glory days of our family, you know…before the war.”

Your brows furrow.

The glory days...

Could the days before the war truly be referred to as that? The people of the Districts were forced to serve the ever-growing needs of the Capitol citizens, reaping no benefits from their hard work and being kept docile by the perpetual threat of execution.

Exactly like now.

You hardly see the glory in that. Maybe for the victors, the ones who get to stand atop the mountain while others try to claw their way up from the bottom until their hands bleed.

But, as usual, you don’t voice your treasonous thoughts, simply nodding in response.

Tigris and you both relish the comfortable silence for a while. She doesn’t urge you to talk and you’re grateful for that. Idle talk is an arduous task when constant worries gnaw at your mind.

While she may not know the depth of your predicament, you appreciate that Tigris picks up enough not to prod.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she says. “Quiet. I like to come here when I need a moment to myself.”

Your gaze roams across the luxurious garden near the café. You get lost in admiring the pretty flowers and the swan fountain. It reminds you of your own garden, your beloved roses, probably withering from neglect. You’ll need to tend to them soon.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. You nibble on your bottom lip before your eyes find hers. “I’m sorry for being…difficult this morning.”

Tigris’ shoulders heave as she replies nonchalantly, “It’s quite alright.” Mirth sparkles in her amber orbs. “I’m sorry for dragging you all over Panem to run those errands.”

You give a small smile. “It’s fine. I enjoyed the distraction.”

You look down and fiddle with your napkin, arranging it in different positions several times in your lap.

“Is something the matter?”

Tigris’ abrupt inquiry makes your head snap up.

You hesitate beneath her compassionate stare. After a long, quiet minute, your shoulders slump.

“I just loathe that I am such a burden to you and Coryo,” you mumble.

Tigris tilts her head, genuine confusion scrunching her features. “A burden? Don’t be ridiculous. You could never be that to me...” Her slender hand reaches across the table to drape over yours. “And even less to Coryo.”

A wry chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, he’s got better things to do than taking care of me.”

She shakes her head.

“Taking care of you is a pleasure to my cousin.”

You wince. “I very much doubt that.”

Tigris’ head lowers, her hand rising to her mouth to dampen her chortle.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, frowning.

“It’s just…you really don’t see how much you’re changing him?” She studies you momentarily before heaving out a long exhale. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately. She smiles.

“I haven’t seen him focus on something other than his ambitions in so long…not the way he focuses on you.”

Your jaw hangs slack at her admission.

She pauses, seeming to mull over her next words. “Coryo…when he returned from his service in District 12, he was so different. I thought all the warmth in him was gone, that he was becoming like my uncle.” A distant, sad look dims her eyes. “A cold, calculated man. But when he’s around you…" Fondness illuminates her face while she gauges you. "I don’t know, it's almost like he’s back to his old self. The little boy I knew, sweet and caring. My little Coryo.”

Her fingers tighten around yours as she beams. “You’re good for him, so don’t worry about being a burden. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Tears of relief almost spill from your eyes at that but you swallow them.

Instead, you return her smile. It may have been at the behest of your dead brother but you couldn’t deny how comforting Coriolanus’ presence has been, his friendship the silver lining above somber clouds. Coryo is the only one who gladly listens when you talk about Sejanus and how much it aches that he’s not there anymore, his passing having left a void that can never be filled. It’s too painful for your mother and your dad’s in plain denial. If it weren’t for Coryo, grief would have eaten you alive, you’re certain of it.

It’s hard to picture your life without him in it now, in some form or another. In fact, you don’t think you even want to. You may have lost a brother but the gods were merciful and granted you another.

After you leave the café, you and Tigris take a leisurely stroll through the Capitol’s streets. The talk you had with her rejuvenated you. For the first time since that awful night at Clemensia’s, you feel a bit more like yourself.

All is well until someone strides out of a bakery, someone you know too well. The sight of the familiar face freezes you in your spot.

Your eyes then lock from across the street. You watch the recognition dawn on his face.

He starts making his way towards you.

A surge of panic bleeds inside you. You briskly grab Tigris’ hand.

“Let’s go,” you urge, already pulling her in the other direction.

“Wait…what?” Befuddled, Tigris lets you drag her along as you start racing through the streets.

You don’t dare look behind you, your heart thundering inside your chest.

You dive into a busy street. The crowd cloaks you as you zigzag between bodies. Strangers give you dirty looks but you don’t care, focused on running as far away from who you saw as you can.

You and Tigris end up in a narrow alleyway, catching your breaths behind a dumpster.

You shoot worried glances at the other end of the alleyway. You lost him, you realize. A strange blend of emotions fills you, every single one carving a larger hole inside your chest.

“Who was that?” Tigris asks between uneven breaths.

Shame swells within you as your gaze lands on the cobblestoned floor.

“My fiancé,” you reply.

“Hey.” Your head lifts from your knees, your eyes traveling to the blond head peeking through the slight opening of the door.

Concerned cobalt orbs study you. You avoid his scrutiny by focusing on a random spot on the bed sheets. He enters the room. As he sits at the edge of the bed, you bring your legs closer to your chest.

His soft tone breaks through your hazy train of thoughts. “Tigris told me what happened.”

You unleash a shaky breath before finally meeting his gaze.

“I’m a coward,” you say.

His hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb collecting an errant tear you didn’t even realize had spilled over. “You’re not a coward,” he assures.

Your lip wobbles. Of course you are. You saw William, your own fiancé, and ran away from him. Who does that? An idiot and a coward. But you didn’t know what else to do. You panicked. When his beautiful green eyes locked with yours, all you could think about was those same eyes filled with hate and betrayal if he ever learnt what you did.

“I am,” you affirm.

Coriolanus strokes the side of your face, his tone growing firmer, “It’s a tough situation…”

His sentence is halted by a loud banging downstairs.

Your eyes go wide.

“What’s that?”

The faint echo of your name being yelled from outside reaches you. Your heart leaps as Coryo’s features go taut, his jaw clenching.

His lips stretch in a tense smile.

“I'll go check. Stay here.”

“I’ll come.”

You jump from bed and make a beeline for the door. He tries to placate you by holding your shoulders, blocking the exit with his towering frame.

“Princess, I don’t think-”

You glower at him. You can’t run forever.

“You can’t stop me, Coryo.”

Tension hangs in the air for some minutes, thick and electric, before he relents with a deep sigh, “Alright.”

Heart in your throat, you take slow steps down the stairs. Coryo trails behind you in silence.

Your name’s uttered again, the door rattling as he bangs against it. You flinch.

Trembling feet drag to the front door. Your hand spreads over the wooden carving. You take a deep breath before hesitant words stumble out of you.

“William, you can’t be here.”

“I love you. Of course I should be here.”

Unwavering determination vibrates in his tone. Guilt flares within you. You swallow the impending rush of tears. You don’t deserve him. He’s good, kind, honest…and you’re a liar.

“I saw you with that girl, Snow’s cousin. Talk to me, baby, please.”

“I just need a little time...alone.”

“What? Is this about the wedding preparations? Is it your parents?” He sounds confused and hurt. Your heart wrenches. You’re hurting him. It’s exactly what you meant to avoid. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. We can face anything as long as we’re together.”

The desperation thickens in his voice.

“Come out. I just want to see your face, please.”

“I…”

Your fingers hover above the gold door knob. But your hand is snatched by long, stern digits before it can fully wrap around the handle. Coryo tugs you away from the door. You gasp as his deep voice resonates in the lobby.

“You need to leave her be. She told you she needs space, William,” he says.

“Snow!” A mirthless chuckle ripples from the other side. “I knew it had to be you somehow.” You leap as the hinges of the door shake as William’s fists slam against it once more. “What did you do to her?”

Tears well up in your eyes.

“Right now, it’s you that’s hurting her,” Coriolanus says, his fingers curling around yours. “What kind of husband-to-be doesn’t respect his future wife’s wishes?”

Your brows collide. You wish he didn’t speak like that. After all, you’re the one at fault. But fear keeps the words chained to your throat.

“I just need to see her, please,” William insists.

Your stomach lurches. This is insane. Your fiancé is on the other side of the door and you won’t let him see you.

Maybe William’s right. Maybe talking to him will fix everything.

You sniffle and wipe your tears. You take a solid stride towards the door again, fingers ready to open it.

“I think I should, just for a few minutes.”

Your decision is made but Coryo’s hand cinches around your wrist. This time his hold is much firmer, on the cusp of painful in fact.

You grimace as he draws you away from the door, near the stairs.

He bends over you to whisper hotly, “To tell him what, princess?” Angling your chin upward, he sighs. “That you gave me something you denied him all this time? After just a few drinks?” Heat nestles in your cheeks. It is true. Both you and him got near that point so often, but you were adamant about waiting for your wedding night. It was your excuse every time. You doubt he’d take it well if you told him what occurred. While you want to believe your relationship will survive it, Coriolanus’ words are tossing fuel on every insecurity within you. Your confidence wavers, your hand sagging in his hold.

Coriolanus’ intense blue gaze is hard on you as he continues, his raspy tone low and foreboding, “Or perhaps, you’ll make up a lie? You really think he won't see it on your face?” A contrite expression settles on his handsome features. “You wear your emotions on your sleeves. He’ll know right away.” His thumb sweeps over your cheek to wipe a lone, stray tear. “William seems like a good man, but such a betrayal…it’d break the two of you before you even began.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting over your earshell. “He will never forgive you.”

All hope shrivels inside you, the last remnants you still held onto crumbling to dust.

You almost made a mistake. Of course Coryo’s right.

“Do you trust me?”

You give a frantic nod, releasing a shuddering sob.

He smiles at your response.

“Then go upstairs,” he instructs. “I’ll talk to him, fix everything.”

Seeing you linger at the bottom of the stairs, longing gaze darting to the door, Coriolanus squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m going to make sure you still get to have a wedding at the end of this.” His smile grows wide. “I promise you.”

You search his face. Confidence radiates from his expression, planting the belief that he’s right deep within you. You shouldn’t have doubted him. Coriolanus has gone to great lengths to help you. Even now, he’s protecting your future. It’s more than one should ask of a friend, yet he’s doing it for your sake.

“Thank you,” you say. His hand slackens around yours, a satisfied glint dancing in his cobalt gaze. You rush up the stairs, not daring to look back in fear you falter once more.

#dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow

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beansprean · 6 months ago

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AND THAT'S A WRAP ON WWDITS FILMING...[wails loudly]

I hope these actors know how much they have done for me, specifically. And how many times I have drawn their dumb faces dkjfhk.

Please consider donating to Medical Aid for Palestine! It's what Kayvan would want. :) 🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of Guillermo and Harvey Guillén on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Harvey!' Harvey's skin is slightly tanner than Guillermo's, his hair is sun-bleached and curling freely over his forehead, and he is wearing a blue knit crop top and denim overalls. He is hugging Guillermo from behind with his chin on his shoulder, grinning up at the viewer. Guillermo, wearing a white shirt and brown patterned cardigan, is cupping Harvey's hands with his own over his chest and looking at him with a fond smile, cheeks pressed together.

2. Waist up of Nandor and Kayvan Novak on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kayvan!' Kayvan's skin is a rich brown against Nandor's vampire pallor and his half-up hair and slightly longer beard are graying; he is wearing a dangly gold earring in his left ear and is wearing a lime green button up tee with a red watermelon pattern. He has picked Nandor up in a hug with his arms wrapped around his waist. Nandor, wearing a long brown kaftan under a orange diamond-patterned coat with short furred sleeves, has his right hand braced on Kayvan's shoulder and the other wrapped around his back. They are both grinning widely and looking at the viewer.

3. Waist up of Nadja, Nadja doll, and Natasia Demetriou on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Natasia!' Natasia is lightly tanned and has chest wavy length hair with bangs, dark brown at the roots with honey brown and blonde highlights throughout. She is wearing a periwinkle skirt and bandeau top with an outer layer of translucent chiffon in the same color, along with poofy off-shoulder chiffon sleeves, several rings, and a thin chain necklace with her name on it. Nadja and Dolly are matching in dark blue v neck gowns with a gold pattern and front buttons, their hair half up in twin horns. Nadja is grinning at the viewer, fangs out, and leaning heavily into Natasia's side, pressing their shoulders together. Dolly sits on their shared shoulder space, perched directly between their heads with her arms around them, smiling up at the viewer. Nadja's right arm is up under Dolly to support her legs. Natasia's right arm is bent upward like one might do to support a perching bird and her left is palming Dolly's knees to keep her in place. She is smiling over at the Nadjas, half bent over from their weight leaning on her.

4. Waist up of Laszlo and Matt Berry on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Matt!' Matt is pale (but clearly more alive than Laszlo), with wavy shoulder length hair streaked with gray and a graying beard that has been allowed to grow a bit further past his chin. He is wearing a plain white tee shirt, denim jacket, and silver chain necklace. Laszlo is wearing a red button up dashingly open at the collar under a dark blue waistcoat and lighter blue jacket with a darker damask pattern. They are standing mirrored, back-to-back with their arms crossed and shoulders pressed together, looking back over their shoulders at each other. Matt smiles at his character lazily while Laszlo offers him a mildly salacious smirk.

5. Waist up of Colin Robinson and Mark Proksch on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Mark!' Mark is standing facing the viewer with squared shoulders, wearing a blue and white plaid shirt with a chest pocket, only the top button undone. Were it not for the color and a slight shape change to his glasses, you wouldn't be able to tell him from his character. Colin is standing directly behind and to the right of him, wearing a brown v neck sweater over a beige collar and dull red tie. His head is tipped back and his mouth is open in a wide grin, eyes glowing bright blue behind his glasses. Mark glances at him from the corner of his eye with a slightly amused smirk.

6. Waist up of the Guide and Kristen Schaal on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kristen!' Kristen is pale in a human way with chin length curly brown hair and is wearing a loose empire waist black tank top under a translucent yellow chiffon top with a frilled neckline and elbow length balloon sleeves. The Guide is smiling open-mouthed at Kristen and wearing her usual black square cap, jacket, skirt, and gloves. They are back to back, elbows linked together to keep each other close, with Kristen leaning backward into the Guide so she stoops forward slightly. Kristen's far hand flashes a peace sign as she grins over at the Guide, tongue between her teeth. /end ID

#wwdits #shadowsart #guillermo de la cruz #harvey guillen #nandor the relentless #kayvan novak #nadja of antipaxos #natasia demetriou #laszlo cravensworth #matt berry #colin robinson #mark proksch #the guide wwdits #kristen schaal #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

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sylusjinwoon · 6 months ago

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{ 019 }

- musings for yandere! sung jinwoo -

disclaimers: dark content; manipulative behavior; mentions of m*rder; i do not condone such behaviors in real life, but this is a work of pure fiction, so anything goes.

