#now that my goal is within my grasp

[eddis-not-eeddis]

.

[thealogie]

The fact that I finally have David Shore’s address and phone number and have met him and haven’t done anything to just subtly bother or unsettle him as revenge for house md….im showing such great restraint

[helenofblackthorns]

ngl I'm addicted to checking the kickstarter like there's just something so satisfying about seeing the numbers go up

[kitten4sannie]

trendsetter

reach for my goals, hit it dead center

pairing: idol ex! mingi x fem! reader

genre: an actual idol au omg, smut

summary: mingi reminds you why he was so hard to leave in the first place, well, the first few times, anyway.

w.c: 3.3k

bc i’m bigger, better

warnings: brief weed use/shotgunning (mingi’s a plug in another life btw <3), mingi’s kinda a dickhead and a master manipulator (damn double homicide), dom! mingi, subby! reader, mingi’s got a big cawk, glove ? kink? idk bro, exhibitionism, teasing, praise/degradation, pet names galore/name calling, tit play, spit, fingering, finger sucking (leads to some gagging), oral (giving), deep-throating, cum eating, grinding, kissing, size kink, breeding kink, mingi fucks reader raw on the hood of her own car hallelujahhhh

a/n: don’t blame me for this btw,, blame mingi mango and the things he’s been posting on ig 😮‍💨 this man makes me delirious istg. also i wrote this while incredibly sleep deprived just so yk !! there might be some grammar and spelling errors (as well as a general sense of lunacy ✨) regardless i hope you enjoy and please do let me know if you liked it bc feedback is like a treat for me and im a treat hungry lil goblin uwu <3

song recs: so damn into you by vlad holiday - come 2 me by johnny goth - liquid by boston manor

Mingi barely made it two steps past one of the various emergency exit doors of the booming, hectic arena, dropping his lighter on the ground when his favorite ex suddenly came waltzing back into his life again after just swiftly exiting it for the nth time.

“Where are my car keys? I know you have them,” you abruptly confronted him, snatching the lighter from the ground before he could grab it and sliding it inside your tank top, right in between your tits.

“Why would I have your car keys, sugar?” Mingi sighed exasperatedly, walking in your direction until he towered over you, gently clasping his calloused hands around your upper arms so he could rub them up and down in an effort to calm you, gently turning you around until your back pressed into the cool metal of the emergency door. “Can you use that pretty little head of yours for me, Y/N? I just performed right now. I was busy rehearsing before that. Do you really think I would take your keys from you just to keep you from leaving?”

“Yes, I do. You always do some fuck shit like this when I try to leave. Every time, Mingi.” Despite the furrow of your brow and the contempt present within your words, you couldn’t help but watch as Mingi’s thumbs began to press into the sides of your tits. When you didn’t say anything, he began to press the rest of his gloved fingers into the softness of your chest.

“Some fuck shit like this?” Mingi asked under his breath, studying your flushed face to gauge your reaction as he squeezed your tits against the palms of his rough hands, rubbing his thumbs teasingly against the thin material of your sports bra until he felt your nipples harden. “You aren’t tell me to stop, baby. Cat got your tongue?”

“I hate you…” you whispered softly, not understanding why you never had the strength to deny him, even in a public, though empty alleyway, even after you just broke up with him only a little while ago.

“You don’t seem to hate this…Your body’s responding to me…” Mingi suddenly pinched your nipples through your sports bra, chuckling at the gasp you let out. He leaned down, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper, “I bet you don’t hate how wet I’m making you right now, either. Is your cunt throbbing for me already, Y/N?”

“N-no…” You bit into your bottom lip when your ex let out a disapproving ‘uh-uh’ as you turned your head to look away from him, squeezing your thighs together, hoping your arousal wouldn’t drip past your short skirt.

With one hand still clasped around your tit to play with it, Mingi brought the other up to grasp your chin, making you face him again, so close that you were breathing in each other’s air, your parted lips almost touching. “You’ll let me check to see if you’re lying, won’t you, sugar? Can I see how many fingers I can fit inside your tight little cunt?”

You hated how much your body and soul still burned for your lecherous ex, hated how desperate you suddenly were for him to have his way with you, but what you hated most of all was the way you whimpered out, “Please, Minnie.”

Mingi groaned softly at the use of his pet name, feeling most of his blood began to head below the belt, letting go of your chin, the both of you watching as his hand disappeared underneath your skirt. He instantly slipped two thick fingers inside you up to the knuckles, despite wearing a pair of thick leather gloves, the both of you moaning at the squelching sound your bare, wet cunt made. “That’s my girl. You wore this slutty little skirt and no panties just for me, didn’t you? You don’t even care about getting out of here with your keys. You just wanted me to put my hands all over you one last time, yeah?”

Just as you were about to respond, Mingi suddenly stuffed his leather-bound fingers into your mouth, making you taste your own warm wetness. “A-aaahn,” you moaned around his moving digits, feeling them slip along your hot tongue, looking up at your ex’s intensely dark gaze.

“Suck,” he simply requested, smiling fondly at the sight of your plush lips closing around his fingers, pushing them further and further back until he made you gag around them, his cock throbbing at the sight of your teary doe eyes. “Oh, baby, if you’re going to be looking at me like that and making those pretty noises, I’m gonna lose it…but, you can take it, right? My fingers in your throat?”

You whined softly, trying your best not to gag more around his moving fingers, relaxing your throat enough so that the only sound that could be heard was your moans and the abundance of saliva in your mouth.

“Good girl.” Mingi slipped his fingers out of your mouth and pressed his lips onto your cheek, whispering, “Can you take my cock down your throat next, pretty girl? I worked so hard to perform tonight, you know. Don’t you think I deserve head from my favorite ex?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself agreeing, your head still fuzzy from having his fingers inside your mouth, desperate to have something else warm and thick on your tongue, thankful for the heavy hand that began to push your head down until your bare knees were resting against the cold concrete below.

“Say ‘aaah’,” Mingi cooed darkly from above, expertly undoing his thick belt buckle and lowering his pants until his stiff, reddened cock smacked up into his abdomen. It was then that his hands were drawn to either side of your head, barely giving you enough time to open your mouth before he thrusted forward, the tip of his cock instantly hitting the back of your throat. “Fuckkkk, that’s a good slut. You don’t have to be my girlfriend to be my fuck toy, huh, baby?”

Your moans of approval were instantly muffled by the massive cock that was being stuffed inside your throat by your eager ex, as you reached up to grasp at his hips, the shiny lighter that was still sitting in between your tits starting to jostle around due to Mingi’s rough movements.

Suddenly reminded of his post-concert ritual, Mingi reached into his back pocket and placed a joint between his lips, then fished the lighter out from between your tits, but not before he squished one of them for the hell of it. He rolled the dial on the lighter a few times before a flame sparked, bringing it up and lighting the tip of his joint.

The strong aroma of Mingi’s flower reached you in an instant, having to blink your many tears away to watch him take a deep puff of it and blow it out into your face. Your lips tingling from the immense stretch, you sputtered around his pulsing cock, suddenly pulling away, letting your spit laced lips rest against his leaking tip, weakly licking at the pre-cum that spilled from it. “M-minnie…”

“Why’d you stop?” Mingi grunted, biting on the tip of the joint to keep it from falling from his lips, looking down at you with his sharp, slightly red eyes. Using his free hand to jerk himself off with his cockhead pressed to your lips and smearing his pre-cum over them just for his own enjoyment, he slowly realized what was up. “Oh, you want a hit? Aren’t you precious? Come here.”

Mingi slowly lowered himself down into a crouching position, letting go of his cock to grab your chin with his arousal coated fingers, taking in a deeper inhale, the majority of the joint turning to ash, just as he flicked it away into the gutter. He pressed his lips onto yours in an open-mouthed kiss, neither of you bothering to close your eyes as he slowly filled your lungs with smoke.

Just as you began to choke while trying to exhale all the smoke, Mingi dragged his tongue across your own and over your top set of teeth just because he felt like it, before standing back up. “I bet you’re feeling real good now, baby. That was top shelf.” He spat into the palm of his hand and lubed up his cock, before patting your cheek and sliding himself back into the hot haven that was your throat, not wasting a single second to begin pumping himself inside it again, almost like he had never stopped.

Now that both your body and brain were delightfully clouded with a heavy, lustful high, you felt like you could cum just from getting ruthlessly throat-fucked alone, your nails digging into Mingi’s bare hips, more and more tears and saliva dripping along your flushed skin the longer he abused your tiny throat with his oversized length.

“Fuck, I can’t handle it when you cry and drool like that just from sucking my cock, baby. I’m gonna fucking cum,” Mingi groaned deeply from above you, rested his forearms against the emergency door, thrusting sloppily into your mouth. He let out a few short, whiny moans once he began to shudder, plunging his throbbing cock deep inside your throat and staying still. “Oh, shit, I’m cumming. Take my load, princess, ohh my god, that’s it.”

You swallowed the warm, salty liquid as it shot down your throat, only to open your mouth and present your tongue when Mingi pulled out and began to slowly milk his cock, taking the rest of his load on your tongue, not swallowing and simply letting it drip down, a few drops spilling down your chin and getting onto your tits.

“Mm, that’s my messy girl. You’re waiting for me to feed it to you, huh?” Mingi licked at his plush lips from witnessing your obedient nod, pushing his soft cock back into his pants and waiting for you to stand up so that he could collect some of the cum that had escaped your mouth and pushed it back into your mouth. “That’s right, babygirl, clean it all up for me. Mm-hmm, just like that.”

Once you slurped the rest of his load off of his fingers, you wrapped your arms around Mingi’s neck, pressing your heated body into his. “Mingiiii, please fuck me, I can’t take it,” you begged him underneath your breath, pressing your lips onto his neck up to his tense jawline.

“Oh, yeah? You can’t live without this dick, can you?” he questioned you huskily, bringing his wrists up to his mouth one by one to pull his gloves off with his teeth, before reaching past your waist to roughly squeeze his warm hands into your ass. When you grimaced up at him, he tugged your skirt up and spread your ass open to run his fingers down your wet slit from behind, making you whimper. “Admit it, and i’ll fuck you stupid, princess.”

Swallowing down any remaining dignity you had along with the remnants of your ex’s load, you lifted one leg up to hook it around his slim waist, allowing him easier access to you wet cunt, shuddering at the sensation of him shallowly slipping his fingers into and out of you just to tease you. “I can’t live without your cock, Mingi, okay? No one fucks me like you do, so please, make me yours.”

Mingi rubbed the abundant wetness around your cunt, licking his lips hungrily, staring down at you past his dark shades. “Right here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“What if someone sees, princess?”

“I don’t give a fuck if someone sees, just fuck me, please!”

Mingi grinned crookedly, finding deep amusement in your desperation, considering how you were acting just a little while ago. “Where’s your car, baby?”

You pointed down the dark alleyway. “It’s just around the corner over there.”

Mingi looked over his shoulder, then picked you up from the ground, hooking both of your thighs around his waist and carrying you over to your car, massaging his hands into your thighs on the way. “I don’t have any condoms, you know.”