DEFINITELY the type to fall hard at first sight for his darling. you can be a hunter, healer, or a mere civilian- it truly doesn't matter to him. for if you are unlucky enough to catch his attention, you will be subjected to his obsession and love- you will not escape from his love unscathed.

the day had been so utterly ordinary for sung jinwoo when he accompanied cha hae-in on what he assumed was her poor attempt at asking him out on a date.

he notices the way she smiles at him, appearing very much like a bright sunflower who's smile can match that of the sun's.

jinwoo was very much aware of her awkward kindness and beauty, yet what he felt for her was nothing more than a mere fondness. if such fondness were to ever grow into love, then he felt certain that such feelings would amount to nothing more than a familial type of love.

and despite how he knew hae-in was considered to be the perfect woman by many-

jinwoo's heart simply didn't burn for her.

after making some small talk, jinwoo waits patiently by hae-in's side for the light to flash, indicating that it was safe to walk across the street. he truly was not expecting for his life to change at all-

and oh, how wrong he was!

for once the light changed and he walked across the street with hae-in in tow-

that was the moment he saw someone that took his very breath away.

that was the moment he saw you.

as jinwoo appeared rooted on the spot, you remained blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil you had caused within the shadow monarch's heart. never once did he blink when you walk past him, eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your hair and the way your eyes shone with amusement at your phone's screen.

even when you reached the opposite end of the street, jinwoo just couldn't bring himself to look away from you, doing all that he could to burn your image into his memory when he was suddenly pulled away from you and into the sidewalk once more.

the distance between you and him had gotten much farther, and jinwoo could feel his fists clenching in response. feeing annoyed and upset, his eyes began to flash purple in response, glaring down at the blond hunter who's eyes suddenly became wide with fear.

"i-i'm sorry, but i didn't wish for you to get run over." hae-in meekly gestures to the sight of incoming traffic, making him calm down almost immediately while unclenching his fists.

he supposes he should spare cha hae-in after all, since if he had been harmed or run over by a vehicle, then he would further delay his inevitable meeting with you.

looking away from her, he mutters a half-hearted 'thank you,' before shoving his hands within the pockets of his coat, counting down the minutes until he could end this outing with hae-in and bask in his thoughts of you.

no longer will gravity be the one keeping him grounded to the earth, but rather, YOU. it is your mere existence that will serve as jinwoo's purpose in life. YOU will be what keeps him grounded. as if you were a beacon of light that shone a path within his dark and cold world, he would become obsessed with you almost immediately, meticulously planning the day where you would be his while stalking your every movement.

the day he had ran into you, his shoulders harshly bumping into yours as he sent a plethora of his soldiers rushing into your shadow wasn't enough.

it was never enough.

when he purposely collided with you, he had watched you through glowing, purple eyes as you remained slumped against the sidewalk for several seconds from the impact. your eyes had watered a bit as unshed tears were seen glimmering within your gaze in pain-

the sight of it all nearly made him come to you and apologize while comforting you-

but jinwoo held back those urges, watching with pride when you slowly stood back up on your feet. you dusted off any stray dirt that remained on your outfit before walking forward with your head held high, going on with your day as if nothing had happened,

he deeply admires your strength, feeling his heart melt at the sight of you as his world was now bathed in a rose-colored hue.

even knowing that he could simply watch you from a distance, using the soldiers he had placed close to you as his eyes-

jinwoo still wanted more.

even when he spent hours upon hours looking through the eyes of his soldiers to keep track of you-

it wasn't enough.

instead, he uses his loyal soldiers to memorize your schedule, down to the very last second as he wrote down every single activity that you did.

[ weekdays ]

0800: my lover wakes up and gets ready for the day, sometimes making breakfast; sometimes skipping altogether.

NOTE TO SELF: cook for her a balanced and delicious breakfast every single day. it's what she deserves.

0915: darling leaves the apartment and heads to the station for work.

NOTE TO SELF: obtain a copy of her key soon.

1000 - 2100: darling works hard at her job before going home at 2130.

NOTE TO SELF: spoil her well with lavish gifts that she will love.

2225: arrives home to make a late dinner.

NOTE TO SELF: cook all her meals.

[ weekends ]

my darling has a very spontaneous schedule. sometimes she sleeps in; other times she wakes up early to explore the city. i am always trailing behind her, never too far, but never too close, either.

if she buys a ticket to a movie, i'll buy a ticket and sit behind her.

if she enters a restaurant and enjoys her lunch or dinner by herself, i'll pay for her bill with no questions asked.

I NEED HER.

I LOVE HER.

I AM OBSESSED WITH HER.

at the end of each page, he would continuously write your name over and over again, eyes going hazy the more he continued to write your name endlessly before it became nothing but scribbles against his page that looked oddly like a heart.

only when he was certain he knew every aspect of your life did he finally make his appearance, allowing himself to be placed directly before you as he began the process of making you belong to him and him alone.

jinwoo had waited tirelessly for this exact moment.

he spent at least 8 months getting to know each and every minuscule detail about you, forming himself into your ideal man.

when your nose bumped into his hard chest as you 'accidentally' ran into him, jinwoo swore that he could feel his heart racing in response. his arms nearly came around you, trapping you in his tight embrace-

but he had to fight back such powerful urges.

instead, he allows your hands to rest against his chest, pushing yourself slightly away from him. it takes jinwoo a herculean effort to not crush your frame to his chest, hiding his desires with an easy smile when he sweetly asks,

"are you okay?"

jinwoo swore that he could feel his heart soar with happiness at noticing the shift in your expression, turning more shy and embarrassed as you attempted to move away from him.

naturally, jinwoo stops you from going too far, resting the palm of his hand against your back while maintaining the unassuming smile on his face.

jinwoo basks in your voice as you murmured saccharine sweet apologies to him, managing to elicit a delightful chuckle from him as he leads you away from the street.

"if you're truly sorry and wish to make it up to me, then i suppose you can do so by joining me for dinner, right?"

jinwoo finds your stuttering voice and flustered expression to be extremely cute when you manage to give him a nod at his proposal.

now that he's had you where he wants you (hooklineandsinker), jinwoo places a possessive arm around your shoulder,

ready to wrap his tendrils of darkness around your heart-

ready to completely OWN YOU.

the days spent courting you while remaining by your side was such a blessing to jinwoo. never once did he get tired of your mannerisms and quirks, basking in them while spoiling you with his pure love and affections. when he had been with you for close to a year now, THAT was when he slowly allowed his true personality to show, preventing anyone from contacting you to ridding you of the males that dared to look your way...

jinwoo couldn't have been happier with his first relationship-

for it was simply so utterly perfect for him!

with you being so innocent (so trustworthy) of him and his undying love and devotion to you, it had left you blinded to the numerous red flags that surrounded his actions-

which was exactly where he needed you to be.

while you remain asleep in his arms, you were still aware of many things-

like how your cellphone had a strange, blue light hidden within the depths of your camera...

or the sudden disappearance of the male coworker you were assigned to do a project with...

and how the shadows seemed to grow deeper and stronger as what seemed like hundreds of eyes were watching your every move.

jinwoo lets out a low chuckle while whispering longingly to you, "i did it all for love."

as he presses a kiss against your temple, the powerful hunter leans back to reveal something shiny hidden within the palm of his hand. taking a hold of your left hand, he finds your ring finger before sliding the gorgeously crafted ring against it.

jinwoo takes a moment to admire the ring on your finger, in complete awe of it as it remained the sole proof that you now belonged to him.

happy with his surprise for you, he places your left hand back on the bed, falling back into bed with his arms wrapped possessively around you. letting out one last yawn, jinwoo allows himself to slumber as he waits for you to awaken...

once the morning came and you noticed the glittering ring settled against your finger, your heart became filled with love for him, making you awaken your lover with a series of kisses against his perfectly sculpted lips.

sung jinwoo ends up smiling against your kiss, being filled with joy as you remained completely and blissfully unaware of how the ring was simply a thinly veiled chain in disguise, forever tying you to him for all eternity...

a.n. - i have a little bit of a writer's block, but had some brainrots pertaining to yandere!jinwoo... this man is too beautiful to ignore, and i lowkey find myself not minding this darker version of jinwoo... 😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #jinwoo sung #yandere x reader #oooof am i still bad at writing this type of material?#maybe #but its lowkey fun af #.stories

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trashogram · 9 months ago

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He Chose You (P. 4)

Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer picks you to be his baby mama. Rated E

You’re resting against the trunk of a tree at the top of a little hill.

It’s picturesque — the hill is gentle, sloping down to a field of tall yellow-green grass. You can smell it, wafting up with the pollen from golden flowers. The sky above is alive with pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows and whites. A symphony of coos, chirps and pitter-patters of tiny things skittering around have an oddly calming effect as you settle back and allow yourself to exist.

Eyes closed, you hear the sound of something larger than a mouse rounding the tree trunk.

“I got it!” A feminine voice breaks the calm.

You don’t have to look to feel the other person at your side. They lower themselves to the ground, knees brushing against yours when they cross their legs to sit next to you.

You don’t have to look, but you do.

There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.

She’s not wearing any clothes, and you can see faint scars and wrinkles against the uninterrupted expanse of her skin.

“It’s so pretty, I’ve never seen one so red.” The woman is happy to see you, speaking with all the familiarity of a sister.

She presents an apple to you, taken from behind her back like a surprise.

It is red. Red like an oversized ruby, or a still-beating heart full of blood. All except for the missing chunk made by delicate teeth, yellow-white meat peeking through.

You accept her offering without a word. Even when it’s imperfect, you’re mesmerized by the fruit.

“I took a bite. I’m sorry.” She gazes at you, eyes flinty. “Does that bother you?”

You shake your head vehemently, holding the apple between your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “No, of course not.”

The woman’s lips quirk up into a satisfied smile, growing bigger when you lift the apple to your mouth and bite into it. The taste is extraordinary — sweet juice bursts against your tongue when the crisp flesh gives under your teeth with barely any resistance.

You savor the first bite out of necessity but soon you’re ravenous. You can’t get enough.

Your companion exhales gently through her nose and looks up at the colorful sky. She seems to relish in the breeze that passes by, making the leaves above you rustle and the tall grass ahead blow back quietly.

The apple is almost gone when she looks back at you, teeth showing as she grins. “Careful there!”

She giggles, reaching out to tap the hand of your hand in warning. It’s all playful, even when you pout and draw back.

“You’ll eat the seeds if you keep that up.” She says. “Something might take root and grow if you do.”

Her words give you pause, but only for the length of four or five heartbeats. The core of the apple is no less refreshing and before you know it, you’re holding the stem.

“Thank you.” You tell her earnestly.

The stem rolls in your palm, until it appears to wiggle and your brow furrows. In the back of your mind, you think you should be more startled to see it moving on its own. But when it grows pink-gray and ringed, and you realize it’s a worm, you simply place the flat of your hand on the ground below and watch it find its way into the dirt.

Sudden warmth against your cheek has you looking back up. The woman is inches from your face. Her eyelashes are dark and long and you could count them if you wanted.

The woman kisses you without a word, hands coming up to cup the back of your head. Surprise does spark up your spine as her tongue darts behind your lips. It’s as if she’s drinking deeply from you before she lets go.

“Forgive me. I wanted another taste.” She giggles again. “It’s even sweeter than I remember.”

Your face burns. You open your mouth, ready to ask the questions burning the tip of your tongue before the thud of footsteps sound from behind you.

She frowns, light leaving her eyes as she glances behind your shoulder. “Oh I was hoping we’d have more time.”

Her eyes cut across to yours. “Wake up before he sees you!”

———

A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea swept over you as soon as you opened your eyes. You laid still for a long moment, trying to reign in the urge to vomit before you deemed it safe enough to observe your surroundings.

A vague sense of confusion surfaced through the malaise when you realized that you were in your living room. There was a carmine blanket tucked around you, and with moderate difficulty you raised your head to see that, yes, a fluffy pillow was resting under your head.

Your reality conflicted with the still-present smell of tall, wet grass and a chill from the summer breeze against your skin.

With ridiculous care, you turned your head back into the pillow and muffled a whine. You couldn’t recall feeling a hangover of this caliber ever before in your life.

‘Wait.’

You weren’t hungover. Well, maybe you were but not from alcohol.

Your neighbors had invited you to dinner, then drugged you.

Already sick, you forced yourself to breathe deeply before shifting on the couch and pulling up the blanket. Despite confirming that your body was still clothed, you found yourself shaking.

It didn’t make sense to you how anyone could do this regardless of their intentions. You could not fathom why two people willing to harm you in one way hadn’t done more than that.

Your relief was short-lived, as dull and diluted as it was, when you twisted to lay back down and came face-to-face with:

A black glove, some aspirin and a glass of water sat on your coffee table.

You blinked rapidly.

There was a small business card in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless ensemble. It was thick stock, white, and flashing fancy golden script:

Lucifer Morningstar

Your stomach dropped as an unnaturally white face with glowing yellow and red eyes flashed in your mind.

The hallucination you’d seen last night — his image faded from your mind and you were left drifting in a blank, black void.

No thoughts.

———

The headache and nausea were considerably lesser when you woke up again.

Looking at the items on your coffee table — ‘glove, aspirin, water still there’ — you looked at each one and for one, strangely hopeful moment you didn’t see a card.

Oh no, it had just fallen on the floor.

———

Lucifer Morningstar

It was an odd business card, with its little red, white and gold designs on the edges. Fireworks, you eventually guessed. The ‘i’ in both first and last name were punctuated with them as well.

As you’d popped the aspirin in your mouth and downed the water, you flipped the card over. You could feel your eyebrows rising to your hairline at the hastily written message on the back:

Proof you weren’t dreaming.

Please Call Me

1-666-666-6669

Pacing was out of the question. Your limbs were still unsteady no matter how much you willed them to function.

You were trapped on the couch trying to accept what your brain had been screaming at you since you awoke for the fifth time.

How much time had passed?

Heaven and Hell were real, and so were God and the Devil.

And the Devil had paid you a visit.

———

The indent you’d made into your stupid, hand-me-down sofa was probably permanent now that you’d spent who knows how long just rotting there.

Contemplating, processing, fearing.

Fleeting memories of tantrums you’d thrown as a child paralyzed you. Moments in your life that you’d already regretted so much they kept you up some nights — randomly, provoked by nothing — piled up in your brain. Each one harshened that sinking feeling inside your body. This kind of horror was the kind a person feels right before they die.

How long have you been judged from above for your wrongs?

Were you already doomed to Hell? Is that why Lucifer himself wanted ‘to meet’ you? Did he make it a personal habit to visit each lowly sinner and taunt them?