When Mingi laid you down on the hood of your car, the cool metal sending goosebumps up and down your exposed, heated skin, you shook your head and smiled softly. “When has that ever stopped you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love when I fuck you raw, and leave you stuffed full of my cum…” Still in between your legs, Mingi bent down to leave kisses, licks, and bites along your neck and collarbone, lowering his pants down just enough to free his length, his slick cock growing hard and heavy against your bare cunt. “Fuck, and when I use my fingers to shove my nut back inside your cunt after…mm, I’m honestly surprised you’re not knocked up for me already…”

“Mingi,” you whined disapprovingly, despite the fresh wave of slick coating your ex’s cock as it repeatedly rubbed back and forth along your cunt.

“What, I thought you liked being my cumslut…my little breeding bitch…my pump n’ dump princess…” Mingi recited playfully, teasing your fluttering hole with the tip of his cockhead, just about driving you to the brink of insanity withi his teasing.

“Shut up, Min, oh my god…”

“Why don’t you shut me up then?” he suggested, hovering close enough to your face for you to pull him in for a desperate kiss that consisted mainly of tongue and teeth, your mouths occasionally making contact in between tongue swipes and lip bites, the both of you panting all the while.

Growing impatient, you slipped your fingers into his choppy hair, tugging his head back until your lips parted, a few strands of saliva still connecting them. “If you don’t put your cock inside me in the next two seconds, I’m going to bite it off. You hear me, Song Mingi?”

Groaning breathily when you tugged at his hair again, Mingi let out a few soft chuckles, taking his shades off and setting them down on the corner of the hood. “Using my government name like that….I must’ve teased you too much. My poor angel, so desperate for cock. I’ll fuck you good, baby. I’ll make it up to you,” he sighed, as he wrapped his fingers around his length, guiding the tip to your entrance and sliding all the way in with ease, the both of you letting out obscene moans. Without any hesitation, Mingi began to buck his hips wildly, his metal belt banging against the hood of your car with each thrust. “Oh, fuck. You feel that? Is it good for you?”

“Yes…!” you cried out, barely about to speak, let alone function, now that your beloved ex was rearranging your guts with his colossal cock.

Huffing, Mingi threw your legs up over his shoulders and laid his body weight on you, essentially folding you in half. He ran his tongue along your jaw, before nipping at it, whispering, “God, you’re always so fucking tight, princess. Gonna milk me for all I’ve got, huh? Cuz’ you’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh, just for you, Minnie…”

“Mm-hmm, that’s why you’re still here even after you broke up with me earlier, baby…why you’re taking my cock on the hood of your car where anyone can see you…” Mingi continued, squeezing his hands into the plumpness of your thighs, getting a good grip on them, so that he could drive himself into you as hard as he possibly could, punching short, breathy moans out of you. “You sound so pretty for me, baby, and fuck, you’re so wet right now….You’re gonna cream all over my cock, aren’t you?”

As soon as it felt like Mingi’s oversized cock had slammed directly into your cervix, you let out an abrupt yell, an overwhelming amount of pleasure suddenly shooting through your body like lightning. “Fuck…! I’m cumming, Minnie, it’s so– oh my god.” You were gonna start whimpering and crying when Mingi gently placed his warm hand over your mouth, watching him nod his head knowingly at you, his suddenly softened gaze never leaving yours.

“That’s a good girl, such a good girl for me, Y/N,” Mingi sighed against your ear, the hot, wet sounds of your bodies colliding together and the ringing inside your ears almost too loud for you to hear him properly. Feeling your wetness pour out onto his cock, Mingi let go of your mouth and cradled your face instead, pressing slow, meaningful kisses onto your lips, a few drops of sweat dripping along the shaved sections of his hair just as your trembling fingers drifted along it. “Want it inside, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you whispered against his moving lips, not even realizing when you were clutching him impossibly close to you.

“That’s my baby…” Mingi pulled all the way out, your mixed arousal forming a milky foam around the base of his cock, before he slowly pushed all the way back in, just in time for him to paint your insides white with his seemingly endless load. He hugged you close to him all the while, pressing kiss and kiss onto your lips, face, and neck, knowing that your turbulent time together was about to come to an end, and wishing he could turn the clock back to spend another second with you.

Once your highs began to fade, you cleared your throat and slowly sat up, the both of you silently fixing your disheveled clothes and hair in a poor attempt to look presentable in the case of a random passerby.

“So…since you don’t have my keys, I’m not sure how I’m gonna get out of here,” you sighed, about to push yourself off of the hood of your car when Mingi helped you off instead, annoyed that he was suddenly acting gentlemanly when he had shown you nothing of the sort beforehand.

Smiling apologetically, Mingi fished around in one of his pockets and held your keys up to you. “I took them out of your purse before the show started.” Seeing the anger blossom on your pretty, flushed face, he continued, “Listen, I just wanted you to hear me out before you left and never came back to me, baby. I love you.”

You snatched the keys out of his hand and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back to sit on the hood of your car, keeping your thighs pressed together to keep everything from leaking out of you. “You don’t get to say that after you just made me your ‘pump n’ dump princess’, you idiot.”

“But I didn’t dump you, Y/N. You’re the one who dumped me!” Mingi whined, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, his brown eyes growing wide and puppy-like.

You couldn’t help but begin to laugh, not only at the ludicrous situation you were both in, but at the truth of his statement. Wiping a tear from your eye, you clicked your keys to unlock your car and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving me?”

“No, we’re going to the store to get Plan B, dummy. I’m not about to let Mingi Jr. run around and terrorize the city,” you replied, gazing at your ex, the sight of his childlike amusement making you feel a bit soft towards him.

“I call shotgun!” Mingi called, eagerly heading to the passenger door, practically bouncing on his heels.

“There’s only two of us,” you giggled, sitting down in the car with him.

“For now.” Mingi wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You turned the ignition on, shaking your head, the corners of your lips hurting from how long you had been smiling. “Never say that shit again.”

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[after-witch]

Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 

In surprise.

In trepidation. 

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 

How lucky for him. 

How unfortunate for you. 

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 

It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 

You.

What to make of you? 

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 

He remembers such a living. 

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You stiffen. 

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say. 

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

--

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

--

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 

What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

--

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 

--

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

--

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 

[luffysscraps]

Straw hats kinks;🔞

cw: Headcanons.NSFW.Smut.18+.Fem reader. Luffy’s a bit gross. (BUT IF YOU DONT LIKE HIM LIKE THAT THEN YOU’RE NOT A TRUE LUFFY FAN‼️‼️) Sanji cums on food.

Characters: Luffy. Zoro. Sanji.

Not proofread.

-Luffy

• Hair pulling (Giving and receiving); he didn’t know how much fun it was to pull you down on his cock by your hair. Watching you try to get away from him and forcing you to look at him by your hair made his dick twitch. He also loved when you grasp his head when he’s going down on you. The feeling of your fingers gripping his hair harshly made him hard instantly.

•Excessive cum; Again he discovered this by complete accident. Even without using his devil fruit powers his balls are abnormally large and filled to the brim with cum. Doesn’t matter how long ago he was sucked dry they’ll refill within an hour. And with Luffy’s stamina he doesn’t even notice when he’s shooting blanks. But watching you fill up with his cum turned him on even more which resulted in him going longer creating an endless cycle of cumming inside of you. He likes to pull out slowly and watch the juices drip down his cock and onto the bed sheets; making a mess of your pussy.

•Spit; He’s so messy. His kisses are so sloppy. And he knows this, he often apologizes for his messiness but doesn’t do anything to improve it. So when he accidentally drooled over on top you he didn’t expect his cock to twitch so wildly. So (with your permission of course) he begins to spit on you more often. In your mouth; on your boobs; ass; pussy; face. Anywhere you’ll allow him to he does so. Hell he’ll even ask you to spit on him some times.

•Belly bludge; He loves placing his hand on your womb and, every time he thrusts feeling your skin stretch to accommodate his size. “Hmm~ I can feel myself inside of you~!” He’ll groan out with a laugh on the end of it. He makes it a game, placing his hand on your stomach as he’s trying to feel his tip with every thrust.

•Marking/Biting; He loves, loves, loves to leave marks on your body. By the end of your session you’re left with red and purple hickies and bites all over your body. He can’t seem to take his mouth off of your body, there’s something so addicting about having your soft skin in between his lips. A simple neck kiss often turns into a sex session because he’s so turned on by just sucking on your skin. (Although he does forget his own strength and ends up biting too hard sometimes.)

•Body crushing; “You can take it! Can’t you?” He giggles while he smothers you against the mattress. He loves the feeling of his weight on top of you. At first he used it as a way to restrain you and stop you from squirming but he soon began to enjoy the control he got from it. You can barely breath from underneath him, and your squirms were no more. There was something unexplainably sexy about you two being so close to each other that turned him on. He didn’t know what it was but now he loves to smother you against the bed sheets

•Bonus; He doesn’t mean to be so rough with you, it’s just that he doesn’t know his own strength and when he’s going at it, his mind runs blank more often then not. He’s not in control of his body and stretches his dick to reach your womb, trying to go beyond but it seems impossible. So he’s made it his goal to break through your womb! And he tells anyone who asks what his dreams are or goals. “My goal is find the one piece, become pirate king and break through Y/N’s womb!” He shouts in the middle of a heated battle. Sometimes you wonder why you love this idiot.

-Zoro

•Throat fucking; Zoro often has you laid out on his bed in front of him. He spreads out your arms grasping both of them tightly. He positions himself at the entrance of your mouth and goes to town. He loves to grip your throat and feel the outline of his cock as he thrusts in and out of your mouth like his own personal toy. So warm; so wet; and don’t get him started on that tongue of yours. It’s something about your throat that Zoro loves (slightly) more then your pussy.

•Dacryphilia; When your eyes start to water and tears prick the corners of your eyes Zoro let’s out nothing but a moan. There was no concern for you. He loves watching the tears streak down your cheeks as you whine and cry about how his cock is too big and too much for you to handle. “What is it too big? Come on now Y/N~ I know you can handle it~” The power and control he feels from seeing your pathetic tears make his dick run wild.

•Breastfeeding; The man loves boobs, and he loves sucking on them too, this kink was a no brainer. He doesn’t know why but playing with your nipples and sucking on them gets his rocks off. He’ll get hard In seconds from just playing with them. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep with a nipple in his mouth.

•Cockwarming; Just like how he’ll fall asleep with your nipple on his mouth, he’ll fall asleep with his cock still inside of you. It feels at home just being inside your warm cunt. He loved spooning you and just shoving his cock into you without warning and falling asleep in seconds. It’s just so relaxing, feeling you squeeze him tightly in his sleep. He’ll stay like this with you for hours, but don’t be surprised when he wakes up and starts going to pound town without warning.

•Boxers; something about seeing you in his boxers makes him hard in a heart beat. Man sees you wearing his boxers and he is sprung. You look so sexy wearing his underwear, he can devour you in seconds if you come to bed wearing his boxers. The boxers being way too big for your figure; the way he can see the outline of your cunt. It drives him crazy. A simple nap together can turn into getting freaky in the sheets because of you wearing his boxers.

•Orgasm control; “listen to me. You can’t cum now. Don’t disobey me baby girl~” Again it’s the power going all to his cock. When he feels you squirm and your walls twitch he shakes his head “Ah, ah, ah. You’ve gotta hold it until I cum first alright?” His voice is so demanding and feeling your uncontrollable twitching go against his words causes him to smack your ass. “Bad girl~” he warned with a smirk.