God was real, so did everything actually happen for a reason like so many said?

Why did bad things happen to good people?

Was your dog in heaven, waiting for you and you’d already disappointed her by getting a one way ticket in the opposite direction?

———

You figured out that the ringing in your ears was actually your phone’s alarm when the natural lighting in your apartment was almost gone.

You managed to get to it on the other side of the room half-stumbling from your seat.

“Hello?” You rasped.

“… So you finally decided to answer your phone.”

———

It took you banging on the door and shouting against its old, glossy surface before Cass Farrow cracked it open.

A myriad of expressions crossed her painted face before she opened the door fully. When she faced you, she smiled.

“Honey! It’s been days! We didn’t wanna bother you but we were worried! It’s good to see you up and about!”

The way she acted, as if nothing was wrong, as if the world had turned upside down, had you balling up your fists. Your ragged nails delved into the skin so deeply you could feel the sting of blood.

“I-I need…” You couldn’t stop the copper taste of saliva filling your mouth.

You would not throw up. “I need to speak to your boss.”

Cass blinked owlishly at that. “My what?”

‘Why? Why? Why are you shocked?’ You shouted in your mind.

“Oh honey,” The low tone did nothing to soothe you, only raise your ire. “I don’t know what —”

“The Devil!” Your raised voice made the elderly woman jump. “Or Lucifer, or Baphomet — whatever the fuck you call him! I need to talk to him.”

You scrambled to grab the business card you’d stashed in your pocket.

“You had him in your apartment, so I know he’s in there somewhere.” You said while waving it in Cass’s face frantically.

It was deja vú when Mrs. Farrow eyed the card and her face paled considerably.

“Oh.”

———

Lucifer wasn’t ‘home’. At least, he wasn’t in his personal Airbnb via the Farrow residence.

However, Cass waved it away. “He’ll think it’s you or about you or something to do with you and come running.”

Trying to push yourself and demand she tell you more proved to be too difficult. All you could do is stand with your arms crossed, waiting while the (clearly practiced) worshiper combined a series of dried plants in her hands.

Cass gathered them up and laid them carefully on a side table before fiddling with the furnace and a long lighted match.

The fire blazed to life instantly from the little flicker it had begun as when Cass threw the plants in. It rose higher, and higher, until it had disappeared past where you could see behind the lintel.

You had it in you to be stunned when Lucifer appeared from out of those flames. He was perfectly pristine and intact when he stepped out, hunching slightly to avoid his top hat bumping into the smoke chamber.

The devil was as you remembered him, but also worse in that you couldn’t reassure yourself that his visage was merely a product of your fucked up, overly-imaginative little brain.

He was so… white.

His skin was practically blinding as freshly-painted walls hit by a sunbeam.

Lucifer stepped into the room with a flourish. “I came as soon as I coul-”

‘Fuck.’ You’d been spotted.

And there went Cass, out of the living room to hide away in her smelly kitchen.

“You’re here!” Lucifer cajoled, theatrics on full display as he beheld your presence.

The top hat came off, held in his hands as he graced you with a bashful smile like he was some gentleman caller and not Not-Satan.

“I-I didn’t expect to see you here waiting! But I’m so glad you are. Did you get my card? I thought about just leaving the glove because the card can seem so impersonal —”

“I just got fired.” You blurted out.

The unusually flat face contorted into an anguished expression. “You… you lost your job…?”

“Because of you.”

“B-because of me ?!” His already youthful tenor of a voice raised some octaves. “What —”

You pointed a finger in his direction. “Yes! You !”

“You appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my entire worldview. I've had existential crisis-es… cris-ies? I don’t fucking — I’ve had life-altering spirals before but that was fucking nothing compared with this!”

“And now I’m out of a job and I’m alone in a city I don’t fucking know with cult-worshipping neighbors because I can’t go back to where I was and you’re just standing here like you have no idea why I’m upset!”

You hadn’t expected to get this far. You hadn’t expected to go on a tirade at all, really. Distantly you felt tears sliding down your cheeks and the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage.

Shame, guilt and fear began toiling deep inside you.

Lucifer had been backed against the wall, hands raised placatingly and expression mirroring your own internal panic. It quickly turned into concern as he took in your sorry state of being.

“Please, no.” He reached out for you and you retaliated by jolting out of reach. “Oh please don’t… I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I never… if I’d known…”

He was reaching into his coat and pulling something out before your sight cleared. It was a handkerchief with the red moniker L.M. on one corner.

The King held it out to you like a peace offering. Or a white flag.

The force with which you snatched it out of his hands was unnecessary but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“You said you picked me. What did you mean by that?” You mumbled into the handkerchief.

Lucifer’s mouth screwed up into a frown, brow creasing. “We don’t have to talk about that —”

“No.” You made eye contact, watching him squirm. “We need to talk about it. Explain it. Now.”

“Ahh… ok, yes, um…” He fiddled with the bow tie at his collar. “Well, like I said before, I wanted to wait until we got to know each other because… because it’s kind of a big deal.”

Your stern frown implored him to continue.

Lucifer winced. “It’s sort of a-a favor I wanted to ask of you. And I thought that if we talked about it over time maybe it wouldn’t sound so monumental… but actually, now…”

The fidgeting worsened, and his nimble fingers had graduated to fussing with the clasps down his front. Eventually, Lucifer yanked his jacket down to straighten it.

“So, I’ve been around for a really, really, really, really long time.” The Devil started. “And I’ve kind of been on my own for *like* ever and that’s fine, whatever, can’t complain. Normally it’s all about warding off boredom.

“But! Lately, it’s been harder and harder to just —” He made a fist and punched down onto the palm of his other hand to elucidate. “— Just, ahh, not be bored? I guess?”

“And it’s been interfering with all the shit I gotta do. I mean I have no-oo motivation, none at all, and it’s becoming a big problem. The other Sins have actually noticed. Like Satan? You know, we talked about him when we met — yeah, he came up to me not too long ago, saying —”

Your heart stopped as Lucifer’s eyes went completely red, blazing in his skull like magma and accompanied by long horns protruding from his head.

His voice took on an unearthly, gravelly quality as he, presumably, mimicked Satan:

“‘We’re worried for you, man. Ozzie says you haven’t been returning his calls. Levi and Bee miss you on their outings but you always say you’re busy. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to us, right?’”

Lucifer was back to normal in a millisecond. “And I do know that. I do! But as much as I wanna take them up on it, I just feel like none of them will really understand what’s wrong. I don’t even understand it. Or at least I didn’t until it came to me out of nowhere, like lightning.”

He mimed being zapped in the head.

“Visits and parties with my brothers are fun and all, but they end... And I find myself all alone more often than not.”

Lucifer sighed deeply.

“I don’t really have anything to live for,” He stressed. “Except for myself and…”

“That’s not much.” He snickered mirthlessly.

You swallowed. The anger, frustration, exhaustion and still-present fear were blanketed by an uncomfortable bout of sympathy.

Sympathy for the Devil.

‘Oh shut the fuck up you.’

“Don’t you live for the suffering of mankind or something?” You sniffled, trying to regain your metaphorical footing in the conversation and, in turn, regenerate that anger you’d been consumed by not a minute ago.

Lucifer looked from the ground to you, the gleam in his cherry-red eyes fighting to come back to life.

“Aha! No, no. That’s-that’s a Bible thing, right?” He groaned, pulling down the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ugh, I still don’t know why Heaven insists on that overblown press kit! It’s so fucking old! And inaccurate!”

Lucifer commiserated with you. “Too much involvement from human hands, too. Ya know? I mean people use it to justify some of the most insane shit I’ve ever seen!”

He cleared his throat at your blank expression.

“Anywho-oo. What was the question again? Oh! Oh, do I live for the suffering of man — no! No, I don’t. In fact, where I’m from? Being in the middle of that suffering shtick gets old real fast. I’ve stayed away from it for a good while now and really I’ve never been better.”

The blond topped off his statement with a smile, showing those razor teeth while also trying to come across as easy-going and candid.

A beat passed, in which you felt your lips form a thin line.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You snorted.

Lucifer looked at you as if you’d lost your head as your snorts turned into full-blown laughter. Until he, of course, wanted to fit in like he knew exactly what was going on.

“Hahaha, yeah…” Hell’s king chuckled nervously. “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? Ha ha… ha.”

Shaking your head ‘no’, you tried to reign in the body spasms.

“So when you say you ‘picked me’, you mean you want me to… what? Be your therapist?” You asked. “The Devil needs a friend’s shoulder to cry on? What?”

Lucifer fixed you with the first look of genuine annoyance you’d seen (directed at you) from him.

“No.” He harrumphed. “I need a baby.”

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision

I'm so sorry if I missed anyone who asked to be tagged! I'm having a hard time keeping track.

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

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peggyao3 · 19 days ago

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Pt. 13 - (Pseudo) Pregnancy

A/N: The only trope yee aunt Peggy will never ever write is actual pregnancy… Meanwhile cannibalism, dune-typical incest, non-con, no problem, but pregnancy is just too close to irl body horror for me, but luckily I can make up anything in the world of fiction and beat the trope into a shape of my liking 😂😌 thank you @nocturn-warrior for the spark of inspiration to pick this prompt hehe 🤭

Can be seen as part of the Night Crawler universe, I think <3

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, breeding kink, descriptions of pregnancy symptoms without an actual child growing in there, FMC is thin enough to see a distension of the womb, squirting, dub-con

WORD COUNT: 450

"You're whining so much today," Feyd-Rautha groans, situated warm and hard between her spread thighs.

"Yes," she grates out through clenched teeth, pushing against her husband's round shoulders with no real fight aside from the nails that scrape over his velvety skin. "I'm too full and you damn well, a-ahhh, k-know it!"

A hard jab of his cock has made a splash of wetness spatter against his hard abdomen and she burns up with shame, feeling the wet glide of skin against her already distended belly.

"Too full, sweetling?" Her insatiable husband grins black and wide, slowing his thrusts and canting his pelvis against the spot that causes her nerves to jitter and more essence to drip past the root of his cock. "I think there's room for a few more of my whelps in your warm, little womb."

Her channel spasms around his obscene girth upon that and he taunts her with laughter. His sweet wife is rotten and can't help the twitching of her needy cunt at the thought of being bred round and full by her virile husband.

All of this is just play. The na-Baron doesn't like the idea of sharing the attention of his treasured toy with a bawling, nagging, vomiting offspring. She can all but pray that it remains this way. Forced into marriage and this play of pretend, she won't allow him to force her into anything else, or their marriage will end in a bloodbath.

"Mmmh, just be still, my darling. Your husband knows what's best for you." Feyd-Rautha picks up speed, stuffing himself into her slick hole despite her indignant whines about the change of tempo. "If you don't wanna keep still, I might just strap you in next time, put you in a harness like a broodmare and stuff you so full that my seed drips down your legs."

His cock jumps against her snug walls and he lets his head fall forward, drool on his lips when he empties himself with stuttering hips, forehead pressing against his wife's. She shivers when his eyes snap open, dark and yearning beneath blonde lashes.

With every rush of seed into her body, the artificially injected cocktail of enzymes that lies dormant in her blood induces a rush of amniotic fluid into her womb. The pressure makes her groan and whine and that's also how she knows it's not real, because it happens too fast.

Feyd reaches one hand between their bodies, the one with the wedding band, and pats her belly, whispering with gravelled breath how pretty she looks, swollen with his heir and how well she carries his Harkonnen brood.

The effect lasts only a couple of days— But Feyd-Rautha fucks his wife more often than that.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha #feyd #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x oc #feyd imagine #feyd rautha imagine #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #austin butler #kinktober 2024 #peggysuave kinktober 2024 #absurdthurst kinktober

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xotyx · 6 months ago

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@rosekillermicrofic | May 20th - Freckles | 264 words | cw: implied sexual content

The roots of Barty’s hair were growing out, and almost an inch of blond hair was now visible near his scalp–soon he’d be asking Pandora to dye over it with more black and green, but for now, Evan would cherish this. Something Evan had only figured out from months of staring at Barty like only a teenage boy with a crush could was that, really, despite his violent mannerisms and sharp words, he was a soft kind of pretty, with dirty blond hair that fell over pale green eyes. Even his eyelashes were blond, and they looked so soft that Evan so often found himself unconsciously reaching out to touch them.

In the warmer months of the year, Barty didn’t tan, only burned and found himself covered in freckles–they weren’t dark, not anything you’d notice unless you spent as much time admiring Barty as Evan did.

It had been something that had haunted Evan for years, how gorgeous Barty was when freckles bloomed across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks, even over his eyelids and under the fine hairs of his eyebrows–not to say that he wasn’t always breathtaking, of course. Now though, finally Evan had free reign to kiss each and every one of them. It was no small endeavor, of course, and Barty wouldn’t simply submit to Evan’s affections without a fight, but Evan knew the end result would be worth it–Barty spread out bare below him, completely relaxed from Evan’s ministrations, grinning up at him as he always did, every inch of skin on his body having had Evan’s lips pressed to it.

#barty crouch jr #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #evan rosier #barty crouch junior #microfic

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awriternamedart · 5 months ago

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One of the many things Akira noticed about Sakamato Ryuji was just how quietly he loved.

He didn’t mean specifically in a romantic sense. Friends, family, strangers- the way Ryuji showed his care and affection was almost silent.

It had first made itself apparent when Akira learned that Ryuji’s bright, yellow blonde wasn’t his natural tone- it was in fact, a bleach job he kept up on. He had noticed that Ryuji’s roots were growing in- a dark brown color that stood out starkly- and made an idle comment on it, drawing a fidgeting Ryuji’s hand to his thick, unruly hair.

“Oh, yeah. Been savin’ up to get some more bleach ‘n toner ‘n shit soon- ain’t let it grow out this long in a while.”

“You bleach it?”

“Yeah, started doin it round secondary and just- never stopped, I guess.”

He had later found out that he had done it so that Ann wouldn’t be alone as the only blonde, and even though they had fallen out over the years, he had still kept up with it. And considering the price of that kind of bleach job, the fact that he was always reminded to dye it back- it wasn’t an easy endeavor to keep up with.

And yet, he did so without even a thought of stopping.

It really had caught Akira’s eye when Yusuke had joined their little group.

For the first time, Akira got to witness Ryuji get along with someone from the beginning- and it wasn’t exactly easy. Ryuji, for all his sunny grins, had more than a few walls up when it came to new people. He got to see a gruffer, more agitated Ryuji- and also got to witness him slowly lower that outward mask to let their teammate in.

When Akira caught Ryuji suddenly always having a pencil on hand, he had known Yusuke had his seal of approval.