•Breeding; The thought of knocking you up is just so enticing to him. Stuffing you full of his cum and watching you quake and shake makes his body feel so hot. And watching your baby bump and tits grow larger just turns him on so much. He’ll place his hands on your stomach and breasts every day, feeling them swell as the days go by, god it just makes him hard instantly. He’ll pump you full of cum every single night, he can’t help it he loves using your hole for hours on end.

•Bonus; not really a turn on, turn on. But Zoro finds it hot when his s/o is smarter then him. Say something smart, figure something out or lead him back to the crew and he’ll just stare at you with a devious smirk. He’s totally silent but that smirk on his face is all telling.

-Sanji

•praise (giving and receiving); “you’re doing so well for me princess~ just a little more.” “What a good girl you are for me~” “fuck~ so tight. So good for me~ hmm~” with Sanji being Sanji, even if he can’t speak full sentences he’ll praise you to the ends of hell. But if you praise him back, call his cock big, tell him how good he’s fucking you, tell him he’s amazing and sweet to you; he’s hard again in minutes and you’ve earned yourself another round.

•Brat taming; My goodness, please, please, please act naughty and disobey him. It turns him on soooo much. If you tell him ‘no’, try to get away from him, or tell him something mean he’s quick to remind you who’s in control here. He’ll pin you to the bed like “uh uh uh~ Be a good girl for me, okay princess?” With a playful wag of his finger he’ll lightly scold you and act like what you did was childish before rightfully punishing you. Shoving his cock in your pussy before fucking you painfully slowly, and with your body pinned you can’t move at all. You’ll end up whining and begging for him to speed up, and only when you say please is when he’ll comply.

•Spanking; It goes hand and hand with brat taming. Be too naughty in one night and he’ll bend your bare ass over his knee. “Now you’ve earned yourself 20 spanks. I want you to count with each one or else I’ll have to start over.” He warns before he smacks your rear. He’s gentle with you, not too harsh but not too soft of course. He just wants you to learn a lesson. And when he sees the plush of your skin turning a soft red and purple it drives him wild. After the spanking is over he’ll kneed the bruised skin with a sly smile. Sinking his fingers into it to hear you whine and cry more.

•Bondage; He likes the restraining aspect of bondage. He likes to tie you up and restrict your movements. He’ll tie your hands around your back with just about anything he could get his hands on. A rope, a ribbon, his own tie. Loves to watch you squirm and cry, begging to be unrestrained but you’re at his mercy. It makes him feel like he’s in control, only he can let you go and only he can make you feel like this.

•Oral (Giving); Sanji LOVES to eat you out for hours on end. He’ll tie your hands behind your back and place his hands firmly on your thighs so you can’t move. He’ll leave a trail of kisses along your stomach before his head dips down to your wet cunt and his tongue does it’s job. He’ll have you ringing out orgasms on end. Not stopping from your whines and protests of overstimulation. He’ll go until your clit is sore and your pussy aches. He loves eating you out, your juices are simply delicious. He loves feeling your thighs squeeze his head, he swears he can cum just from your noises and the action of his tongue sliding in and out of your slick.

•Food play; Sanji often treats himself with a snack late at night and that’s you. He’s brought whipped cream and hot fudge to the bedroom and you’re his plate to decorate. He’ll tie you down to the bed and spread whipped cream on your sensitive nipples, a trail of hot fudge runs down to your pussy and cherries on top to garnish the dish. He makes you a work of art before devouring your body. As he eats you up like no tomorrow you can feel his hard on pressed against your inner thigh. You’re just the best dish he’s ever had, how can he not get hard?

•Bonus; “I’ve made you a special dish tonight my love.” Sanji beckons as he enters the bedroom holding a plate. You know exactly what that meant and hummed softly laying down on the bed. “It’s a chocolate eclair, made with Love~” He sung happily taking a piece of it up with his fork and putting it to your lips. You could see the runny, milky-clear, liquid of his sperm sitting on top of it and you gladly ate it and you could see the exact second his cock gets hard in his pants.

[moonchild9350]

Within My Grasp

Summary: Hyunjin’s outfit for an event has you needy for your man.

Pairing: idol Hyunjin x fem reader

Genre: smut-18+ MDNI please

Word Count: 809

Warnings: sex and creampies, that's it folks (but wrap it up though)

Note: Hyunjin's insta update...enough said lol. I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated :)

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

You were needy for your boyfriend not being able to wait until you got back to the hotel. Hyunjin and the members had just got done with their event, meeting tons of stay. You were in love with his outfit he chose to wear for the event. You needed him and you needed him now.

You grabbed his hand as he walked backstage, right as he was about to greet you. You pulled him to his dressing room and pushed him against the door for a heated kiss once the door closed. The kiss was quick and messy, urgency in every nip of the lip and suck of the tongue.

“Angel wha…” Hyunjin tried to say in between kisses, but you cut him off each time with another kiss.

You bit his lower lip before pulling back. Grabbing Hyunjin’s hands again, you pulled him to a chair in front of the makeup counter, pushing him down in the chair. Straddling his legs, you grabbed his tie that was loosely tied around his neck, wrapping it around your hands a few times before giving it a tug. Hyunjin let out a groan, your dominant behavior turning him on with each passing moment. He grabbed your waist, giving it a squeeze as you rolled your hips against his, a groan coming from both of you with the movement. You gave another tug of the tie causing him to lean forward, crashing his lips onto yours once again.

You rolled your hips faster and faster, moaning into his mouth. Hyunjin’s hands guided you along, nudging your clothed core against his buldge. Each rock of your hips forward hit your clit just right as you were wearing a skirt, nothing between you besides your soaked panties.

You leaned back and stilled you hips, reaching down to unbuckle hyunjins belt, his eyes on you the whole time. You locked your eyes on his as you unzipped his jeans, tapping his hips to signal for him to lift his butt up so you could drag the offending clothing down his thighs. Once out of the way, you reached your hand into his boxers, giving his cock a few pumps, gathering the pre cum from his slit to help the glide.

You reached down to move your panties to the side before sliding his cock through your folds, gathering the slick that was dripping out of your pussy, sighing at the feeling as it brushed against your clit again and again. Lifting your hips, you lined his cock with your entrance before slowly sliding down his length until his cock was snuggly nestled within your warmth.

With a shaky breath, you placed your hands on Hyunjin's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. His pupils were dilated, soft pants leaving his lips. He looked down at where you were connected before dragging his eyes back to yours. You slowly lifted your hips before lowering yourself down on his cock, a low moan leaving your mouth. Grasping his shoulders harder, you started to bounce on his cock a little faster, the sound of your ass hitting his pelvis each time.

Soft moans could be heard throughout the room, Hyunjin’s eyes never leaving yours as you used him for your pleasure. No words were said, none were needed, as pleasure was the only goal.

You rode his cock faster and faster, feeling your high approaching. You grasped his tie once more, tugging it again and again. Hyunjin let out a loud moan with a hard tug and particular swivel of your hips on his cock, his fingers reaching for your clit. Hyunjin rubbed your bundle of nerves again and again, his fingers slipping and sliding with the amount of slick that was pooling out of your pussy, your whimpers and moans getting louder and louder. You felt the coil in your belly tighten and with one more bounce you came, your thighs shaking. You leaned your head down on Hyunjin’s shoulder letting out a shaky breath.

Hyunjin grounded himself before lifting his hips up again and again to pound into your wet pussy, his high approaching. With a hard thrust he came, hips stilling, his warm cum spilling into your pussy before slowly dripping out of your pussy.

You both sat there, letting out shaky breaths as you came back down out of your highs.

“That was hot angel,” Hyunjin finally said with a chuckle.

You whined at his statement, lifting yourself up and out of his lap, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“Sorry babe, but you looked too hot out there to ignore,” you said with a wink.

Hyunjin just shook his head watching you walk to the in suite bathroom to get towels for both of you.

Hyunjin sat there with his pants pulled down to his thighs, and his now softened cock hanging outside his boxers before chuckling out,

“My little minx.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek

[gorgeouslypink]

My Take on Manifesting + How to Use It to Wake Up in the Voidੈ✩‧₊˚

The Law of Assumption (LOA) in a nutshell is the concept that whatever you assume to be true is the truth. The most common and popular summary is: an assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact.

You've probably heard this a million times before, but I really want to explain this the way I interpret the law and I want to present it to you the way I wish it was presented to me.

The entire law operates on the principle that your 3d reflects your 4d. These terms are interchangeable with concious/subconcious, inner man/outer man, etc but basically that is the main principle that you should understand and accept: Your 3d reflects your 4d.

Now, here's where I deviate a bit into my personal opinions. If you know that your 3d reflects your 4d and you see something unfavorable happening in your 3d, why would you force yourself to pretend it doesn't exist? Deal with it in the 3d but KNOW that you can change things. Go and fufill what you want in your 4d.

Imagination Creates Reality.

You've probably heard this said a million times by LOA girls but it is such an important concept to understand.

Something that completely annoyed me back when I was trying to get into the void and had no grasp on LOA was people who would say that your imagination is your "true" reality or that you need to fufill yourself so much in your imagination to the point that you don't even care about it anymore in your reality. I do understand what they were trying to get at, but for me, I was just like if I want to manifest going to a concert, I don't want to just imagine it to the point where I'm fufilled, I want to actually watch it?

Let me explain my perspective now. Your imagination is not your reality. You can close your eyes right now and imagine yourself dating Harry Styles but once you open your eyes again, you're not going to be dating him. Imagining something doesn't make it magically appear in your reality, or else daydreamers would be living insane lives.

However, imagination CREATES your reality. To really understand this, we have to backtrack. Let's revisit LOA in a nutshell: An assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact.

I think most people understand the idea but acctually applying it is where everything comes crashing down. For me, there were so many times when I was super motivated, I listened to subliminals, I affirmed to myself, I was really assuming whatever I was trying to manifest. But then it didn't manifest and I was left disappointed.

I think this is a pretty common occurrence in the community and I know I've gotten hundreds of asks with people in this exact position. This ask that I answered covers this more in depth but I want to introduce a topic that isn't being pushed as much as it should: NATURALNESS.

"The time it takes your assumption to become fact, your desire to be fulfilled, is directly proportionate to the naturalness of your feeling of already being what you want to be – of already having what you desire."

-Neville Goddard

So basically, this is what I think the law should be represented as: An assumption, though false, if persisted in within your imagination until it feels natural, will harden into fact.

There are many ways that you attain this naturalness. Most people use imagination, just imaging themselves with their desire, really connecting to the feeling of having their desire so that it feels natural to them. This is when your desire turns into an assumption.

There are many methods within this; visualizing being the most popular one. Just visualizing normally or SATS allows people to experience their desire in imagination, making it more natural to them. Some people can't really visualize so they rely on scripting, pinterest boards, etc. The options are endless but the end goal is the same: making your desire feel natural so that it manifests into your reality.

Some people say you have to keep repeating your method for something to feel natural to you but I disagree. Just going to imagination once, truly feeling it and knowing its yours and knowing the law and that your manifestation has no choice but to appear is all you need to make something feel natural to you. I think the main reason that it takes some people repetitions is because they don't have a strong faith in the law backing them up so it doesn't feel natural to them but if you know the law is backing you up, your desire will natural to you instantly.

Now, if you noticed, I said most people use imagination. What about other people? Well, once you've experienced a few manifestations and really strengthened your belief in the law and acknowledged your power as the creator of your reality, you don't really need to imagine. You just know your desire will come. It's natural for you to manifest anything you want so anything you want will manifest. This kind of goes into what I was saying in the previous paragraph about knowing the law is backing you up. This is why states was and is so popular, it's knowing the law is backing you up and just occupying the state of whatever you desire and knowing it has no choice but to manifest. I love this post by @lotusmi explaining it and I highly recommend reading it.

Now, how to use all this to enter the void. There are 4 things you need to understand, embody, and assume.

1. You are limitless: Literally. You can manifest anything and everything. Seriously.

2. The void is real: One of the main things I've tried to do on my blog is getting everyone to a point where you might not fully believe in the void until you acctually use it yourself but you should know its real. In my Doubts post, I linked so much material across different platforms and groups of people and all of them are talking about the void. Recently, in my challenges, I introduced a book where the author talks about the void and how that's where your reality is created from. I even had a follower recently make a post about how they found their Reiki book talking about the void and how it creates your reality. There's endless examples and at one point, you have to sit down and wonder how all these different platforms and groups of people are all talking about the void if it's just a lie. It can't be a lie if so many people have come to the same conclusion.

3. You are going to wake up in the void state tonight: You understand manifestation now right? All you have to do is know you are going to wake up in the void, make it natural to you and that's it. I promise when you realize that the word operates on your beliefs and that your imagination is honestly what matters because your reality is just a platform for your imagination to project onto (your imagination creates your reality), your manifestations are going to be so quick.

4. Naturalness is all you need: All you're doing when you're manifesting anything, in this case; the void is making it natural to you. Once you do, it has no choice but to manifest in your reality. This really ties into the third point, but I want you to understand this because once you realize the third and fourth point, the law will be so easy to you. If you haven't entered the void yet, the only problem is that it was not natural to you. As a void blogger, I know this is a case because I've gotten so many asks about this and everytime I can tell that they struggle with seeing themselves actually enter the void. It's unnatural to them. But recognizing that naturalness is the problem is also the solution. Just make it natural to you. Know that you are going to wake up in the void tonight and really rest easy in this. You know you are limitless, you can manifest anything, waking up in the void is a peace of cake.

So here's what you're going to:

Starting this moment, know you are going to wake up in the void tonight. Just know it. Now, go straight to your imagination and do whatever method will help your desire natural to you. Know that your reality is just a projection of your imagination and that you are the creator of your reality. Deal with your 3d but know that your 4d is what triumphs.

If you don't wake up in the void, don't spiral. Your desire just doesn't feel natural yet, that's all. Just focus on making your desire natural to you. That is literally all you have to do and you know you're going to enter. If you're someone who might need some time to make your desire feel natural to you just because you struggle with staying firm in the law, do @littlemissprettyprincess 's void challenge: linked here.

The void is easy, you are going to wake up in the void tonight, and you are going to live your dream life. I know you are. Literally embody that and tell yourself that. Anytime a doubt or negative thought comes to mind, just stay firm in your desire and know the law is backing you up. Waking up in the void state is so natural to you and I can't wait for your success story.

[astraystayyh]

chan x reader. hurt and lots of comfort. description of an anxiety attack and its aftermath (based on my own experiences).

please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you

If you remain still long enough, breathe as quietly as you can muster, would the world forget you exist and pass your anxiety along to somebody else?

A selfish question, perhaps, but one that you can’t help but ask as you sit on your freezing bathroom floor, knees tightly hugged to your chest.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve sat in this position. Time suddenly seemed elusive to you, as if a concept too hard for your frantic heart to grasp. All you knew was the ache of your limbs and the feeling that doom was just around the corner.

It was one of those days where you woke up feeling anxious. As if your brain had made up its mind about you in your sleep, deciding to hold you hostage to your anxiety. The bed was cold, your boyfriend Chan long gone to his studio, his lingering cologne the only indication he was ever there. So, you tried to distract yourself throughout the day— going on a walk, listening to music, cleaning your house, but it didn't help. Nothing seemed to help you.

So here you were, hours later, sat on your bathroom floor, trying to calm yourself down, all alone. But you could tell that it wasn't working, that you were on a losing race against your own body. Soon, you wouldn't be able to control your anxiety, soon it would turn into a full blown attack.

You wanted to call Chan, you truly did, but he was busy, and you refused to be a burden. Especially since he told you through texts that he'd be home late, so that definitely meant that he was making a new track in his studio.

So, you settled on rocking yourself back and forth, your hands slowly moving up to your shoulders, patting yourself down. This is what you used to do before knowing Chan. When you didn't have anyone around you who understood. You’d trick your bruised mind into believing you were hugged, the warmth of your own touch easing your anxiety a little.

But tonight it had the opposite effect. Tonight, you broke down in sobs, your breathing more irregular than ever. You curled into a ball on the floor, your hand moving to your chest in a futile attempt to slow down your heart. You could no longer breathe, the air in your lungs morphing into unkind fingers, choking you from within. White dots started dancing in front of your eyes, as your entire being shook like a lone leaf, left to fend for itself before the unyielding winds.

It suddenly got too much— the sobs, the pain, the ache. You couldn't bare it anymore. So with trembling hands, you unlocked your phone, calling the only person who would be able to calm you down. Chan. You put the phone on speaker, before tossing it on the ground next to you. You couldn't even muster the energy to hold it to your ear.

“Hi my love, I'm a bit busy right now can I call you later?” Chan's rushed words ring through the bathroom, your anxiety intensifying before the possible antidote. “Honey?” he asks again when he doesn’t hear your reply.

“Chan—“ you sob, the only word your weighted tongue allows you to speak of.

“I’m here, I'm here baby. I'm coming right now,” his panicked voice rings through your ears, following the frantic rush of your boiling blood. The sound of shuffling indicates that he’s getting up and leaving the studio, the confused ‘what’s going on?’ Han shouts confirms it.

The only reply you give him is your sobs, and his heart constricts, twists and turns at the sound of your cries. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe for me, okay? Take a deep breath with me, please—” his voice breaks, “please baby.”

You try, with all your will, to force a steady breath to rise from your stomach to the tip of your tongue. It escapes faintly, but Chan catches it. “You’re doing well, baby. Fuck—” he turns on his car’s engine. “Um… Minho bit my ass today.”

His words catch you off guard, the gears in your mind stopping for a split second. You remember a faint conversation under your covers, months ago, when you told him that distractions help you when you’re anxious. Force you to redirect your thinking somewhere else.

He remembered.

“Was it tasty?” you breathe out, and he chuckles, a sweet sound intermingled with a sigh of relief. “I don’t know, I need to ask him baby.”

You nod though he can’t see you, willing yourself to breathe again. In, out, in, out, Chan’s own breathing guiding you. “Should I bite him in return?” he asks. Tears pool in your eyes once again. “I’m close, so close,” he reassures.

“Okay.”

“To the biting?”

“Mm,” you manage to hum, as you hear the door of your apartment open, Chan's hurried steps echoing in your home. You knew he was looking for you but you couldn't call out to him. After painfully long seconds, stretching out as if to torture you even more, he finally opens the bathroom floor.

He finally finds you.

“It's okay, I'm here. I'm here,” he wastes no time before scooping you into his arms and hugging you. He knows that the pressure eases your anxiety so he tightens his hold without you having to say so, pulling you as close as two pages of the same book.

With you on his lap, he starts rocking back and forth, his words coming out a jumble mess. He can’t settle on what to say to you, switching between stupid jokes his friends told him, and words of reassurance he repeats like a promise.

His words break, his tongue faltering each time your sob gets louder, but he speaks. He speaks and speaks for twenty minutes, all to distract you, all to keep you grounded, and safe.

After a long while, the storm finally passes, leaving behind an excruciating exhaustion. You turn into a puddle in his hold, softening like malleable clay. He holds you as gently as a porcelain vase.

His warm palms settle atop your cheeks, his eyes gazing into yours for the first time since he got here. A sheen glaze taints them, one you know is mirrored in your own. His thumbs gently swipe away your remaining tears, grazing your face with a tenderness that makes your being ache. Your lips press a faint kiss onto his palm, his find their way to your forehead, and you feel it all, through his kiss. His fear, his relief, his love, soft and gentle, for you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice slightly hoarse as you kiss his forehead back.

“I’ve got you my love. Always,” he smiles at you softly, his dimples appearing like the sun after a cold day.

“Did Minho really bite you?” you giggle faintly, and he scratches his ear sheepishly. “No, but I don’t put it past him to do it.”

“Is that something you’re into?” You cock a teasing eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. “Only if it’s you,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist, picking you up swiftly.

“I’ll consider,” you yawn, wrapping your arms around his neck, your face finding a refuge in the crook of his neck.

“Why thank you,” he smiles as he leads you to your bedroom, settling you gently atop the bed. He quickly climbs in with you, bringing you so close to him, his warmth ends up spreading through your entire being, filling up every nook and cranny of your soul.

“I think as long as you’re near, I’ll always be okay,” you say, as your eyes close slowly, you miss the tender smile that blooms in his face at your words.

“Good thing I exist to be near you, then.”

please consider donating for gaza through my kofi. we have exceeded 1k dollars and our goal is 1500! a little goes a long way, you can donate as much as you can! thank you

[lis-likes-fics]

The Dragon's Wife

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x bride!Reader Word Count: 4k words Kink: Breeding Warnings: NSFW, noncon, dark content, fingering, p in v, slight cum eating, first time, humiliation, crying kink, biting, multiple force orgasms, forced breeding, creampie, A/N: Happy Kinktober, everyone! I think this may be the darkest thing I've ever written, in terms of this is my first noncon. If you catch any warning I missed, please let me know. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this and the rest of my prompts for kinktober! Find the main masterlist here. Also A/N: I had to respost this shit twice but Tumblr fucking sucks and is hiding it. I hate this website sometimes... Enjoy!

The large doors of Daemon's bed chambers shut behind you with a damning thud. Still wrapped in your wedding gown, the events of the night were still very fresh in your mind.

You were angry, outraged by the dishonor done upon you. Like some broodmare, your father gave you away to the Targaryen prince in need of a new wife after the last had passed "suspiciously".

It was humiliating, to say the least. You had produced no heirs for your house and "talked too much for your own good". Your father jumped at the chance to have this brute of a prince tame you. Perhaps you would be a "respectable lady".

But you would give neither of them the satisfaction.

"Are you going to stand there and stare at the door all night?" Daemon's voice spoke behind you, exhausted by you already.

You sighed. "Better than looking at you, dear husband."

You could hear his footsteps against the hard floors as he stepped closer to you. "Someone ought to teach you some respect."

You turned to face him so he could see the way you rolled your eyes. "Apparently, that's meant to be your job…seeing that I am now wed to you."

He gave you a hard look, his gaze dark and dangerous as his eyes rake up and down your body. A long silence filled the space between you as you stared one another down.

"Come here," he commanded, his tone stern but his voice quiet. yet

"No."

He tilted his head and a wicked smile took over his face. Amusement lit up within his eyes as a new goal took over him. He took a couple more steps toward you, stalking closer like some predator to its prey as he sized you up.

"Perhaps I will teach you some respect."

A chill ran down your spine, but you refused to stand down as you glared at him. He stood before you, raising a hand to touch your cheek. You smacked it away. "Don't touch me."