This type of pattern just kept repeating itself, mostly. With Makoto it was… a little more difficult- but that was because they had a history by ear. Ryuji’s reputation was the stark opposite of Makoto’s so there was bound to be friction- but Ryuji wasted no time in trying to help her anyway.

Even if Akira would forever shiver at the memory of Ryuji throwing himself in front of a moving car.

From there- Futaba, Haru, even Morgana, Sae, Sojiro and Kasumi on the off chance of meeting her- Ryuji would always have a special way that he loved. That he cared.

Something even Ryuji himself hadn’t seemed aware of when Akira first brang it up.

“Eh? Whaddya mean?”

“The pencil in your pocket. It's for Yusuke, isn't it?” Akira prodded, a nonchalant question more than anything. The quiet tenor of his voice carried a much lighter lilt to it now that they had taken down Shido.

“How'd you know I got a pencil- well, dudes always mumblin ‘bout drawin this or that.” Ryuji offhandedly waved, leaning back onto the comforter atop Akira’s mishmash assembly of a bed. “ ‘s easier to shut him up with it."

“Haru never running out of soil or fertilizer?”

“The bags aren’t that heavy- sides, it ain't like I got anythin’ else to do after school, ‘less ‘m hangin’ out with you.”

“Morgana’s treat pocket in your bag?”

“Keeps him from yowlin’ at me.”

“Futaba’s ever growing manga collection?”

“They were just gonna rot in my room.”

“Makoto mentioned that her notes are always nice and neat whenever she gets them back from you.”

“Well, duh, they aint mine. Gotta keep them in nice condition.”

“Your hair?”

“What about it?”

Akira just rolled his eyes. This guy was impossible- so silence fell over the pair in the quiet room overlooking the backstreets. Wood creaked nearby, a quiet snapping noise that neither paid much attention to.

There was more Akira could have gone into to- the dishes when Sojiro was out and Ryuji was hangin around, Akira catching him looking up gymnastics specifics one evening- hell, Ryuji had even begun to look through how to properly play billiards before.. yeah.

For all the shit Ryuji was dragged through, the butt of the joke, the beaten up punch line- he never stopped caring. Akira couldnt help but be proud of his choice in a loyal right hand.

“Uh oh.”

“Hm?"

“Ya got that look on yer face.” Ryuji leaned forward, a smirk rising on his face. “That stupid calculatin look like your takin a shadow apart with your mind.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

The repressed smirk said it all to Ryuji, the way grey glinted behind faux glasses- Akira had all but two seconds before an arm was slung over his shoulder, gasping as he was tugged down and a hand was playfully ruffling with his hair. Laughter erupted, Ryuji’s demands that he tell him whats going on in his head almost lost to the tussle.

“Cmon, ‘Kira- you cant hide nothin from me!”

“Unfortunately.” Glasses knocked askew, Akira straighted up, going to fix them before they were snatched off his face. “Hey-!”

Ryuji just grinned back, shark teeth and all.

“So, gonna tell me or do I gotta hold these hostage?”

And Akira just rolled his eyes, easily snatching back his glasses and slipping them on his face. He looked back to Ryuji to see brown shining back, amber flecks dancing in the setting sun. Straw gold hair caught the few orange rays that managed to worm their way into the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya, freshly touched up blonde roots barely visible through the thicket of mismatched cut hair.

He felt himself just shake his head, melting easily to his partner in crime who just blinked- looking at Akira in slight confusion.

“Dude, you sure you're good?"

Neither of them were PDA people- maybe thats why it was easy for them to just exist around each other like they did. But for the rare moments- the quiet touch of their lips, the stolen moments they had, hands hesitantly bumping against the others- Akira knew.

For all the ways Ryuji loved, this was the way Akira liked the most.

The Quiet Way He Cares - awriternamedart

#pegoryu #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #the difficult choice of the name i like saying vs ryuji saying renren #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5r #snippet #i love sakamato ryuji so much you can try to rip him from my cold dead hands and you will fail #i will die on this hill #arts snippets

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crazylittlejester · 1 month ago

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What are your hair headcanons for the chain? I personally think Wild, Wars and Legend have the longest hair but thats just because I think Legend's hat is full of hair he just pretends isnt there so he doesnt havd to brush it(warriors is going to kill him when he realizes)

Oooooh nice!!

I think Wild’s is definitely the longest, no contest. And I don’t think it’s THICK, it’s just dense. Like, the individual strands are rather fine, and his hair is soft and silky but he’s got a LOT of it. It’s definitely waist length, and has a slight natural wave to it, and he’s a natural dirty blonde. He’s experimented with temporary dyes because he got bored though. Also he does a lot with his hair and he takes really good care of it! It’s not HIS fault he wiped out and fell in a bush and got a bunch of sticks in it 😔

Second longest for me is Time, whose hair to me goes about two inches past his collar bone. He’s a warmer toned blond, and the color is completely natural, he doesn’t do much to his hair. I hc he has bad sensory issues and his hair can sometimes really bother his neck, but if he cut it short he’d never make it through growing it out again so when it bothers him he ties it up off his neck. Any hairstyles he does don’t have a WHOLE lot of thought put into them, but Malon and Wars have done pretty things with his hair before and he enjoyed it. He just can’t do that for himself. I also hc his hair is very thick and naturally wavy and Wars is constantly one toe over the line crossing into GENUINE jealously because Time does NOTHING and his hair just looks incredible and it hurts Wars to know that if he out just a Little effort into it it would look even better

Legend’s is about the same length as Time’s but most of it is always tied up and/or shoved into his hat. He’s naturally strawberry blond, and his hair is thick but pretty straight. It would hold a curl if he did curl it though, and he’s (of course) dyed it a few times in his life

We all know Four’s fuckass /pos bob. What an absolute legend I love his haircut. I hc his hair is very thin and fine, but it has that really pretty silky quality to it? It’s the type of stick straight hair that won’t curl even if you spray it to death and say a prayer. Its a cooler toned blond and it’s a lighter color than any of the other naturally blond Links

Hyrule to me has very dark 3c hair and if he pulls on it to straighten it out then he for sure beats Time for second place, but where his hair actually like falls to is right at his shoulders. Like it just rests at his shoulders. He had to learn to take care of it before he let it get that long because it was just kinda hard for a 10 yo kid to care for when he was so on his own, but he’s got the hang of it now and he’s really happy with how it looks. He doesn’t often do too much with it in terms of styling but sometimes he’ll braid it because it is kinda annoying to have to pick sticks out of it when he and Wild take a tumble and both walk back to camp FULL of sticks and then Warriors has to help the both of them

Sky’s hair to me has natural loose curls and is a fairly dark, slightly red toned brown. It’s very thick and just brushes his shoulders. It’s long enough that he can tie it back if he wants to, but he usually doesn’t because its so thick his arms will get sore from spending so much time trying to tie it back in a way that doesn’t look absolutely atrocious because theres just so MUCH of it and its hard to handle

Warriors’s is similar to Sky’s in length, and it’s naturally very thick, dark and curly, but he straightens and bleaches it to death. His roots are a very dark brown, but he does his best to cover that up. He also tries very hard to keep his hair as nice as possible and do what he can to prevent further damage. It’s curlier than Sky’s is naturally, but when it starts to curl up again it because of humidity or because he didn’t straighten it very successfully it looks a bit similar

Wind is a different styling technique away from a bowl cut. His hair is curly as fuck, not QUITE as curly as Hyrule’s is but definitely close, and his hair is naturally brown but has been highlighted and appears very blond. His roots are clearly brown, but not as dark as Warriors’s. His hair is very thick and hard to manage and Wars taught him how to care for it properly so after the journey when he’s more confident in how it looks, he lets it grow out past his shoulders. I hc Wars helped him LOVE his hair

Twilight is out here fighting demons but the demons are him. His hair is thick as hell AND dense as fuck, and it’s a bit wavy. It doesn’t listen to him, ever. He can’t so much as PART it differently because it’s gonna do what it’s gonna do. His hair was naturally a reddish brown, not a super dark color but definitely brown, but since the transformation he has a constantly dark roots no matter HOW much his hair seems to grow out, and his hair still has a red tone to it but he thinks it looks darker. It also takes him forever to wash his scalp because his hair refuses to let the water in anywhere and he gets a bit annoyed. Length wise you CAN see the back of his neck a bit, and it was definitely cut like, around his head in the sense that it’s not just layered with the intention of it hanging down long. the hair coming from the top of his head which is the longest part of his haircut are like 6 inches long MAX

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu headcanons #jes talks

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cuntdevil · 7 days ago

Text

★ FREAKY FRIDAY !

two overworked men who have the life of their dreams ── one living behind a picket fence with a family, the next spending his days locked away in his office during the whee hours of night. unfortunately, one fortune cookie turns their friday nights upside down.

CHAPTER ONE : BLOOD GUTS & ANGEL CAKE.

the feeling of watching someone take their last breath was a euphoric feeling that he could never get enough of.

( chapter demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, nanami kento & higuruma hiromi, dark content | minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact & 3140 words !

╰┈➤ salaryman!nanami kento, lawyer!higuruma hiromi, established relationship!au, housewife!reader (she/they), sexual gratification from murder, neither characters' names are mentioned, etc.

( author's note. ) ahh, im really excited about this series. i had so much fun with this chapter, and im so excited to get into the knitty gritty for the others. i think i will have you guys shook by the end of it. if you stay until this end, please complete the poll !

There’s something about taking someone’s life that makes his blood rush. Dark leather gloves that fit his hands smoothly as he feels his victim struggle. The balaclava pulled over to sit on his head, so his victim can see who his murder is. Eyes widened as they fail to breathe, choking on nothing as they try to gasp in something. Their veins will bulge as they nash and fight, their hands still having the strength to push back until they’re growing weaker and weaker by the second.

Their face loses color as they finally stop fighting and they’re losing their grip on that string to their life line. Typically, a few tears will be shed and added to the collection of the ones previously spilled and their head will fall back. He’d still keep his hands wrapped around their neck, squeezing just a bit harder to withhold their last breath as he’d take in their now lifeless form. People look prettier like this, he can’t help but think. Their silence is effervescent as the blue traversing their neck is vibrant in color. Messy and disheveled set of hair that’d fall haphazardly, he’d coo out to them as if to comfort them, caressing their faces gently. He’d wish to touch them, feel the coldness of their skin, but he’s got to be careful. Any mark, any sign of him will lead to his prosecution.

He wouldn’t want that. The pretty women he preyed on wouldn’t want that. They needed him— they needed him to help them ascend to the gods. He was their passageway to the glorious heavens above. As for him? A chuckle leaves his lips as he knows that he’ll have a front row seat, hitching a ride to be Hades’ right hand man.

His hands have been enveloped around this beauty’s neck for far too long. A pretty woman that he had met on his way home. She had her eyes set on him the moment she had accidentally bumped into him, the rocky train setting her off balance that it sent her tumbling back and people letting their annoyance be known as she muttered out pathetic apologies. She had crushed his shirt, enough to set him off as she was still pressed against his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

Her voice was nasally— a grating sound that had him grimacing. However, she was pretty. Blonde hair, but dark roots that needed to be touched up. Her skin was pale, covered in makeup that hid the color of her blemishes, but not its shape. Her cheeks were pink from the blush, but he could tell by the way she grew flustered and how her ears were turning red that it wasn’t just the makeup.

“You’re alright,” he simply muttered, noticing that the contents of her purse had spilled. A small tube of lip gloss about to roll its way out of sight.

“Oh!” The thing must’ve meant plenty to the girl, seeing how she was quick to dive for it, yet again risking her safety on the moving vehicle. It was, however, within his reach where he was able to stop it with his foot, grabbing the young woman around her waist as his other hand still held onto the overhead bars. He let out a sigh of annoyance, looking down at the stranger and scowling. “You don’t seem to learn your lesson, do you?”

She should’ve been more ashamed, but gosh, the man was so handsome. Taller than her stature, but she had always been a petite thing, not yet and never will be reaching a height of five feet. From his attire, he seemed to be someone who made a decent amount of money, calling right into her desires of not having to work another day in her life. In her mind, her pupils turned into the shape of hearts, bulging out of her eye sockets as she could only stare up at the man and ogle him. Yet again, another “I’m so sorry!” falling from her pink lips.

This time, she stood tall and held onto the pole that was to the right of the handsome stranger. Her eyes on him the entirety of the ride until she nearly missed her spot. She had forgotten about her lip gloss in that time frame, but he didn’t. From his dress pants, he reached for it. Opening with a pop, the police would find her and she’ll look as gorgeous as she had hoped for— and in his opinion, stunning.

He slipped out the way he came in, not a security camera in sight as he leaves undetected. Hands shoved inside his pockets as he maneuvers his way back to the train station. The sky was a beautiful shade of gray as they continued to darken. It was the earliest he had left the office, but he wasn’t complaining.

He didn’t understand how people found their phones so interesting. Him— he preferred to enjoy the world around him. The life and beauty to it as the crickets started singing and the birds started settling into their well-crafted nests. The wind speeds would pick up, the cool air of the night embracing him in a grip so tight that it sends shivers down his spine. Halfway in his walk, his stomach rumbles as he had gone a period of time without food at the organ itself would bite him in warning. Groaning, he pulled back his sleeves to check the time. “Shit,” he cursed— Friday, October 18, 2024 | 8:54 pm. He was late.

—

“I’m sorry for making us late,” he apologizes the moment the waitress assigns them a table at a booth. Sliding into his seat, you sit across from him and roll your eyes. He apologized the moment he got home. You’ve accepted his apology each time he reiterated it, repeating yourself over and over that you understood. It wasn’t his fault that the trains were a bit delayed. And despite the fact that you’re repeating yourself, yet again, he couldn’t help the guilt that crept inside of him when he came through the front door to see you all dolled up in a royal blue silk dress that flowed down your body so magnificently. Stunning, he told himself the moment he shut the door and made his presence more known.

However, you were washing dishes, attending to chores to make the time pass by when you looked at the clock. You’d both be late for the reservation, and you were unsure if you’d both be able to keep your spots if he didn’t arrive anytime soon. Hands that snaked around your stomach as you felt his chest against his back, apology after apology leaving his lips as he explained the entire ordeal to you. It was cute then, where you were able to easily forgive him, but it’s become a nuisance to hear now.

“I’ve told you that it’s alright about a thousand times now,” you frown. “Are you looking for me to pick a fight about it? Because that’s what it sounds like at this point. We’re here now and our table’s still available, so there’s no need for any more apologies.”

He sighs, eyes looking down at his hands as he realizes that he’s not making things better. “You’re right. I’m being overdramatic, but—”

“Nope,” you lift a finger, a pointed look in your gaze. “No rebuttals. Just end it there.”

“I love you,” the three words slipped from his mouth. You don’t understand where they’ve come from, but it still brings that shy smile to your features. His impromptu declarations of love never getting old.

“I love you, too.” The doors to the restaurant are swung open as a man rushes in, approaching the birchwood podium in a haste. It calls for everyone’s attention as you and your husband both look back. You chuckle as you watch the man explain his situation to the hostess, seeing if his spot is still available. “Seems like he’s in the same boat as us.”

From his spot, your husband watches the hostess lead the man to an available table. He walks in their direction, striding down the aisle of tables and booths as his eyes remain straightforward, only flickering away for a fraction of a section to glance towards your husband’s way. When the stranger is no longer in sight, he hums. “Seems so.”

—

Cursed spirits are funny little things, and truthfully, fascinating how they manifest. Bitter human emotions that personify themselves into something more, something monstrous as they become spirits. The negative feelings that people always brush off as that— feelings— become something that’s terrorizing. Some can take shape as humanoids, materializing from people’s fear of volcanoes. Pale gray skin with a volcanic structure on the top of their head, a hunched composure with one eye guiding them through the world. Others can appear closer to humans, meshing with the crowd except for the scars and stitches that traverse their body. Pale gray hair that falls past his shoulders and mismatched set of eyes, who wishes to see nothing but the eradication of the people that led to his existence.

However, cursed spirits can take up other forms. They can closely resemble animals and plants, camouflaging itself within the rest of the world and preying on innocent humans. Others can take hold the appearance of nonliving things, cursed objects laced with the bitter taste of manifested emotions. They can even take the form of food— a fortune cookie, for example.

Fortune cookies. They originated in America, crafted by Japanese immigrants during the nineteenth to twentieth century. However, now they’re found predominantly in Chinese restaurants. Your husband can’t quite find the significance of why the complimentary delicacy would be in this restaurant. A small courtesy from the waitress and she placed two down on the table for them, transparent wrapping glistening under the dim lights of the restaurant. However, he still picks it up and unwraps it, reaching for the bill hidden inside the leather folder.

He grabs the pen accounted for with it, flipping it open as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet. Signing the small slip before pushing in his debit card and sliding the leather-bound item to the corner of the booth for the waitress, he unravels the wrapping and cracks it open. You can’t help but snort, setting your cookie with the pile of plates next to you. “You’re going to eat that stale thing? It looks like it has been sitting in that bowl for years by now.”

“Mm,” your husband shrugs, pulling out the small slip of paper. “I wouldn’t have booked our reservation here if that were so.”

On the other side of the room, a man sits at his lonesome as he’s pouring the remains of his food into a to-go box. His waitress sets down the bill next to him, and he further discards her presence when she sets down a fortune cookie along with it. This time he’d taken to wind down was perfect, though he was upset to have nearly missed it for his own gratification. He’s loosened his tie significantly, much to the dismay of those around him who can’t believe he’d conduct himself in such a manner in a public setting. He wondered if they’d drop dead if he undid a few of his buttons.

Leaning far within his seat, he opens up the bull, pulling his wallet from the front of the back of his pants and pulls out his debit card. He reaches for the plastic bound fortune cookie, unwrapping it and breaking it in two to pull out the sheet of paper.

When the waitress had pulled out a handful of the fortune cookies, she didn’t really notice the subtle contrast of colors that those two fortune cookies had. While the rest of the cookies had brighter and warm undertones to them, categorizing themselves to fit in with tan, those two took a darker shade. From the moment she touched them, they started darkening as it felt the warmth of human flesh as it hoped to eat away at the plastic flesh and prey on its victim before it was dropped down so haphazardly on the table.

The two men never noticed how the tan tone started becoming darker, the yellow hues dissipating more and more when they cracked it open. Red ink transcribed into the small sheet of paper as it reads, Appearance can be deceiving. Remember endurance is gold. Both men tilt their head, impressed by the fortune before they devour the food itself. A couple of bites before they grimace at the bitter taste, their faces souring as they reach for the nearest thing they can spit in— a napkin— and grabbing their unfinished drinks to swallow and disguise the putrid taste with it.

It works like clockwork, every victim the unfortunate cookie has taken looks back at the napkin, the color returning back to that same bright hue as it’s been mashed to a near liquid before it’s discarded and thrown in the trash. However, the moment someone sinks their teeth into it, it sinks their teeth into them. Inside of that small napkin that’s been tossed aside, it returns to its natural color. Black.

You watch your husband, bemused by his horrid reaction as you can’t help but giggle. When he looks into your eyes, there’s that playful expression that tells him, I told you so. He holds up another finger as he downs his drink, warning you not to say anything as your giggles turn into laughter. And gosh does he adore the way the corner of your eyes crinkle when you laugh and how melodic the tone of said laughter is. When he can only hear the obnoxious sound of air being sucked into a straw, he finally lets go of the glass, departing his lips from the bamboo and lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t like how you find my pain and discomfort so comical.”

He says that, but the corner of his lips twitch into a smile, as your song finally dies down as you exhale. “I’m sorry, but I did warn you. How’d it taste?”

The question catches him off guard for some reason, as his face contorts into a grimace and he shudders. He doesn’t want to remember how it tasted just a few seconds ago. “Disgusting.”

“Well—” He hears the sound of a fork hitting the ceramic plate before he feels it. A steady rumble has the tables rocking on each of their legs as the contents on top start to rattle. He acts fast, motioning for you to get under the table as the hanging lights above start to rock. Luckily, you’re quick to act, maneuvering yourself underneath the table alongside your husband in a short manner of time as you feel his arm drape around you as you go to wrap your arms around him.

“What the hell,” he mutters under his breath as everyone starts screaming, ducking underneath the tables in an attempt to find safety. Dishes fall to the ground, condiment bottles joining them as well. Glasses shatter, setting shards flying as your husband makes it his job to shield you from harm’s way. Lights flicker out, but thankfully, none of them fall. The earthquake subsides in a matter of a few minutes. People hesitate to move from the mini spots of asylum until they all believe that the coast is clear.

Murmuring sounds of the once calm establishment as people start demanding their bills from earlier on. You find yourself getting comfortable back in your seat alongside your husband, who’s still calming down as his chest falls and rises. There’s not a mark on you at all, and he’s just eternally grateful nothing has happened to you. You had made sure to request for a seat next to the window when he was booking the reservation and you’re grateful for it now as you look outside. However, it’s absurd— no debris laying across the street and people strolling past as if an earthquake hadn’t just happened.

“That’s weird,” you hum.

Your spouse was too busy trying to call the waitress over in hopes that the two of you could rush home now. He wanted you in the safety and comforts of your shared bed, especially after this large mishap. “Look outside—” you motion for your husband to follow your gaze. “—It’s calm.”

—

Though he can see the intimacy of showering with his wife, he prefers the solitude of a lonesome one. Neither of you will be fighting for the heat of the water, and he doesn’t have to complain about why you love to take such long and scorching ones. He had the bathroom all to himself for the next ten minutes, where you had yours for the next hour.

Water runs down his hair as he’s calmed down significantly from the events that transpired earlier tonight and your concerns on why it was so calm. He had to explain to you that it might’ve just felt more rough inside when it didn’t feel that way outside. You tried to rebuttal his explanations, but he had begged you not to worry about it, pulling you into his warm embrace and capturing your lips to take your mind off it.

“You just don’t want to hear me talk,” you’d playfully pout. To which he’d say, “No, I just don’t want you worrying your pretty little mind off.”

When he got out of the shower and dried off, the steam traveled with him the moment he set foot out the door. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in your bathrobe, a book in your hand as you waited so patiently. He walked over, planting a chaste kiss on your head before saying, “Don’t take too long. I want to fall asleep with my wife.”

“I’ll try not to,” you’d say, but just as typical, you had taken an hour and he fell asleep before you with the television wide awake.

—

He couldn’t bother to shower the moment he set foot inside his house, stripping his tie finally and unbuttoning his work shirt as he stripped off the suit coat. He let it fall against the arm of his couch and discarded the rest of his clothes along with it as he dived into the soft cushions. His eyes didn’t fail to shut, quickly dragging him into a deep slumber.

However, on this night, unlike any other night, a set of uneasiness infiltrated their minds as they were bound by a heavy force that kept them trapped within their minds. An unsettling shift that curdled their bones as they slept like dead men until it was the very next day, waking up in a house that wasn’t their own.

( author's note. ) thank you for taking the time to read chapter one. it's a short little thing, but assure that the next chapter will be much much longer. comment your thoughts down below !

freaky friday: the masterlist.

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wpdarlingpan · 1 year ago

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hello! for the requests, how dark are you comfortable with writing? i wanted to request something barbie movie x reader with maybe kidnapping, noncon/dubcon, breeding, baby-trapping, idk something like that!

Their Love

Hey! Thank you so much for the request. I’ll probably only do kidnapping and a little sleeping kiss cause I’m not the most experienced on writing the other two so I hope you still like it!

Warnings: kidnapping and slight noncon (kiss while your sleeping)

Barbieworld (mainly Barbie and Ken) x Reader

You were from the real world and compared to Barbie world, it was terrible. It wasn’t pink buildings and clean beaches. For you, your reality was anything but. You lived on the streets of Los Angeles. Jumping from bench to bench if you were lucky or the occasional alley way. Your parents had kicked you out the day you turned 18. They had never wanted a child but didn’t want to deal with the legalities of abandonment so treating you as a maid until the day you turned 18 was their next best option.

Today you decided to go visit Venice Beach. It was full of people which meant blending in. At least it was supposed to.

Barbie and Ken had made their way into the real world to figure out her flat feet issue while Ken came to support his supposed “girlfriend”. They had rollerblades in neon rollerblades and flashy outfits, which in your opinion fit them well.

They were going the other direction of you so they didn’t notice how you stared after their retreating figures. A look of admiration sparkled in your usually dull eyes. It was nice, to see more people standing out from the typical style.

But as they were out of eyesight, they were out of mind. Just a brief passing thought as you figured you would never see the random strangers again.

Just to your unimaginable luck, you did.

Ken had made his way back to Barbieland to fill the Kens in on his understanding of patriarchy and horses. When he saw you. You hadn’t seen him yet, just gazing at the waves as they splashed against the shore. People running around with blinding smiles on their faces, surrounded by the people they love. A part of you wished for it but you didn’t even know how it felt.

Ken couldn’t look away, all the feelings of men being in charge went straight out the window as feelings of obsession began to blind his thoughts. He had begun to make his way over to you, his blonde ‘girlfriend’ briefly passed in his mind but he realized how he never truly loved her. He only thought he did because that was all he knew.

You didn’t notice as the blonde man sat down on the bench with you. Your legs pulled to your chest as if to protect yourself.

“Hi.”

You jumped slightly at the unexpected voice coming from your left. You looked on slightly stunned at the sight of one of the people from earlier.

“Hello.” You spoke shyly, you hadn’t had human interaction in awhile. After all the feelings of self doubt flooded your mind from your parents.

Ken couldn’t even speak right as he gazed at you with a look of love to the naked eye. But deep down the root of obsession was growing deep. Wrapping around his heart like a vine.

Once he knocked himself out of it, he was finally able to talk to you. Introducing himself, which you didn’t even find his name odd, after all you were never bought dolls as a child. It made him love you ever more. After all he could be himself. Not a Ken. Just Ken. He felt kenough. (Sorry I had to ;))

You talked for nearly a hour. You had grown comfortable in his presence which was usually hard to accomplish after being mistreated for so long. But a part of you just knew something felt right, and that feeling didn’t happen often.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you off the bench unexpectedly before rushing you guys towards the shops. You just let your new ‘friend’ drag you along because your naively trusted him. You also didn’t have much waiting for you back at the beach. He stopped at a stand that was selling traded in clothes, shoes, bikes, etc…

“What size rollerblade are you?” He question as he found a couple of rollerblades. They weren’t neon nor pink but they would make do until he could get you some in Barbieland.

“Uh rollerblade?”

“Yes. What size?”

“I don’t know I’ve never rollerbladed.”

Ken had a look of astonishment on his face before looking down are your shoe covered feet and took a estimation before grabbing a dark purple pair and running off. The shop manager yelling curses as you two left out of sight.

“What was that?!” You yelled nervously. You couldn’t afford to be arrested. Ken looked calm as ever as he led you to a bench and traded out your shoes for the blades. Once he finished he put his on and helped you stand up.

“What are we even doing Ken?”

“We are going back to Barbieland.” You looked at him in disbelief as if he would suddenly break out laughing but the urge to get you there before you could leave him was overwhelming.

You wanted to protest but the idea of falling and possibly injuring yourself with zero hope of medical insurance, you didn’t have many options. He led you off into a little area where suddenly you weren’t rollerblading. You were on a snowmobile. Then a bike. A rocket ship. A motor home where he had made you both s’mores. Well plastic ones but the flavor still melted onto your tongue and your stomach felt almost sick after two of the treats. Then finally a boat and a car. You saw the giant sign approaching, not realizing this would be the last time you would see this sign. After all, you weren’t leaving anytime soon.

Meanwhile after Barbie had fled from Mattel with Gloria and Sasha they were just about to approach the beach.

Ken didn’t exactly know where to bring you. But as he drove you into town he saw the way everyone’s eyes lingered after the car. More specifically after you. You were silent most of the trip but couldn’t help letting out silent awe’s at the world around you. Followed by a self-conscious feeling. After all you were not the most put together person and all of these people don’t have a hair out of place.

Ken brought you to Barbies Dreamhouse and told you to wait as he opened the door for you like a gentlemen. He never even did it before, but the thoughts came naturally.

“Wow.” You said quietly as he led you into the house and up the stairs. It was the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen. But a part of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like going back to LA.

“I’ll bring you some clothes if you want to go to the shower. Not saying you look dirty or anything I just thought-“ he was cut off by your giggle as he looked at you with embarrassment.

“It’s okay Ken. I would really like to freshen up. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Of course!” He forgot all about his rant as he ran to go get clothes and you quickly hopped into the shower before he could return. No water came out of the shower head like you expected but you were getting clean nonetheless.

Meanwhile Ken picked out one of his favorite outfits and set it near the shower. The urge to look was overruled by his feeling of protection over the innocent person.

Barbie and the two humans weren’t faced with the volleyball court of boys and female cheerleaders. It was all the same as when she left. She gladly pointed everything out and talked about the amazing world and she was able to back it up with the wonderful sights. They were even able to see the President.