He breathed a laugh, looking you up and down. You moved to take a step back, to put more space between the two of you as an unsettling feeling settled into your skin.

But before you could lift your foot, his hand was wrapping firmly around your throat and pulling you close to him. You gasped out of shock, bringing your hands up to his own to pry it off of you as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Such strong will you've got," he said, sighing deeply. "I wonder how easy it would be to break it." Your breath was shallow as you clenched your jaw. He hummed, moving his hand up in a harsh trail to your jaw, where his thumb and fingers dug into your flesh and made you hiss from the pain. "Your job is to produce my heirs, little cat, nothing more. You will do as I say."

You huffed. "I am not a whore."

"No," he said. "But you are my wife now…and you will breed if I say you will."

"I will not."

He laughed, a loud one deep in his chest as he pulled you closer by your neck. You were trembling in his grasp, the stubbornness turning to fear as his eyes trailed your face and stopped at your lips.

"You don't have a choice."

He shoved you away, and you stumbled to the ground. You stood quickly, trying to put more distance between you. But you had nowhere to go. You watched as he slowly advanced.

He backed you against the large table in his chambers, the wood digging uncomfortably into your back. He trapped you, grabbing roughly at your waist and regarding you with a primal grin.

"Wait," you begged, leaning back as you grabbed the table for support. "Wait, please. I'm sorry." He pulled back slightly, looking over you as he took in this new sense of fright. You swallowed thickly, staring at him as you trembled, tears pricking at your eyes and threatening to spill. You sighed shakily. "Please don't."

You received no sympathy as a wolfish grin took his face. "Look at you," he teased, laughing again as his hand found your neck again. "Not as strong as I thought then."

His lips crashed down upon yours, a bruising kiss that had lips mashing with teeth, breaking skin and filling your mouth with the taste of blood. You tried to push him away, grabbing at his arms and peeling them off you only for him to grab you again in a rougher grip than before.

You whined against his lips, still trying and failing to push him away from you. He lifted your chin, his hot breath enveloping your neck as he bared his teeth, burying them in your throat and making you yelp.

You grabbed at his hand uselessly. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made your blood pump furiously beneath your skin. Desperate to remove him from you, you managed to shove him away with your foot. He stumbled backwards. You took no time to catch your breath as you turned to run. You didn't know where you were going, but you ran.

Daemon watched with an amused smirk, wiping his mouth and advancing toward you again. You hardly got far before his hand was hooking around your neck and pulling you right back against him, your back flush against his front as his hot mouth and breath lingered at your ear.

"I stand corrected," he purred, biting your earlobe.

You shuddered under his grasp. "Please," he watched a tear slip down your cheek. "Don't hurt me."

"Oh," he breathed, pressing his lips against the crook of your shoulder and savoring the way you closed your eyes and whined. "Where's the fun in that?"

He held your body against his own with a tight grasp around you, his arms wrapped around your body and over your arms as his hands roamed your figure hungrily.

It all happened so fast. And he was so uninterested before, you admit, you had become a little cocky with your words the more comfortable you became with your detest for him. You never expected anything like this to happen—although you probably should have.

His hands found the neckline of your dress, and with a monstrous tear, he ripped it down the middle until it pooled in rags around you. He removed each layer from you like some beast tearing the flesh from a quivering animal with its sharpened tooth.

And when you were bare, another rush of adrenaline filled your veins and built another fight in you, a fire that would soon be overcome by a larger, more furious one.

"Daemon, stop!" you shouted in false bravado, kicking your feet to get him away, only to feed his hunger for this enticing hunt you created.

His large hand groped your breast, and you clenched your eyes shut at the sensation of it. You were trapped, and you couldn't do anything about it as he walked you to the table and shoved you to lay on it. Your cheek pressed against the wood, and you could almost swear you felt splinters poking at your skin. But the wood was so smooth, you could have been imagining it.

He bent down, confining you once more as his lips and tongue and teeth clashed with the skin of the back of your neck, your shoulder, your back. He licked and sucked and bit until you were sure you'd be covered in bruises, the marks of his claim coloring your skin red and purple by morning.

"You taste magnificent, little cat," he purred before biting your earlobe once more. A cold tear ran down your cheek as you shuddered, and a dark chuckle slipped from his chest. "Such beautiful tears you've got. Like crystals."

You yelped as his hand smacked down on your ass, gripping the flesh immediately after in a vice grip that burned.

Your whole body jerked when you felt his fingers press between your thighs to feel your cunt, baring your teeth and biting back another whimper. "Oh, that's no good," he remorsed, acknowledging the lack of slickness between your thighs as his crude fingers continued to feel you. "We'll just have to fix that. You do not want to take this dry, I'll tell you that. Especially not when you're this tight. You've needed a good fucking, haven't you, little cat?"

You could hear the smirk on his voice, and it made your skin prickle, a chill running down your spine that soured and turned to fire in your belly when he shoved two fingers inside of you. You clenched around him and tried to hide your face away on the table.

"Daemon, please," you begged. "Please, please, please."

He thrust them deeper, exploring more of you as he listened to your stifled moans and cries. "I know, little thing. You don't want my fingers inside of you… you want my cock, don't you?"

You shivered as another cry shook you at that. He continued, "You do. I can see it. You want my hard cock inside of you, you need it." He shoved his fingers in deeper, adding a third that curled harshly inside you and allowed waves of arousal to coat his fingers. "You need my thick cock in your tight little cunt to fill you with my dragonborn sons and daughters."

He kept thrusting, his pace picking up faster and harder as he set a cruel rhythm. You couldn't help clenching around him, opposing the invasion as the searing pleasure tore through your body.

"You were so confident," he said, his voice suddenly right next to your ear, "until I got my hands on you. You were just begging for someone to put you in your place."

You gripped the edge of the table, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear, let the Stranger take you away from this cruel world and deliver you to sleep.

"Look at you," he snickered, pulling his hand from you with a sickening squelch. "Wetting my hands like a common whore. Perhaps you needed this more than I realized."

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around your head to cover your face, to hide away from him. You startled when you felt his hand reach out and comb through your hair, starting from the beginning of your scalp and working his way back until he suddenly gripped a handful of your hair at the base and pulled. He made you look at him, you closed your eyes and whimpered at the pain.

"Open your eyes," he said calmly, staring at your face as you refused. His grip in your hair tightened as his voice lowered to a dangerous register as he nearly growled. "Open your eyes, little cat."

You followed his orders, afraid of the consequences otherwise. He watched another tear join the rest of them streaked along your cheeks, your eyes wet and pathetic as he fed off your misery. "Well, you needn't worry," he whispered, faux sympathy poisoning his tone. "I'll fuck you like you need to be fucked."

He yanked at your hair again, pulling you up to stand and ignoring the way you cried at the pain. He led you to the bed, letting you go with a small shove so you stood in front of it. He gestured to the bed. "On your knees."

You stood frozen, covering your body as you hung your head. You were shaking. He didn't care.

"On your knees."

You bit your trembling lip, moving slowly as you set your knee on the edge of the bed and slowly moving forward until you were sitting as he told you: on your knees, humiliated and cold.

He pressed his hand to your back, and the rest of his body followed to hold you as he harshly kissed the back of your shoulder again, more teeth than lips. Then he pushed you forward so you held yourself on your hands.

"Look at you," he remarked again, another chuckle echoing in his chest. "I shall make a bride of you yet."

You listened to him strip, taking his sweet time to remove every piece of clothing he had from his body and let it drop to the floor like sacks. You waited, hating the suspense. And you flinched when his hand found your dripping cunt, slipping through your lips and leaving just as quick.

There was a quite suckling sound, and then he spoke again. "Mm, you should taste yourself. Such sweet nectar."

His fingers prodded at your lips, you sealed them closed as you tried to move your face away, but he wasn't having it. He smeared your slickness all over your lips and down your chin and cupped your jaw with his cruel fingers. "Taste it."

You let out a choked sob as you slowly opened your mouth. His fingers invaded your mouth the same way they did your pussy, thrusting harshly in and out between your lips as you tasted yourself on them. You breathed heavily around his fingers as he pushed down on your tongue, spread them apart to make your tongue lick between them, adamant on making you lick every drop of your arousal off of his hand.

He finally removed his hand, and you could breathe again as you hung your head and gasped. You felt your blood run cold at the sound of wet skin on skin, a steady shlick making you clench, rejecting what you knew was coming, what you knew you couldn't fight.

You expected him to say something, to whisper in your ear to make you shiver, to taunt you as he fed off your humiliation and loathing.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into you, burying himself to the hilt in one deep thrust. It was much worse than if he had warned you beforehand. You'd found safety in his predictability, his need to tease you gave warning to what he intended to do when he intended to do it. He'd taken even that from you.

He groaned as he settled deeply within you. "Ondoso se gods…" he muttered under his breath, taking your hips and pulling you back as he ground inside of you. "Now I know why you were so eager," he breathed. "This is a virgin's cunt."

You gripped the sheets of the bed and clenched, wanting to force him out but unable to. He was bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you. He was carved by war, bled and seasoned by it. If you thought there was a chance you won this fight, you were dumber than he thought.

He pulled out of you, an agonizingly slow drag that emptied you out until he suddenly thrust back in with a harsh thrust. The pleasure burned. As his patience began to wear thin, he was rid of all his slow, tempered thrust and resolved to piston inside of you like a hungry beast.

His hips snapped into your ass with every thrust, in and out was his fast rhythm that split you apart on his cock. You gripped the sheets and squeezed his cock and cried as the ecstasy of his intrusion tore you apart.

You whimpered and moaned, unable to help the way your sobs left you as he grunted and groaned about how good he must be making you feel.

His hand snaked around your waist and between your thighs to find your clit, and he pressed down harshly as he moved to make you cum. The pleasure spasmed when he touched you and you hated it.

His relentless thrusts ached as he built you up. When you came, your whole body shattered and you cried out, your arms giving out as you fell forward into the bed and muffled your sob. Your thighs shook and it took far too long for the shocks of pleasure to simmer. You hated yourself for letting it feel so good.

A hand cracked down on your ass once more as he pulled you close again by the waist. "You fucking loved that, I could tell," he breathed. "You clenched around me so tight. Even now your cunt is sucking me in."

You pulled weakly at the bedsheets. "Daemon, please…"

"So sweet… begging for me like some cock-drunk whore," he smiled. "Oh, my little cat… I'm going to fuck my cum so deep inside of you, you'll feel me dripping out of you for days."

He pulled out of you, and you let out a breath. In the same breath, he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide with his calloused hands. You fought to close them, but to no avail—not to your surprise.

He spread you open and sunk into you once more, grasping your jaw with his hand shaped into claws as he made you look at him. He thrust into you, deep and fast, his breath almost like a groan in his chest. "Look at me," he ordered. You obeyed, albeit hesitantly, on the first command.

"Such obedience," he praised. "You love it when I fuck you like this? When I force open your legs and take what is mine?" You wanted to shake your head and throw your hands and shove him off, but you were trapped and already broken in enough. His free hand grabbed at your thigh and clawed into your flesh, tearing you apart like he was doing to you now.

"Of course, you do. I know you do," he continued. His hips continued to snap into yours, shoving deeper and rougher into you in a way that made it hard to contain moans that came from the sick pleasure curling within you, burning in your belly and fueling the tears in your eyes. But you were quieter than before, your sobs realizing they were getting you nowhere and accepting that this would be your life now. You could do nothing but lay there and take it as he fucked you, taking his pleasure from you like he would the spoils of war.

And he lasted too long. He held you down and kissed and bit and sucked and clawed at your flesh. He taunted and teased you, made you cum at least twice more with his insistent fingers as the pleasure seared in your belly like a corrosive flame ruining you from the inside out. You winced and whimpered and could do no more.

You didn't know how long you were there. It felt like forever, his relentless thrusts becoming numb to your sore body as you let him use you.

He sat up, pulling you into his lap as he fucked you in a newer, deeper angle. "I'm going to breed you now," he smirked, his strong hands keeping you close as he impaled you on his cock with a new determination. His white hair had fallen messily in his eyes by now, his lips pink and his eyes blown wide with lust.

"Would you like that? Would you like me to plant my seed in your quivering little cunt and make you an heir?" You stared up at him, your eyes tired as you watched him taunt you. Apparently, the question had not been rhetorical as his hand grips your jaw again and sets your head straight. "Answer me, little cat."

A war went off in your mind. If you said no, he'd likely to subject you to more horror, drag out the moment longer than he needed just to make you endure this torture a little while longer. If you came again, the shame would be so thick and so deep, you likely would not survive it.

But if you agreed to him, you would be admitting defeat. You would officially be his little plaything for him to use whenever he felt a little too pent up one moment or bored the next.

But another moment of this would bring more emotional turmoil than you have the heart for right now…

"Well?" he wondered, grinding his hips deep within you as he continued to claw your face, barely holding on enough as his head bowed with his thrusts. You whispered, but he just tilted his head to listen closer to your barely audible voice. "What?"

"Yes…" you whispered.

"Yes, what? What would you like, little cat?" he smiled wide, triumphant in his ability to break you so easily.

You swallowed thickly, your saliva like syrup at the embarrassment. "Yes, Prince Daemon… I want," a new, tiny sob choked out of you as the words stuck in your throat, "I want you to…to breed me."

The pride shone in his gaze like the sun, harsh and bright. "That's a very good girl, you are. I'm so very proud of you," he said as he kissed you roughly again. His hips began to snap harder into your once more, and you felt the unsteadiness of the rhythm, the desperation of the chase for his release hot in your belly.

And when he came, he pulled you down by his hips and pushed so deeply inside of you, it hurt. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, reaching his peak with a roar as he spilled his hot, fiery cum inside of your cunt and fucked it in to stay. You mewled and grabbed uncomfortably at his arms as you lay through the whole ordeal, hating his grabby hands and his thick, pulsing cock and his depraved sounds above you. The warmth filled you like tar.

He cursed under his breath in a language foreign to you. After grinding his hips for longer than he needed, he finally pulled out of you and put an end to your misery. You sighed in relief, laying back as he sat up and removed his heavy weight from your body.

He stared down at you, completely flustered and spent but well enough to tease some more. "Look at you," he shook his head. "Pathetic whore hungry for my cock."

You didn't look at him, turning your head to the side and laying there as he kept your legs open with his body between yours. He chuckled deep in his throat and smacked your side, earning little more than a near silent yelp.

You flinched when his hand found your cunt again, this time filled and smeared with both your cum and his. His long middle finger shoved inside of you and then back inside. With no warning, he placed his hand at your mouth. Another fight kicked through your veins, though noticeably less fueled than the last.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "Open your mouth and see how well we taste together, little cat. If you don't, I have other things I can do with that little mouth of yours."

His threat was clear as day as you obeyed. Cracking your mouth open, he smeared your mixed release over your lips again and finally delved into your mouth to make you lick every single drop from his fingers. It was salty and sweet, and you hated it.

"Such a good, pathetic little girl, you are." He pulled his fingers from your mouth and sighed longingly. "Was that so hard?"

He shoved you off his lap, discarding you like trash as he stood to tidy himself once more. And once he finished, he blew out the remaining candles in the room and spared you not a single glance and not a single word more. He rolled over on the bed beside you and eased himself to sleep.

You lay there, staring at the sealing as the soreness in your limbs spread deeper and deeper until it reached your very soul. A heaviness took you, weighed down your heart until you were naught but a body on a bed next to a dark prince. A numbness ate away at your toes, at your fingertips, until the even numbness disappeared and was replaced by a terrible grief when the thoughts of the night flashed behind your eyes like a terrible dream.

And you began to sob. Softly, as not to wake Daemon and invoke him into another frenzy, you cried and hated the way it did not cleanse your soul. You belonged to him, his little wife, his little cat to prey on. You were just a dragon's whore now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Tag yourself here or send me a message!

[goldfades]

★ ATE (LITERALLY) ─── PB⁵

❪ requested -> "thinking abt paige x reader smut w a post-game win quickie in paiges car (featuring extra needy paige" ❫ for my lovely disco nonnie!! briefly inspired by so high school by tay-tay

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! read at your own discretion. just a whole lotta oral (paige receiving, for once, jeez)

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my wcbb masterlist!

paige's lips found yours in a bruising kiss as she pushed you against the door of her car door, the neediness practically radiating off of her. she usually enticed by you after all of her games but tonight it seemed amplified, almost tenfold.

the taste of her urgency mingled with the rush of adrenaline as she pressed you against the door of her car, her hands grasping at your hips and waist as if she couldn't get close enough.

with a fervor born of longing and anticipation, you responded in kind, matching her passion with your own. the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, the urgency of her touch ─ all of it ignited a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

with reluctance, you gently broke away from paige's embrace, breathless and dizzy with the intensity of it all. "hey, uh... isn't there a team dinner, baby?"

"i can't go like this," paige's voice carried amusement but you could see the hunger in her expression. "we'll be quick, baby, please?"

paige's eyes, dark with desire, searched yours for a moment before a knowing smile curved her lips. she knew you couldn't resist her, nor did you want to. you didn't even have to say anything before paige opened the door to her backseat, practically shoving you in there.

with a hungry glint in her eyes, paige climbed in after you, her lips finding yours once more in a fervent kiss that left you breathless. the confined space of the car seemed to amplify the intensity of your connection, each touch and caress sending waves of pleasure through your body.

her lips began sucking on your neck harshly and you knew her goal was to leave a mark. you wanted to protest but you couldn't find the willpower to resist her, not when her touch ignited desire within you. surrendering to the overwhelming urge to feel her skin against yours, you let out a low whimper as paige's lips trailed along your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses in their wake.

"oh god," you shut your eyes as she moved backward to pull you into her lap. you felt yourself grind against her shorts, your whole body shuddering with pleasure.

you pulled back from the kiss to gaze at your girlfriend, to admire how good she looked. she always had this post-game glow that made you go absolutely insane, it was as if the thrill of victory lingered on her skin, infusing every inch of her being with an undeniable attractiveness that left you breathless.

leaning in closer, you brushed your lips against hers in a soft, tender caress, savoring the taste of her desire on your tongue. "can i make you feel good?"

your voice came out quiet as paige let out a small laugh, "really, princess?"

"please, i wanna taste you," now you were the needy one, almost begging her to let you have a taste.

paige's expression turned from amused to adoration quickly, her eyes softening as her hand found your hair, pulling you into a harsh kiss. you both moaned into each others mouths as you fumbled with her basketball shorts.

"make it quick, baby," paige's voice came out breathless as slid off her shorts, her eyes solely focused on you.

you didn't waste any time, your lips attached to her pussy quickly as she let out a loud groan. her hands found your hair and gripped it tightly before she spread her legs, giving you more access.

you kept your eyes on her expression, taking in every shift in her features, every expression that danced across her face. your tongue moved fast, taking her instructions ─ you did everything you knew that she liked, that gave her the most pleasure.

your tongue began circling around her clit, causing a moan to escape her lips as she began grinding against you. her head fell back on the window as her hair began to stick to her forehead, her whole body beginning to shake with pleasure.

"that's right pretty girl, fuck. keep going, make me cum, baby," paige's voice came out as assertive as she could possibly muster, her hands pushing your head in deeper.

you let out a moan at that, closing your eyes to concentrate on the taste and the feeling of her. she kept her eyes on you as she bit her lip, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to leave her lips. "fuck yeah, good girl, oh fuck,"

paige felt herself draw close as she gripped your hair tighter, in an almost desperate gesture, as if trying to anchor herself to the moment, to the overwhelming rush of pleasure that consumed you both. her touch sent shivers down your spine, a delicious ache of desire that pulsed in time with the beating of your heart.

"oh fuck, i'm cumming," paige groaned out, her head falling back in pure bliss as she came. she rode her high on your face before she drew away slowly, her eyes still shut as you pulled away.

before you could process anything, her hand found your head to pull you into a rough kiss. you moaned into the kiss as she pulled you into her lap, to show her appreciation for you.

you pulled away to wipe your face with the back of your hand, earning a breathless laugh from your girlfriend.

"that was fucking hot," she mumbled as she took you in fully. "you're hot, you know that?"

you blushed under her gaze, feeling a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks at her words. with a shy smile, you lowered your gaze, unable to fully meet her intense stare.

but as paige's fingers gently lifted your chin, guiding your gaze back to meet hers, you found yourself drowning in the depths of her gaze once more. "look at me, princess, what's wrong? you were pretty heavy on the eye contact a few seconds ago, why you acting shy now?"

you rolled your eyes as you pulled away from her touch, a laugh escaping your lips. paige put on her basketball shorts before pulling out perfume from her bag, spraying a generous amount on her neck and wrists.

as paige leaned in to fasten her shorts, you couldn't help but admire the way her movements exuded a quiet confidence, a sense of self-assuredness that never failed to captivate you.

with a smirk, paige turned to you. "ready to head to that team dinner, princess?" she asked, her voice laced with anticipation. "or... are you full?"

"shut up, p. enough with these damn jokes-"

paige let out a loud annoyed groan as you both walked to the front and passenger seat, her irritation melting away into a playful grin as she playfully nudged your shoulder.

as you settled into the front and passenger seats of the car, paige's hand found yours, intertwining your fingers in a silent gesture of affection.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sporesgalaxy]

LET ME TELL YOU THE SETUP FOR MY BEAUTIFUL COOKIE CLICKER LOVE STORY

it's not everything but it's a decent introduction to the characters. I've been writing this summary for weeks. I'm hoping that feeling like I can reference parts in the middle will give me more ideas......

why does it hate my images...ok fine no images. god

•••

0 Ascensions:

Cookie is always on the lookout for new ways to bake ungodly amounts of cookies, so she approaches Kirschtorte after reading about the doctor's experimental portal research having once resulted in the retreival of a small amount of alien matter.

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she does not touch a single morsel of the extravagant cookie spread that Ms. Cliquer made to butter her up. The same thing happens the second, fourth, fifth time they meet and discuss business, no matter what variety of cookies Cookie makes. At last Cookie subjects herself to the mortifying ordeal of directly asking Dr. Kirschtorte what kind of cookies she likes-- only to be shocked and horrified when the doctor says that she does not eat any cookies whatsoever.