Pulling up to her dreamhouse she saw another car outside which was presumably Ken’s. She held back a sigh before getting out of the car. She led the women in behind her. But what she wasn’t expecting was to see another human standing beside Ken. Barbie noticed they were wearing her clothes but didn’t mind all that much after seeing how they looked on you. Kens arm wrapped around your waist in case of a bad reaction but Barbies eyes gained a similar look as Kens earlier. The feeling of obsession and love competing with one another before mixing into one.

They shared a look of understanding which didn’t go unnoticed to Gloria and Sasha, after all they were quite adverse in the real world.

The three humans had no idea that you would never be leaving Barbieworld again.

But then again… what did you have to lose?

Barbie set up Gloria and Sasha with a house a few away from hers. It was a discontinued house so nobody was currently living in it. She left them to settle in for the next few days, or shorter depending on how long she could stand having a distraction from you. After all she began to feel her heels lift whenever she saw you.

Barbie and Ken talked with you for a few hours, answering all your questions without any distain until it began to grow late. They promised to answer more of your questions tomorrow. Secretly happy they had a reason to cut you off as they felt the question of leaving approaching. Barbie got you some pajamas and before you knew it the there of you were laying in a heart shaped bed. One of the dolls on either side or you.

They both had a arm wrapped around you, leaning you feeling trapped but as you laid there the feeling of being trapped faded into safety.

Once you fell asleep the blondes placed a loving kiss on your lips, just lightly enough not to wake you up even though they could only wish for now to feel it be reciprocated as nature feelings blossomed.

Everyone in Barbieland questioned who you were after you had left with Ken, soon followed by staying with Barbie. But they couldn’t feel themselves being opposed to it, after all you looked so adorable!

So I guess your there to stay huh?

#barbie x reader #barbie 2023 #barbie #greta gerwig #ryan gosling #ken x reader #Yandere #obsession #kidnapping #barbieland #margot robbie

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skzdarlings · 1 year ago

Text

part vii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 9600 words)

chapter warnings: beginnings of some kink exploration (dom/sub, mentions of discipline, breeding kink)

At one of your father’s dinner parties, a pompous idiot with too much to drink touches you. It takes Felix seconds to rip that hand away, holding it in a painful clutch and threatening to snap his wrist if the man tries anything again. Safe to say, he does not, and everyone else gives you a blissfully wide berth.

You look at Felix on the ride back to the apartment. The armed limo is huge and empty with just the two of you, the partition up for a modicum of privacy, but he is still quiet. His head is on his fist as he stares out the tinted window. It is not a particularly morose quietude; you suspect he is just tired because of the long day and late hour.

You are tired too, your gaze dreamy and unfocussed as you look at him. The security uniform tonight is a black dress shirt and black suit. It makes him look severe, lean and dark, all high cheekbones and dark brows, his shock of blonde hair tied smoothly back.

He looks very intimidating when he doesn’t smile, fitting a plethora of roles when it suits him. This one stirs something deep in the core of you, something that makes you feel flushed and a little embarrassed.

It seems like such a cliché, someone with your history getting turned on by a mean man with a meaner hand. Your stubborn side is irrefutably against you even acknowledging such a desire, but the desire wins out anyway. You and Felix know real violence better than anyone. You know the power propelling your passion is not his deep voice snapping at that man, not his powerful stance or harsh action. It was the way he looked at you after. The way he so gently touched your side to comfort you, using that low voice not to threaten but console, asking so sincerely if you were all right and if you needed anything. You know if you asked, he would have given you anything.

Your father looks at Felix and sees an inhuman soldier. Others look at him and see his masks, his roles, his duties. You see all those things and more, his capacity for goodness among them.

Felix has taken beatings for you. He has protected you with all his painfully won abilities. He has trusted you with the darkest parts of himself, just as he seen the worst of your wounds. You know he will always take care of those scars, and there is immense relief in trusting that way.

You doze in your dreaminess, stirring when he gently shakes your shoulder at arrival. You groan, more for show than actual displeasure. He chuckles and squeezes your arm.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Gotta get to bed before you can sleep, yeah?”

You blink your eyes open. He is close, close enough to count each freckle. You brush back a fallen strand of blonde hair, your gaze tracing it to the root. He needs another touch-up. You smile, thinking about the simple domestic routine that is helping him with his hair, a part of his body he can control and that he trusts you with completely.

“C’mon,” he says again, as the driver opens the door. “Let’s go.”

Felix steps out first, always assessing. You follow when he offers his hand. You both acknowledge the driver with the usual politeness then Felix escorts you into the building. In the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder and yawn. He stands straight and stoic, aware of the cameras and surveillance. You bumbling about in your tipsiness is normal but he should be indifferent to it.

He takes your heels when you pass them to him, walking calmly while you sashay out of the elevator with a showy flourish. You know it is killing him not to laugh until you are safe inside the apartment.

“You’re a menace,” he says, tossing your shoes to the side. You giggle and reach for him but he swerves and ignores your pout. “Go to bed,” he says. “I’m just gonna let your dad know we’re back.”

The usual routine. Phone call, security check, bed. Sometimes he takes longer than necessary so you are asleep when he climbs into bed, but when you are awake he smiles despite himself.

That smile dimples his cheeks tonight. You are sitting at your vanity, wiping the last of your make-up when he walks into the bedroom. He unknots his tie while swooping down, his mouth by your ear and your gazes meeting in the mirror.

“You should be in bed,” he says. His tone colours it so suggestively that he might as well have murmured something filthy.

You feign indifference as you turn to him. He straightens and you stand, your gazes locked in a challenging contest of wills. You take the ends of his tie and tug him closer. He is too coordinated to truly stumble so you know he does it for your benefit, looking charmed the whole time.

“I need help, remember?” You smile sweetly. “You’ve been derelict in duty.”

“Ah,” he says. “Sorry to leave you waiting.”

“You should be.”

It seems long ago now that you were standing in your closet at the house, wishing you had an excuse for Felix to put his hands on you. That was when you hoped for a circumstantial resolution, so you would not have to ask, so it would just happen.

Things have changed. He was with you when you bought this dress. He was in this room when you stepped into it. He zipped it because you asked, in on the same joke when you smiled at him through the mirror.

Now you turn around and offer your back. There were some tingles when he zipped you up, just like there were sparks when you tied his tie despite him knowing how, but having him undress you feels different. A little shiver dances down your spine as he lowers the zipper, slower than he needs to, either tormenting you or bracing himself.

He doesn’t need to slide the straps down your shoulders, nor help you step out of the dress, but he does. He gathers it at your waist and sinks to his knees, letting you step out of the gown. Then he drapes it over his arm and stands, pointedly not looking any lower than your neck.

“Will that be all?” he asks, dryly, playing your little game.

You lift an eyebrow and smirk. He laughs, shaking his head.

“Proper classes start next week, yeah?” He leaves to hang your dress. “You should try and get on a better sleep schedule.”

“Ugh,” is your reply. “You and your common sense. I hate you.”

He smirks, looking down at the dress as he slides it onto the hanger. “I know,” he says.

There is one more party before the summer ends. You know there will be lots of socializing, the final summer bash an excruciatingly long event, so you take your time preparing. You permit a little indulgence, lounging in a bubble bath while reading on your phone.

You tend to mentally insert Felix into all the stories. His understated dominance, deriving from a secure sense of competence, is far more tantalizing than some of the dramatically brusque characters, so you really have no choice but to think of your bodyguard as you slide your free hand under the water…

As if he knows you are about to be naughty, Felix knocks at the bathroom door.

“Yes?” you ask, turning off your screen. “What is it?”

“Uhh, is my jacket still in there? I can’t find it.”

“Yup.”

“All right. Can you bring it when you’re done—”

“You can come in,” you say. You place your phone aside then sink into the water. “I’m decent.”

Felix opens the door only to immediately jump back a step.

“O-o-okaaay,” he says before laughing in disbelief. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, uhh, that was my fault. I should have known better.”

You giggle, blowing a few bubbles apart.

“Don’t be a baby,” you say. “You can’t see anything.” That much is true as the bubbles blanket the water. “Besides,” you say, smiling, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He sighs and looks at you sideways. You raise a wet hand and wiggle your fingers.

“Uh-huh,” he says, amused despite himself. He sighs again, his voice breaking on the upward lilt, making you laugh. He crosses the room, pointedly not looking in your direction and fetching his jacket off the counter.

He is leaving when you call his name in a syrupy voice.

“Yes?” he asks, his back to you. He is in a white dress shirt but ripped jeans, his hair in a messy half-ponytail. He is only halfway ready, halfway your father’s man, but all the way yours when you call him back to you.

He tosses the jacket on the counter again. He crosses his arms, looking at you with an expectant tip of the head.

You lift a leg and rest your toes on the end of the tub. His eyes flick down the length of bare skin before settling on your face, his expression seemingly unmoved despite the compulsion to look.

You hum casually as you wave a razor.

“Are you kidding,” he says, more of a statement than a question, already knowing the answer.

“What? You’re here to help me, aren’t you?” you ask, blinking innocently.

“I’m here to, hmm, stop you from being killed and, ah, what did your father say again…” He taps a finger on his chin while ambling towards the tub. He smiles as if remembering, nodding with utmost seriousness. “Yeah, that was it. Use my, uhh, discretion? To discipline you?”

“Do you want to discipline me, Felix?”

There is a moment of tense silence. He takes the final step to the tub and perches himself on the edge. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, carefully folding each crease up to his elbow. You watch it, far more rapt than any person should be, looking at his forearms, his wrists, his hands, and wondering how you can be so attracted to even the most innocuous parts of him.

“You know…” he says, without any teasing or irony, drawing your eyes up to his face. “Sometimes I think… you know, I’ll be a monster my whole life no matter what I do.” He takes the razor while you are distracted with forming an interjection. He keeps speaking, lathering some soap on his fingertips. “I don’t how you can ask me things like that, and somehow… just… make me feel like no matter what I’m doing, I’m still doing something, mmm, holy… and good.”

You are good, you want to say.

He clasps your ankle and rests it on his knee, then draws the razor along your calf, concentrated. You are hyperaware of the kiss of metal, how easily he could hurt you, how he is so careful not to, even by accident. He rinses the razor then starts again, eyes turned to his task while he speaks.

“The way you look at me, ah,” he says, smiling and shaking his head. “It almost scares me, yeah, just what I’d do if it was for you.”

“Well,” you say, letting your leg sink back into the water when he finishes. “That’s because you’re a good bodyguard.” It is the most you trust yourself to say.

“Am I?” he asks, with a tilt of the head.

Your eyes meet for as long as you can bear to look at him, then you force yourself to shrug.

“You already know how I feel about you,” is what you say.

He lets out a breath of a laugh, then stands and turns to leave. You clear your throat loudly and he looks back at you.

“I have another leg,” you say dryly.

He laughs and sits back down.

The party is a typical event. Everyone blends together, a restless sea of noisy faces. You do not take particular note of anyone.

Until you see Hyunjin.

He is across the room, sitting with his parents and a few other people. It has only been a few months but his hair has grown, now touching his jaw. He is handsome as ever but he is no longer faking happiness. You relate to the look on his face, the open contempt as he regards a few characters at his table.

He is helping himself to the complimentary wine, a blush on his cheeks from mild intoxication. You watch him swing out of his seat and strut up to the bar, his father glaring behind him the whole time.

Then his father spots you and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes. You take a sip of your own drink, sighing as Hyunjin’s father crosses the room to whisper something to him.

Hyunjin looks your way. Though there are many people between you, the fuss of the party fades away. You see him, his slouch, how tired he looks, aged in just a few short months. You want to ask him so many questions. You hope he is okay, but he is here so that must be limited.

Hyunjin looks at his father and shakes his head. A quiet argument seems to brew between them, ending with Hyunjin storming off into the corridor. You watch him retreat, debating whether or not you want to follow when your father says, “Don’t.”

You did not realize he had returned to the table. He is sipping a coffee and watching you with obvious disapproval.

“Don’t what?” you ask. The question punches out of you very sharply. The ordeal with Hyunjin reminds you of everything that followed with Jisung. You cannot help the way your adrenaline kicks in, frightened and frantic.

Your father is always happiest when he has an underling squirming. He smiles into his coffee then slowly places it down. He takes his time wiping his mouth, tossing the napkin on the floor after.

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says. “You don’t need a boy like that.”

“I don’t want a boy like that,” you say. “We’re still friends, though.”

“You don’t need friends like that either,” he says. “You’re better than this.”

The absolute nerve of this man to act like he never liked Hyunjin, that your break-up was his plan all along, that your decision was actually his own. To act like he is still in control.

A part of you wants so badly to swing back with your own words, to tell him everything about you, about Felix, just to see the look on his face. He’s not in control of your life, you are, and he can throw you into whatever situation he wants, but you will continue to make your own choices. You have carved out your own happiness right under his nose. You have done the impossible over and over and over again.

You do not say anything, of course. A few moments of gloating satisfaction is not worth the devastating outcome of such a revelation. You just shake your head and clench your jaw, fixing your stare on nothing particular. You count your breath to temper yourself.

“I am pleased you agree with me on such an assertion,” your father says.

He must know he is riling you up, but he gets to act calm and collected because he has no emotional investment in it. Hyunjin was a means an end. Jisung was nothing and no one. Felix is a soldier. He doesn’t care about Hyunjin’s artistic side, that he has a deeply sensitive nature. He doesn’t care that Jisung is funny and brilliant and creative, that he brightens lives just by being there. He doesn’t care that Felix has a hundred complicated layers, that he is good and goofy and kind, that he is sad and sorrowful and angry.

He doesn’t care that you love them. He cares that people play their part so he can play his, above them all where he is safe in his power.

“I do what I have to,” you say through gritted teeth.

“A valuable lesson for the Hwang boy if he wants to move up in the world,” your father says, otherwise dismissive as he looks at his watch. The conversation is evidently starting to bore him.

That annoys you more than anything else. Though you know better, your vexation propels you to blurt, “And what lesson was Jisung supposed to learn?”

You regret it as soon as you say it. You do not want to do anything that would ever endanger him again.

Your fleeting panic is for nothing. Your father is perplexed, looking at you like he thinks you may have finally gone insane.

“Who?” he says.

A twisted combination of fury and relief spins inside you like a hurricane. Who. Your best friend, an innocent civilian that he targeted and harassed, a good and kind boy who never wanted anything more than to love his friends and be loved in return. One of the most heartbreaking separations of your life, a source of so much agony and anger. It was only a few months ago.

And your father says who.

You are so stunned, you can only stare back at him, completely at a loss for words.

Your father is standing, prepared to leave, when realization blooms on his face.

“Ah, right, the schoolboy,” he says. Then he just laughs, like you told an absolutely hilarious joke. He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes amiably. “He learned not to aim higher than he’s worth,” your father says, laughing some more like he cracked a punchline too. “Some people are destined to live and die as nothing.”