Despite her inexplicable distaste for cookies, Michelle Kirschtorte is receptive to Cookie's business offer, but she remains unmoved by Cookie's sickly-sweet commercial persona. Secretly at first, Kirschtorte is deeply cynical about the whole arrangement; she was screwed over by her previous colleagues, and progress on her portal research has been stagnating for some time now because of it. Although she doesn't admit it to Cookie at first, the doctor feels humiliated by the prospect of turning to a baked goods corporation for funding. Michelle ends up accepting the deal under the impression that she is taking advantage of Cookie's deep pockets and naive enthusiasm for unorthodox theoretical baking techniques.

When the cookie-focused research initiatives start yeilding mind-bogglingly impressive results, Kirschtorte reassesses her portal research priorities and her impressions of her oddball benefactor. Cookies are, for some reason, the key to understanding and exploiting the greatest secrets of the universe. Even more impressively, Ms. Cliquer seems intuitively in touch with the logic behind these shocking cookie truths. What other great scientific discoveries could cookie research yeild? How does Cliquer think of this stuff? Why DOES everyone like cookies so damn much? Kirschtorte finds herself irresistably drawn in by these exciting scientific possibilities, as well as the much less sweet and more insatiably driven person she starts getting to know behind Cookie's crowd-pleasing public persona.

Despite a stilted start to their relationship, Cookie and Michelle get along very well once they find even footing. Both are driven to prove themselves through their work, both have been underestimated and cast aside by peers and superiors in the past. Cookie's obsessive drive to make and market infinite perfect cookies matches Michelle's obsessive drive to understand everything there is to know about the nature of the universe; both are deeply passionate about their work and typically striving tirelessly towards the same goal. Both believe that their ends justify their means, and that ethical concerns are a waste of time and a thorn in the side of progress.

Cookie has a knack for PR that Michelle has always lacked the patience for; Michelle understands and appreciates the true, transcendent importance of cookies nearly as much as Cookie does-- Cookie's business partners usually don't care about that part.

Cookie eventually achieves enlightenment and realizes the Secret of the Heavenly Chips, granting her the ability to Ascend. Cookie should be overjoyed at the cosmic knowledge within her grasp; great new possibilities in cookie production await her!

Yet Cookie drags her feet. She keeps finding excuses to stay where she is, keeps setting goals even as her progress slows to a crawl, and reaching those goals in this lifetime seems less and less feasible...

Still, the stress of failure and stagnation chips away at Cookie's resolve to keep dragging out her first iteration. The knowledge of how much she could be doing with the power Ascension would grant her makes Cookie increasingly irritable and bitter about the work which she's made her entire life revolve around.

Kirschtorte is stressed and angry about the slowed progress, too. She is increasingly afraid that age and death will catch up with herself and Cookie before they can discover everything there is to know about reality (and cookies). Michelle is vexed by Cookie's comparative lack of urgency-- or is it a lack of hope for any solution? Cookie has always been the most driven person Michelle's known, yet now Cookie's detatchedness toes the line of seeming resigned to failure. Michelle feels like everything she thought she understood about Cookie is slipping through her fingers, and she feels powerless against the onward march of time (DESPITE having access to time machines!), and she doesn't know how to cope.

The temptation of exponentially greater cookie production and the crushing agony of stagnation eventually outweigh Cookie's sentimental attachment to this particular iteration of her life. Cookie Ascends.

(Michelle lives the rest of her life feeling emptier in Cookie's absence, and never knowing why Cookie vanished.)

1st iteration to reach the Grandmapocalypse:

The first time Michelle Kirschtorte meets Cookie Cliquer, she is offered a slice of Black Forest Cake, her favorite. Somewhat suspicious of the COOKIE Magnate offering her cake, Michelle still can't bring herself to resist. Cookie is clearly delighted.

Kirschtorte doesn't take Cookie seriously at first and Cookie knows it, and finds it funny. Kirschtorte has to be convinced of the omnipresence and significance of cookies thru material evidence. Cookie is more hands-on helping speed along her research, but only ever reveals information in bite-sized pieces on a need-to-know basis. It becomes increasingly clear to Kirschtorte that Cookie somehow knows a lot about the most far-fetched characteristics of cookies before they're scientifically proven...and that Cookie has a suspiciously good intuition for knowing things about Kirschtorte herself.

Cookie is delighted by her extra power and knowledge at first. She's entertained by using her extra experience to tease Kirschtorte. Cookie enjoys getting to spend more time with Michelle, despite how one-sided the relationship is early on. Michelle is drawn to Cookie even more from the get-go, because of her strange intuitive understanding of Michelle herself, as well as Cookie Theory.

During the first Grandmapocalypse, Cookie is overwhelmed and focuses on trying to feel in control rather than seeking help from Kirschtorte. When Dr. Kirschtorte approaches Cookie about it, Michelle is surprised by how stubbornly Cookie refuses to bend even slightly to the wishes of the Grandmatriarchs, no matter how logical and cost-effective that would be. Not fully understood by to Kirschtorte, this is motivated mostly by Cookie's resentment for her own grandmother (who is now a parf of the Grandma collective, of course). Cookie insists that any compliance or appeasement would only lead to Cookie and her company being trapped under the Grandmatriarchs' elderly thumb forever.

Instead, Cookie is dead set on overcoming the Grandmatriarchs' sabotage by outpacing them through brute force. Michelle sees this as a fight she is doomed to lose, but Cookie refuses to consider any alternatives.

Cookie's seemingly pointless uphill battle convinces Michelle that cooperating with the Grandmatriarchs is the only way to keep cookie production and research moving forward at a viable pace (she is objectively correct about this). Michelle wants to trust Cookie's leadership, but the two of them are getting older (this is especially visible on Michelle, who is effected by constant proximity to Cookieverse Portals), and Michelle is beginning to fear they might die before they uncover and exploit all the cookie-based secrets of the universe. After all the work they've done, the thought of not being able to see it through upsets Kirschtorte terribly. The Grandmatriarchs subconsciously whisper things to Michelle which exacerbate these fears-- something Michelle is susceptible to due to her proximity to the Cookieverse Portals.

Eventually, Kirschtorte caves. Against Cookie's wishes-- but in Kirschtorte's mind, for Cookie's sake as well as her own-- Kirschtorte convenes with the Grandmatriarchs anyways by using the Cookieverse Portals. She asks them for knowledge of how to lessen the Grandmatriarchs' wrath, and she asks for them to help her understand the true nature of the universe. In exchange, the Grandmatriarchs' ask Michelle to bond her mind with them just a little (still retaining most of her individuality), and vow that she will continue to proliferate portals to the cookieverse as long as she lives. That seems like an easy promise to Michelle, and it makes sense that they would want this. She already makes portals to the cookieverse all the time, so no big deal. Cookie was probably being stubborn and mistrusting for nothing!

Michelle performs the Elder Pledge ("a simple ritual involving anti-aging cream, cookie batter mixed in the moonlight, and a live chicken"), and the Grandmapocalypse is halted. The Wrinklers and Flesh Highways withdraw and cookie production returns to normal, with the Research Facility's grandma augmentation benefits still at work.

Cookie isn't sure what to make of the sudden withdraw of the Grandmatriarchs, but she has a bad feeling.

The way Michelle's deal works is that Kirschtorte will die normally someday, but then the Grandmatriarchs will carry her consciousness and memories to another iteration of Kirschtorte who asks for the same deal, and their knowledge will be combined into 1 continuous consciousness. This will repeat over and over, with more knowledge added to the collective each time, and each new Kirschtorte never knowing about her past selves or the secrets they've uncovered before she complies with the Grandmatriarchs.

Kirschtorte asks the Grandmatriarchs if they can do the same for Cookie, and is shocked to learn that Cookie was never going to run out of time, and never told her. Was Cookie willing to waste the rest of Kirschtorte's limited lifetime arguing with a grandma hivemind?! Did the work they do together matter so little to her?!!

When Michelle confronts her about it, Cookie learns in turn that Michelle is permanently cosmically bound to the Grandmatriarchs. Cookie feels betrayed, but she mostly blames Grandma-- ignoring Michelle's agency in the situation, thoughtlessly belittling her to keep her on a pedestal.

They continue to have problems in this and future iterations, with Kirschtorte always spending a large portion of their time together unaware of all their past lives until suddenly becoming aware when she inevitably goes against Cookie's wishes and speaks to the Grandmatriarchs. And yet, as much as they both claim to be ruthless utilitarians who put their work above all else, it is always quite obvious how much they admire each other and how badly they always want to be together, even at their worst. With all the time they spend building and destroying and rebuilding a cookie empire over and over again, they come to know and understand each other very intimately. They're both insufferably weird about each other when they both have all their memories.

[eevees-hobbies]

To Yearn is to Worship - NSFW (InsecureFem!Reader x Shoei Barou)

Synopsis: Shoei Barou is #TeamYou and doesn’t mind convincing you of that fact. Literally a fic about his feelings for you and how he tries to get you to see yourself through his eyes. 

Content Warning: InsecureFem!Reader x Shoei Barou. Reader is implied to be curvy and insecure about physical traits. Mention of a blowjob but not in detail, mirror sex, premature female orgasm, cursing. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact.|| Word Count: 1.8K || As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

Banner by me. Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Hard planes, chiseled abs, and thick muscles.

Soft tummy, plush thighs, and plump hips.

You and Shoei are opposites in many ways, but that doesn’t matter to him because he’s also painfully and utterly in love with you. 

The day in which he found himself no longer drowning in the acknowledgment that you made him feel an immense sense of vulnerability–his mind working overtime to grasp that he now wanted to care for something more than himself and soccer–was the day in which he finally let go of his desire for control. He finally gave the old, ‘fuck it’ shrug and let whatever was happening–because at the time he sure as fuck didn’t know–happen.

And when he finally allowed himself to sit in those feelings, he realized he hadn’t actually been drowning. Drowning implies suffocation–something your body tells you to fight because you’re on the brink of experiencing something unpleasant or life-ending. No, he hadn’t actually been drowning at all. Instead, he was being pulled–pulled by a force that was unbudging and, quite frankly, inevitable.

But back to opposites. 

Shoei doesn’t desire a fucking clone. The fuck would the world do with two kings anyway? He needs someone who grounds him while simultaneously calling him out on his bullshit, supports him when he has rare moments of doubt, and gives him that vision-blurring, head-swimming, ‘fuck, I might cum too damn early if you keep sucking me like that, baby girl’ type of head.

And even though he had never experienced those things before, god, he sure became comfortable with them quickly, often sinking into the blissful familiarity of your voice, smile, touch, and simply you.

You, his perfect, sweet girlfriend, are an anomaly to everyone else.

You, who has his usual cold gaze—relegated for the most annoying of pests and stubborn of donkeys—softening. 

You, who has him running straight towards you after a game, jumping over the crowd-control divider and lifting you into his arms to plant a hungry, adrenaline-laced kiss to your lips, asking if you saw that last goal he made because it was all for you. 

You, who has him doting on you as if lifting a finger, would not only be a waste of your time but also an offense to him. Never mind that the man doesn’t believe you should spend any money you make but instead provides you with anything you could ever want and everything you would never think to ask for.

And while the world may know Shoei Barou as bold, blunt, and a rude egoist—to you, he’s a yearner with a taste for you, and only you, with gentle touches laced with invocation and whispered praises that leave no room for argument about how he feels about his girl.