He walks away with a smile. You stare into the distance, stone-faced.

When the timing is less suspicious, you make your way over to Felix. He is standing with the security team, armed and ready for action. He unhooks his earpiece so he can hear when you whisper.

“As soon as possible,” you say, “get me alone with Hyunjin. And be as discreet, please.”

It is obvious he was not expecting that. He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again, looking confused.

“Please,” you say, then walk away so you do not arouse suspicion. There is only so much conversation you would reasonably need to have with your bodyguard in the middle of a party.

Felix pops his earpiece back in, frowning to himself as he resumes position. You go to the bar for another drink, smiling at the appropriate guests, making small talk when prompted. Hyunjin eventually returns to the room, so you and Felix make eye contact. He straightens his jacket and moves across the room, blending in as security should.

You wait by the balcony doors as Felix approaches Hyunjin. At first, Hyunjin appears to be dismissing him, then he does a double-take and realizes it is Felix. He looks confused but Felix departs as swiftly as he arrived. He joins you by the balcony doors, following you outside.

You wait, leaning on the balcony railing and looking over the hotel courtyard with unseeing eyes. Your mind is faraway, already racing with questions, thoughts, concerns. You told yourself you would never see Hyunjin or Jisung again, but that was before Hyunjin disappeared then reappeared. You have a million things you want to know. Did he try running? Did he fail? Will he try again?

Then Hyunjin steps onto the balcony and you forget the tedium of words. You hug him and he hugs you back, a tight but brief embrace. You both laugh a little.

You see Felix out of the corner of your eye. He is lingering a few feet back like a bodyguard would, but he is staring like a jealous boyfriend until he remembers himself. He clears his throat and stands straight, looking away.

Hyunjin glances at him too, then looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m guessing there’s… a story here…” he says.

“You’re one to talk,” you say, thumping his arm. “Where were you? Was it…?”

Hyunjin glances at Felix who is stoic as can be. Hyunjin clearly does not know what to make of him, so he errs on the side of the caution, speaking quietly.

“Paris,” he says. “My dad sent me to live with family for the summer. It was supposed to be a punishment, sending me away from my friends, but I loved it.”

You smile. You have to commend Hyunjin’s ability to find happiness despite how his parents try to control him. They tried to terrify him as a boy, chasing him into the shadows to hide, but it only took a few moments with Minho for him to lean back into sunlight. It pours out of him now in cracks and fissures, punching holes in his grim exhaustion and bringing him to life before your eyes.

“They watched me closely the whole time, though,” he says. “They still are. I’m just biding my time. What about you?”

“Honestly,” you say softly, “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“You’re not alone, though,” he says, nodding toward Felix.

In the face of Hyunjin’s honesty, past and present, you cannot lie. One glance towards Felix reveals all your thoughts.

Hyunjin smiles and pats your arm.

“That’s good, at least,” he says. “When none of you showed up to the graduation parties, I was worried. I phoned Jisung but he said he didn’t know where you were.”

“Jisung?” you say. “He didn’t go to grad?”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head. “He said it didn’t matter. I figured that’s because your dad wasn’t letting you go or something, and Jisung probably wouldn’t have fun without you. I told him to hang out with me but, whatever, he was kinda stubborn.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t know?” Hyunjin asks, brow furrowed. “What happened after you left my house?”

“A lot happened,” you say. You do not where to start, the story exhausting. “Basically some of my father’s enemies… well, let’s just say things got out of control and my dad got mad. Jisung was kinda in the middle of things so… I can’t see him again. For both our sakes.”

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says. “I know you guys were close.”

You want to deflect and joke, maybe point out that most people lose contact with friends after high school. But you can’t do that. Your first true friend will always be a part of you and you cannot pretend otherwise. You don’t want to pretend otherwise.

“Yeah,” is what you say. “We were. I just hope he’ll be happy out there.”

Hyunjin wraps you up for another hug, speaking low, “I hope we all will.”

You close your eyes and squeeze him back. You are not sure when you will see him again, but you honestly hope it is never. You hope he gets away. You hope the light inside him bursts through its restraints, never to be obscured again.

Hyunjin returns to the party first. You watch him go, reflective. Eventually you look at Felix, expecting to find him stoic and composed, but he is frowning.

Flustered by all the drama, you forgot Felix gets a little jealous around Hyunjin. He still does not know the exact nature of your relationship, only that you faked a romance. Given the peculiarity of the situation, you cannot blame his marginal envy, especially because he is not impolite or aggressive about it. He understands you are all in difficult circumstances.

Considering those dramatic circumstances, petty jealousy is hilariously trivial. Felix can take out two armed agents in less than ten seconds but he cannot stop frowning at a rival pretty boy.

You touch his cheek, lifting the corner of his mouth into a smile. It drops the second you let go.

“We’re just friends,” you say.

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.

“Oh, good,” you say. “Because for a second there my very professional bodyguard almost looked jealous.”

Felix smiles one of his toothy, saccharine smiles, eyes crinkled with overnice mirth.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I already told you, he doesn’t have what it takes to handle you, yeah?”

He says it so sweetly, but he says it while sliding his palm down the curve of your ass. You jump when he squeezes you, then his hand appropriately returns to the middle of your back to escort you inside.

It leaves you both sufficiently keyed up for the remainder of the party. It does not take much these days. A particularly thorough regard in a quiet room is enough to get you hot.

You find it hard to look away from him. In the limo, you inch your hand closer and closer to his lap, but he catches your fingers when they graze his thigh. Inside the building, you pretend to be more intoxicated than you are, so he is forced to sweep you into a bridal hold and carry you to the elevators. You drop your head on his shoulder, sighing with deep satisfaction. Your breath flutters the collar of his shirt.

“Menace,” Felix says affectionately.

He takes his time doing the security check. You resort to reading on your phone, inadvertently losing yourself in the erotic romance. You slide a hand under the covers, cupping yourself through your underwear. Other than a t-shirt, it is all you are wearing.

Felix returns, dressed in his t-shirt and boxers for sleep. He sits on the bed but it takes him a second to notice your guilty face. He pauses, looking at your phone then where your arm disappears under the covers.

“Hello,” he says dryly. “What are you doing?”

You pass him the phone. He lifts an eyebrow but takes it, sitting up against the headboard to read. He does not smile or frown, nor does he laugh or reprimand you. He reads, brow furrowed in concentration. At one point he flicks his thumb over his bottom lip, then he flips some hair out of his eyes.

Finally, he exhales and turns the screen off.

“Felix,” you say after a moment of silence. “Can I touch myself, please?”

“You, uhh…” He clears his throat. “You don’t need my, uhh, permission for that.”

“I want to do it here.” Your smirk softens to a shy smile when he looks at you. You wet your lips, his eyes flicking there before meeting your gaze. “And aren’t you in charge at all times?” you tease.

He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose. Amusement tickles across his face, dimples deepening with a barely restrained smile.

“I, uhh, I don’t think anyone could really take charge of you.” He laughs, then jokes, “But the politeness is a nice change, I guess.”

“I can be polite,” you say, batting your eyelashes. “And I can be good. But not for just anyone.”

He swallows. You watch the surrendering shrug of his shoulders, the tension leaving his body. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. He does not look at you when he says, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?” You smirk again.

Your prolonged teasing backfires when he looks at you without a trace of nervousness. He tips his head and looks at you expectantly, with a lifted brow and stern set to his mouth.

“Okay,” he says, voice rough. “Touch yourself.”

You are shy under the intensity of his gaze, feeling especially vulnerable as you are laying down and he is sitting up. But it is that same intensity that encourages you. This is your Felix in your shared bed, his wandering gaze the same loving caress as always.

You push the covers down. His eyes follow your hands as they hook into your underwear to shimmy down your hips. It’s seductive in theory, but it feels silly to pull back your legs and tug the fabric down. If it looks ridiculous, it does not show on his face, utterly transfixed in its devotion.

You touch yourself at the same time his hand falls into his lap. You can see him taking shape beneath his boxers, his hand finding the curve of his dick through the material.

You make a soft noise and his hand freezes, his dark eyes fixed between your legs then gradually sweeping up to your face.

Your hand pauses too.

There is no action and no sound between you for a long moment. You really do feel like you can read his face, every little detail, but maybe you simply see your own desires reflected back to you, the same way you have seen your own fears and insecurities over the years.

Right now, you see all that mutual yearning. Imploring, begging, to cross this space between you. You cannot find the words to ask. He just breathes deeply.

“Felix,” you finally say.

In the end, it’s all you need to say. He slides across the space between you.

He lays along your side, propping his head in one hand and letting the other drift down your torso. Your own hand jumps to your chest, resting just above your rapidly beating heart. He looks into your face as you part your legs in invitation.

The moment he touches you, you swear it obliterates all the pain you have ever felt, suffused completely in the pleasure of his hand. When he last touched you so intimately, you were rushed, stealing whatever touches you could in that stolen moment. Now he takes his time, feeling you, rubbing softly at your most tender places. You are so wet that his fingers glide so easily, each press silky and soft as he fits his fingers inside you, as your body welcomes him.

Your whole body feels taut, rearing under his hand and wanting so much more. He speaks to you in a low voice, nonsense sweetness that leaves you flushed and sweaty.

You grasp the collar of his shirt, tugging with thoughtless desperation, and his hand slows down. You whimper miserably, looking at him with your saddest eyes, wondering why he is stopping. Then you realize you grabbed him with the hand that was between your legs.

You remember the time he came with your fingers in his mouth, the taste of you touching his tongue. It spurs you to touch his mouth now. His lips part with a gasping breath, as if he is trying to remember how to breathe. The tip of his tongue touches the tip of your finger, then his whole face scrunches up like he is bracing himself for a hit.

He exhales, then moves.

You push yourself up on your elbows, looking down with equal parts disbelief and exhilaration. He hooks a hand under your thigh and moves you, guiding it over his shoulder as he lowers his face between your legs. His breath touches you first, then the cup of his lips, then his tongue, feasting and eager.

You want to throw back your head with pleasure, but you also don’t want to look away. You watch him through slitted eyes, his mouth, his flushed cheeks, his tongue. He tastes you like he is savouring each second, like this is a luxury to be indulged reverently, with broad strokes of his tongue and a hungry press to his lips. His open-mouthed kiss is wet and thorough, and his moan is a rumbling vibration, your thighs twitching around his head from the effect of both.

You say his name, and you say please, and you say a string of hazy supplications until you think you might cry. You touch his head, fingers sinking into his hair and tugging, making him moan and making you come. You hold him there as he takes you over, licking you until you are a trembling mess of aftershocks and sensitivity.

You gasp and he finally lifts his face. He gazes at you while he sits back on his heels. You watch him wipe his mouth, thumb circling his lips.

Your eyes go from his mouth down, down, down, begging. “Please,” you say, in a rasping voice.

“You, uhh…” His voice is so rough that even when he clears his throat, it still comes out dark. “You don’t—shouldn’t—”

“I want to,” you say, already shifting.

“You, uhhh, ah, you—”

It’s a half-hearted protestation if that, inarticulate and spoken at the same time he reaches for you. His hand curls around the back of your head, gently guiding you closer. He kneels upright and you sit lower, fumbling with his waistband. You are not sure if you are excited or nervous or both, but you forget to be shy when you finally take him in your mouth.

He starts swearing in multiple languages. Feeling him unravel with pleasure ignites more fire in your core. Inexpert though you must be, you know him, so you listen and respond. You show him the same reverence, with a slow drag of your mouth, looking up while he is between your lips. He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest, running a hand through his hair as he curses again.

You are helpless but to moan as well. He warns when he is close, to which you hum in acknowledgement. He curses yet again, forgetting all his restraint and rules of behaviour. He cups your face, then that hard body with all its hidden power goes soft and sweet just for you. You are a little messy swallowing, but he is so dazed that he does not notice anything for a good few seconds.

“Wow,” he finally says while you sit back and wipe your lips. You cannot help but giggle back at him. “That was, uh. Wow.”

“Wow,” you repeat, your voice still ragged but teasing nonetheless. “No lecture, no scolding, no warning… just wow.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Would you even listen if I did?” he asks.

You pretend to think about it, making him laugh again, then you grin with a hearty, “Nope!”

He is still smiling when he takes you in his arms, when he puts you on your back, when he kisses across your thighs until his face is back where you want him.

“Mmm, then I won’t waste my breath,” he says.

You are still giggling when he parts his lips, though it softens when he starts licking at you slowly. He works you up again gradually on his tongue. Somewhere along the way, you realize are still smiling. You have been so afraid of so many touches for so long that it is a marvel on its own – that you like him touching you so much, that you like it enough to smile and laugh even at the height of pleasure.

Maybe it is that thought, or just the overwhelming burst of sensation when he sucks on you, when he licks at you, when he presses his face so intimately and thoroughly between your legs that you come even harder the second time. Maybe it is a part of this. Maybe it is all of this.

But tears escape from the corner of your eyes. You find yourself gasping, a shuddery sound. He is surfacing and wiping his mouth when he notices, then he is leaning over you, touching the side of your face, his face full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It��s the good kind, I promise.” It is easy to prove because you are laughing through those tears, a bubbly torrent of giggles that you cannot contain.

There is still a crease in his brow, maybe a little confused, but he smiles back at you.

“Well, I only like the good kind,” he says, wiping his thumb across your cheek.

“Mm.” You take his hand and kiss his palm. He sighs like it is somehow more torturously pleasurable than anything else. “You’re a good bodyguard,” you murmur. “It’s never the bad kind if you’re around.”

His eyes close. Though he cannot meet your gaze, he leans down and kisses your forehead.

When he withdraws, you touch his jaw and guide him close. He cups your head as your lips meet, the tangy shock on his tongue rippling through you. You do not shy away, holding him close, kissing him until you are both sated and sleepy. He lays his head on the soft curve of your chest and you run your fingers through his hair.

You get dozy, your eyes closing, your fingers slowing. He exhales.

“Mmm,” his voice is sleepy, words meandering in their low murmur, “Wish I could say… wish you could hear… Maybe…mmm… maybe you can hear me anyway, yeah… Whatever you’re dreaming about… I’ll tell you there, ‘kay. Just listen. Sweetheart. Yeah. Sweetheart…”

Though his sleepy ramblings are a little nonsensical, the sentiment is heartfelt and easily understood.

That quiet, dozy space between dreaming and waking is the only place you dare accept it so brazenly.

Every time is supposed to be the last time, just like the first time was supposed to be the only time.

You feel so alive and so safe whenever he touches you, even if you know it actually puts you in more danger. But real world ramifications feel far away. Some days you almost feel normal, studying and attending class, wandering around campus, sharing a bed in your quiet apartment.

He still phones your father with reports, though there is little to cover anyway. It is easy to disappear on that sprawling university campus, just another face among hundreds. Your friendships are cordial and mostly superficial. Felix does not need to lie as your routine genuinely revolves around class and studying, maybe some casual day trips in approved public locations.

The only lie is the biggest lie, that Felix is the perfect inhuman soldier your father wants, and you are the begrudging child licking your wounds until the day you accept your place. Your father is so wretchedly trapped in himself that you doubt he could see the truth even if someone outright told him.

A few weeks pass. The season changes into autumn. Everything turns red and gold, and the blue sky is an ashy violet on the best of days. Even in the dying browns of nature, you feel more alive than ever.

As constant as the seasonal cycle is the cycle of rest and nightmares. It is difficult to gauge when all that pain and anxiety might interrupt the peace. It comes and goes, like a restless creature begging for attention. You are not sure it will ever be truly tamed.

You wake early one morning to Felix sitting up in bed. His hair is a wavy, unkempt mess, like he was tossing more than usual. Daylight is little more than a mist in the darkness, laying over the room like a gauzy film, making everything feel very still.

He sighs and looks down at you, jumping when he sees you are awake. Usually he is much more alert. This nightmare must have been severe to keep him so occupied.

He settles, though he looks away from you.

“Sleep,” he says. “It’s early still.”

“Will you sleep with me?” you ask.

He nods, looking into the distance. He does not fully lay down, slouching against the headboard, but he holds out his arm. You nestle into his side and he wraps that arm around you.

He feels far away despite his proximity, returning to you in little breaths and touches until he is stroking his fingers across your back. You hum with pleasure and snuggle closer. It makes him sigh.

You want to stay awake to comfort him but the early hour bests you. Suddenly you are waking again, this time to your morning alarm. You are on his side of the bed but Felix is gone, though you can hear the shower running so you do not fret for long.

You are more awake this time, as is the morning itself, the daylight more determined to brighten the room. You sit up in bed and scroll through your phone, waking more surely and waiting for Felix to show. He never takes too long in the shower, functional and swift about everything. The water stops before long and you can hear him puttering around the sink.

Usually, you would not pester him during any private time, but you are still concerned after his strange start to the morning. You shuffle to the bathroom door where you gently knock.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds brighter and more alert. Maybe the worst has passed. Sometimes going about your routine is the best remedy.

“Alarm went,” you say. “Just need a shower too. Can I come in?”

“Uhhh, yeah, sure.”

You step into the bathroom. He is standing at the sink, wearing only a towel slung low around his hips. He didn’t wash his hair but it is still damp in parts, exacerbating his already messy bedhead. He brushes some of it back and smiles at you.

You feel warm and flushed like a child with a crush, suddenly very affected by the casual domesticity of this scene.

Your hesitation concerns him. He cocks his head, brow furrowing. “Y’okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Sorry. You?”

“Mhm,” he says.

It seems preposterous that you should feel so flushed, as if you have not seen more of him and in more compromising positions. It seems just as ridiculous that his eyes should linger the way they do, skimming your bare legs, up to where your long sweatshirt covers your thighs. He has had his face there several times over the last few weeks, more than acquainted with the most intimate parts of your body. Surely you should both be past gawking at each other like you have never seen any partial nudity.

But he looks and you look back. When he realizes he is staring, he draws himself away. He fumbles with his toothbrush, then jams it in his mouth without toothpaste.

You cannot help but smile. This sort of tension, while torturous in its own right, is far preferable to the darker variety.

He looks at you through the mirror, not very subtly. Your eyes meet and stay locked. You grab the hem of your sweatshirt and lift it off, leaving you completely naked in a single sweep. He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. His exhale shakes.

He looks away and meets the gaze of his own reflection. It makes him freeze in a way you recognize, the way you sometimes freeze. Felix’s mind drifts easily, jumping from thought to thought, but this is the fastest you have seem him retreat.

He does not look at you again, but he also does not leave. He changes distraction tactics, reaching for his shaving cream instead.

Taking the cue, you wrap a towel around yourself, the material tucked neatly under the arms so you are marginally modest. You step up to the counter. He meets your gaze through the mirror while he lathers shaving cream over his face.

“Yes?” he says after a moment.

You perch yourself up on the counter, just smiling and kicking your legs. Felix jabs his tongue into his cheek to withhold his own smile. He manages to reign himself in, clearing his throat. He regards his reflection seriously as he evens out the shaving cream on his jaw.

You reach out and flick a little, catching it on your fingertip. You give it an inquisitive look.

“Do you even grow that much facial hair?” you ask as he rummages through his things for his razor.

He laughs at the question and shakes his head.

“Uhh, no, it’s splotchy and just… not sexy,” he says. “Which is why I need to get rid of it.”

“I see,” you say. “I suppose I can’t have my bodyguard looking ‘not sexy’. Tsk, tsk, the way people would talk. I’d never be able to show my face at another luncheon.”

“Mmm, I’m sure that would be devastating to you,” he says dryly.

Though he laughs along with your joke, a sombre air falls over him like a hush. He finds his razor and rinses it, but he takes a little too long, his mind wandering away again.

Your own giddiness fades. Felix is prone to the same emotional whiplash as you, though he has always been better controlling it, but right now he is vacillating so quickly between glee and sorrow that you cannot keep up.

You wonder if it was the nightmare, some dark thought still lingering in his waking mind. It could be anything. You know Felix has many complicated feelings. He is torn between his own personhood and the duty he has assigned himself, burdened by whatever treatise exists between him and your father. What I get is a life worth more than mine, was all he told you. You do not fully know what he meant; you just know how much it upset you to hear him describe his own life in such pithy terms.

He has done a great deal to keep you safe as he can, often at his own expense. He has grappled with his duty in relation to this. Protect your life, protect another life. He never says anything about protecting his own. He does not expect his service to be returned. He does not think it should be.

“Can I?” you say when he lifts the razor to his face. It makes him pause, looking from his reflection to you, clearly confused with the question. When you nod to the razor in his hand, his brow furrows and he looks at it.

“Uhh,” he says. “I guess. Sure. Why do you—”

You take the razor and hook a leg around his waist, guiding him closer to you. He comes slowly, almost warily, but his gaze softens when you touch his chin and tilt his head, your actions gentle. He looks at you, not his reflection, his gaze thoughtful just as yours is attentive. You are very careful, aware of how sensitive a face will be beneath the cut of a blade.

He leans even closer while you work, drawn to your affection like a magnet. He fits between your open legs, his hands bracketing your hips. He is leaning close, his breath touching your skin, your hand and blade steady where you care for him.

You wipe his face when all is said and done, smiling triumphantly up at him. The smile he returns is practically glowing. You cannot help but trace the line of his smooth jaw, all the way up into his hair where you flatten a few unruly strands of blonde.

He makes a sweet noise, a low grunt of pleasure, tipping his head into your head. You scratch at his scalp, down to his nape. His shoulders loosen and he leans even closer to you.

His eyes lift. He catches his own reflection behind you and it makes him pause again. You can’t possibly hate yourself that much, you think, morose.

You sigh. Holding the back of his neck, you pull his face closer. His nose skims your throat, his cheek on your shoulder, and his gaze is forcibly drawn away from his reflection. He exhales and you shiver. His hand brushes your hip before settling on the counter again.

“When I have nightmares, I like to be spoken to,” you say, the least pushy way of begging, talk to me about yours now.

Given his breath of a laugh, he understands. He makes another noise, one irrefutably guttural and suggestive, even though you are doing nothing to draw it out. It makes you swallow, your fingers shaky in his hair.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says, voice so low and right by your ear. It turns your insides molten.

“Oh?” is the reply you manage.

“Mm. The opposite, really.”

“It seemed like a nightmare,” you say.

“Only when I woke up,” he says, then pulls back. “And it wasn’t real.” His gaze goes from you to his reflection, then down at nothing. His brow pinches. “I should— Uhh. I should go. You should… shower. I should…”

He says this, but he does not step away. It makes it easy to trace a finger up the planes of his abdomen and chest, leading his gaze up and up just as surely.

“Should,” you say. “Stupid word. Awful word. Imagine if I did what I should.”

“I can’t,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Not for a second.” The solemnness falls again, his gaze skittish. “But I’m not you, yeah? And I should go.”

“Be me,” you say, pressing your knees into his hips to stop him from moving. He could very easily pull away. You know you are no match for him, physically. But he lets himself be caught, as he lets no one catch him. The world comes at him with violence and he combats it easily. He only surrenders under the gentle sweep of your hand when you cup his jaw. “Be me,” you say again. “Don’t do what you should. Felix. Don’t think about what he wants. What I want. What any of them want.” You slide your hand down his shoulder, his arm. You touch the back of his hand. “What do you want?” you ask. “More than anything?”

You expect any number of replies, everything from a joke to deflection. He just stares at you for a moment, a little panicked behind his eyes, his thoughts running quickly. You worry you will have to catch him, to guide him back slowly and cautiously, but then he looks down. Not away, but low.

Then he unties your towel, parting it, revealing you slowly to his gaze. He looks at you like he has never seen you, even though you stripped down just seconds ago.

It leaves you warm and flustered, your fingers fluttering with the instinctive desire to cover yourself. You do not, though you cannot help but breathe a little harder. The cool mirror at your back has your nipples pebbling in the chill, especially with the towel gone.

Your legs are open and he is already between them, keeping them them apart. He looks down the whole length of you, wanting, hungry, then meets your gaze with an unmistakable plea.

You nod. You wet your lips, a quick flick of your tongue, then his mouth is on yours and you are gasping against his lips. You make a rough sound, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back. The kiss is so good and deep, wasting no more time.

It fully conquers your senses, so you are surprised when he suddenly tugs you closer. It is a sharp tug, his hands on your hips, yanking you to the edge of the counter.

“Felix,” you say, his reply little more than a grunt.

Your hand collides with his, reaching for his towel. You leave him to it, raising your fingers to your own lips to lick them. You put those fingers between your legs, touching yourself, finding you are already so wet, not even needing help.

His eyes never leave your fingers, and they continue to watch the gentle rub of your hand between your thighs. His towel hits the ground, then his hand skims your thigh, joining your fingers at the centre. His fingertips are calloused, his touch distinct from yours. You drop your hand and lift your hips, rising under the now-practiced stroke of his fingers.

When he slides two fingers inside you, he moans so dark and roughly, as if more of him was already inside you. “So fucking soft,” he murmurs, breathing hard. His mouth skims your cheek, a kiss on your jaw.

Then he sucks a hard kiss on your throat, possessive, wet and hot and mean. You clench around his fingers, gasping.

He licks over his bite, no doubt leaving a bruise. You will have to cover it, but for a moment you let yourself imagine differently, wearing his mark where anyone could see, where everyone would know he is yours and you are his. It makes you whimper, practically pulsing around his fingers, squeezing him in, wanting more.

“Felix,” you say again, and it is much more of a whine this time.

He answers with a kiss, warm on your lips, just as tenderly bruising. His wet fingers slide along your thigh, his other hand does the same, then he hooks his hands under your knees to lift them a little higher. You lean onto your palms, holding the position while he licks his palm and glides it over himself. His hair is a mess again, but you are hardly composed, as out of breath when he finally presses the head of his dick against you.

You are not even sure if you are saying his name or just moaning incoherently, noises pitifully wanting when he eases himself into you. It is far slower than you want. Yes, there is a burn, as it has been some time, but you want it, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure. You wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles, pulling him into you so he sinks fully to hilt in a quick glide.

His hand slaps up against the mirror, a hard thud, twin to his sharp exhale. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his pink mouth open. His tongue swipes at your upper lip, then he kisses you softly. He moves his hips.

You hold his sides, legs still tight around him. Your position has him leaning over you, pressing weight into his hand on the mirror. You stare up at him, his closed eyes and the stern, focussed set to his features. When you make a sweet noise, he looks down at you through slitted eyes, then dives down to kiss you. It is a little less hurried, his erratic thrusting slowing to a more steady cadence, one that has you gasping on every deep push.

“Yeah,” you say, rasping. “Yeah, yes, please…”

He makes a deep noise, then exhales. “We should—” he starts.

“No shoulds,” you bark back.

He laughs, the sound filling you with even more warmth and pleasure. You luxuriate in the feeling.

“I was going to say, should be using protection or something,” he says.

“S’fine,” you say, logic too hard to comprehend because he is still fucking you, and it makes words too complicated.

“Not if I knock you up, it won’t be,” he says. “You want that?”

He asks it very dryly as the answer is obvious. No, you do not want that. It would blow up your lives astronomically. Even if you were safe, you doubt you would want children right now.

But the notion enters the same fantasy as the simple bite on your throat, a reality that only hazily resembles your own, where you let him come inside you and you let it change everything.

So he asks, and you say nothing, but you squeeze him inside you, an entirely accidental clench.

“Oh,” he says, and laughs again. It is not that golden jingle, but a low chuckle. “You do want that.”

“Shut up,” you say, slapping his shoulder. “Do not.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few sharper thrusts that make your eyes close and mouth open. “Okay, sweetheart,” he says. It is playfully condescending and it makes you look at him with equally playful aggravation. He smiles. “What?” he asks.

“You talk a lot for a guy who has fucked me twice but never once in a bed,” you say. Then you drop the joking ire because the realization makes you laugh. “Despite the fact we have been sharing a bed for literal years.”

He tries to catch his unexpected laugh, resulting in a sputter that makes you giggle more.

He slows his actions then has the audacity to slowly pull out. You whine, pouting up at him. He touches your face and shushes you, kissing your temple, then cheek, then the sore little bite on your throat. It placates you temporarily, long enough for him to scoop his hands under your body and lift you up. You cling to him, kissing his freckled cheek while he carries you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. There, he drops you on the bed with a soft bounce. He pushes your legs open while he climbs up between them.

“There,” he says. “Bed.” Then he leans down, hand between your bodies to put himself back inside you. You are humming with satisfaction when he grabs your arms to put them around his neck again. He kisses your cheek then below your ear. His breath caresses your skin, then he whispers, “Hold on.”

He clearly mistakes fuck me in a bed for fuck me into the mattress, because he very much proceeds to make up for all those years of sharing a bed without doing so.

After, you are laying in his arms, a bit sticky and sweaty and gross and very out of breath, but the glow has returned to his face and you feel just as warm. You take his hand and kiss his palm, then curl your fingers around his. He squeezes your hand back, resting it over his still racing heart.

The morning light has turned a sunnier yellow. You are going to miss your class.

You will deal with the consequences tomorrow.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz x reader

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