To Shoei, his queen came into his world exactly as you are: perfect. You’re the literal embodiment of everything he’s ever needed; there’s not a damn thing he’d change about you, and he would whisper it like it was a goddamn mantra in your ear if it meant etching it into your brain like the truth he knows it to be, especially during those moments when you’re feeling a bit insecure. 

He has no qualms with letting you know how deeply he worships you, fucking craves you with every fiber of his being.

It doesn’t matter if it’s morning, night, while he’s away playing a match, or even while he’s splitting you open on his cock and fucking you within an inch of your life. 

“Keep your eyes on that pussy when she’s swallowing my cock, baby girl.”

But he needs you to see that, so sometimes, when he’s not getting through to you, he sits you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he faces you toward the full-length mirror in your shared bedroom. 

Your reflection is so often your enemy as it spotlights every piece of you that you wish either didn’t exist or was different, but in Shoei’s lap as his eyes rake over you, smoldering with the kind of love that is unchallenged and all-consuming, you see what he sees. 

His iron-hard cock is nestled between your soft, warm thighs, the head slicken with precum poking through the top of your legs and throbbing incessantly as he presses his lips against your kiss-swollen ones with reverence.

“I love these lips,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, offering a playful nip to your earlobe and then soothing it with a quick lick. 

“Love how they curl into a smile when you say my name or call me your king.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger sliding in just enough to stroke at the bottom row of your teeth.

He shifts under you, strong hands gripping the meat of your thighs and lifting you easily as he guides your drooling cunt onto his cock. 

The heat of you makes him ache, and he revels in it, dragging the head against your slick folds, spreading the essence of you all over his shaft like his own personal bottle of lubricant. 

You're both mesmerized as the tip presses against your snug entrance, meeting some initial resistance because no matter how wet you are, it’s still an effort to take in his girth. But you both find the struggle delicious, eyes glazing over, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as Shoei pushes against your resistant cunt. You aid him like a good girl, wiggling your hips back and forth, love handles jiggling for him with each shimmy as your cunt accepts him with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck, baby girl, such a tight fit for me. Open up for Daddy like a good girl. Thaaaaaat’s it. Suck me in.”

He wastes no time, pistoning his hips upwards from tip to hilt, the mirror shamelessly showing everything–how your clit twitches with the need to feel the pads of his fingers stroking her, how your labia spread obscenely as his cock buries inside of you and how your slick not only coats your inner thighs but his balls, droplets blanketing them with the dew of your arousal.

God, and the way he works you over, it’s with the same studying, dedication and determination that got him to be the best on the field. As an expert of your pleasure, he knows precisely where to drag his cock to make you gasp and moan, the pressure building up to a boiling point almost immediately as he molds your pussy to the shape of his cock. 

And not once does he take his eyes off your face, watching it contort into the type of pleasure only he can provide. You’re writhing on top of him, moaning wantonly and it’s enough to not only make his own cheeks heat up, eyes half-lidded as he groans into your ear but also cause spurts upon spurts of precum to dribble inside your wet heat.

“Shoei! T-too much! I’m going to cum!” You whine; your voice is high-pitched with a mix of desperation, embarrassment, and obvious arousal. Sure, you want to cum, but not this soon, not when you have all night.

“Do it,” he coaxes. “You think I give a fuck if this sweet cunt gushes on me a little fucking early? First of many, baby.”

As white-hot pleasure courses through your brain like an electrical shock to your system, Shoei’s grip on your thighs grows tighter, spreading your legs and baring it all to his hungry gaze and your post-orgasmic blissed-out one, allowing you both to see the way you squeeze around him, trying to siphon every drop of his release you can coax out.

But he’s not there yet; finding pleasure in watching you come undone several times over before he allows him the privilege to join you is something that he takes pride in. His queen always comes first–literally and figuratively. 

“Goddamn, you’re so sexy, baby, so sensitive for me.” All the while, his hips had never stopped moving, only slowing to coast you through your orgasm. Once he feels the fluttering of your pussy subsiding, his thrusts increase in speed again. He grabs your hand, guiding it down to your cunt.

“That’s my girl. Use those pretty fingers and spread her open for your king.” And you obey, using your middle and forefinger to spread your labia like he asked. Shoei licks a long stripe from your jaw to the curve of your cheek, crimson eyes never breaking eye contact with you in the mirror as he claims you while simultaneously challenging you to object, which you never do.

His hands are all over your body, squeezing, mapping, and committing every part of you to memory like the work of art you are. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuckin’ perfect, baby! Look at you. How’d I get so fuckin’ lucky, huh? Ah, ah, don’t look away. Look.” He growls, but there’s no bite to his command, only a plea for you to open your eyes and not shy away from the reflection of the person he would burn the entire world down for. 

“Please?” He whispers in your ear, his voice hitching as he hits a particularly sensitive spot for you both. And with the way he’s asking, how can you not take a chance and look? 

When you finally muster the courage to open your tightly shut eyes, you see yourself through his eyes: the way your hair sticks to your sweat-slicked skin, the way your body is flushed from the exertion, but most importantly, the way you fold so neatly, so perfectly into him. 

There’s beauty in these moments you two create and beauty in the way that you are everything to him. You are his love, his life, his blood, and his soul, and that, among other things, is what Shoei sees.

“That’s my girl.” He groans. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t fuckin’ take it anymore. Gonna cum in this pretty pussy, yeah?”

You watch as his thrusts quicken, his cock pistoning in and out of you in almost a blur, his fingers digging into your thighs so much that you can see the minor indentation marks he’s leaving. Your eye twitches as you feel the unmistakable feeling of another orgasm building up deep at the base of your spine, but fortunately for you, Shoei isn’t too far behind. 

He’s so close, and in the same vein that he’s become an expert of you, you’ve done the same: the way his jaw clenches, his balls tighten, and his words are coming out in a jumbled, garbled mess tells you that he’s about to free-fall off the ledge with you.

Shoei throws his head back; loud, visceral moans rip through his throat as a jet of hot, white cum soaks into your womb. You don’t often see Shoei exhausted, but pouring love into you and doing his damnedest to build you up takes effort that he exerts happily. 

Heavy breathing and whispers of love are shared amongst you both post-coitus. Shoei wastes no time getting you what you need: a washcloth, fruit, a glass of water, cuddles, or more dick if you’re interested.

And it’s moments like this, moments of tender worship by your king, that you feel you’re worthy of yearning for.

@interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network

Huge thanks to @hayatoseyepatch for test reading this for me. My huge crush on you is so valid.

[kathaynesart]

Bit of a random question, but as a teen I'm curious, what would you want to say to kids of today? Any advice?

Hm... every person's life journey is different, but I don't mind giving a few tips based on my personal experiences! If they can help in anyway then I am glad for it!

Ted Talk below the cut.

Life will always change. YOU will change. You may feel stuck or trapped in some aspect of your life right now and are worried that things will never get better. But they do... it will take time, but you will get there so long as you keep moving forward.

Try not to stress too much. All those things that seem like such a big deal right now... most of them will be forgotten within a few years. So it helps when you feel overwhelmed to step back and not let these little (or even big) missteps take control of your life.

No really, go touch grass. I can not express how important it is to disconnect from social media and just be present in the moment. Going out to a cafe or a park to help you unwind and ground yourself. If life allows, try traveling! Even if it's just a road trip. Get out and see and experience different things because those will be the memories that will stick with you!

Change things up. Even if that's just taking a different path to school or trying a different snack. I find that stepping away from the mundane daily schedule helps bring so much more variety to my life and helps me be more present in the moment.

Be flexible. Especially in your goals and expectations. We're expected at such a young age to choose our destination in life, when it's the journey itself that we should be seeking. So while it's great to have goals, do not make them so rigid that you will deem yourself a failure should they not come to pass. Often times it's the things that surprise us in life that help lead us to opportunities we had never even considered.

Your worth does not come from what you produce, or how many milestones you hit, or how much money you make. It is something you give yourself as you relearn time and time again to love yourself.

Your health is important! It is something we often take for granted when we’re younger but it will mean so much as you age. Also should you feel that you’re ever in pain or unwell, speak up. There are so many instances of people coming to greater harm because they only listened to the first doctor who brushed them off. Seek a second opinion. Know that your body is worth proper care!

Just because you have to grow old does not mean you have to "grow up." Those things you loved that sparked joy in you as a kid? Hold onto them or find new ways to instill them into your life. Keep that passion and remember what fun is! Because you will need it just as much when you're older. It is a major ingredient in the spice of life.

Remember, you ARE special. You may not feel like it... but the fact that you exist is such a mind boggling feat in this vast universe of mostly empty space. While that may be difficult to grasp as we are, stuffed in this tiny jewelry box we call Earth, that does not make any one of us any less special in the grand scheme of things. And in this tiny but overflowing box of treasures, there is no gem that is quite like you. You managed against all odds to come into existence. That is AMAZING. Congratulations! Hard part is already done. Now go shine!

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ You’re the one who brought the dawn to my eternal nights. ❞

Ω!reader x α!jeong-hyun | omegaverse AU, fluff, NSFW | sub. bttm. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4k

warnings: graphic description of violence, mentions/descriptions of CA (physical, mental, emotional), mentions of dog attacks, guns, power imbalance, yandere tendencies, mentions of drugs, stalking, mentions of torture

masterlist: how you met (mob yanderes) : pt. 1 (K.JH); pt. 2 (K, JH); pt.3 (K. JH)

authors note: @xuxitheii come get your meal "...(Y/N) could be a performer/singer at a gentleman's club..." *song on repeat: Gangsta by Kehlani (spec. the flashback version)

* YN is described as wearing more fem. clothing as he performs

He doesn't understand why he is the way he is. If Jeong-Hyun could voice his thoughts in a more concise manner, he would tell others that though the life he leads, with death awaiting at every corner, was perfect for him — he wishes he could do anything else other than this.

That, although, he is a violent man he only ever uses it as a necessity; a reaction, a defense.

A dog does not bite for no reason.

But he is not a dog.

He is a man.

Seo-Yun tells him this with such a kind smile, his heart hammers out of his chest each time she does. Jeong-Hyun doesn't understand why it does that.

When he was a child, he'd been thrown into the dog fighting rings as the opener. The new top dog would snarl at him, foam at the mouth as it barked while he cowered into a corner that did not exist. The men and women who cheered from above him, around him, disorientating as his pumping veins all but thundered with each beat of his heart.

The lights, the announcer yelling into the microphone, the beer cans thrown into the ring to push him out into the centre — and if that didn't work, the electric cow prods they'd jab at him from every side until he leapt into the rabid dogs maw.

That would get his heart racing the same way.

That visceral fear. It was a familiar emotion for Jeong-Hyun. Fear was a friend, a constant, the tremors in his hands, the clenching of his jaws, the scars on the insides of his cheeks.

Seo-Yun's kindness brings him fear and he does not understand but he cannot say this out loud.

Why? He doesn't know.

But when fear is not a constant, other emotions tentatively make way to the top. These, comes with wants rather than needs. Jeong-Hyun finds himself wanting things outside of needing to survive a fight, or of stomaching down the gruel he was given once a week.

Now that he can breathe, he can want and Jeong-Hyun is floored by this.

Seo-Yun provides whatever he wishes. A landed house with an open concept interior, soft clothes for when he is home, things he'd need for the pack of strays he adopted. When he is hurt, she hires the best doctors who stick needles into his inner elbows and with each lazy drop of the thick liquid it makes Jeong-Hyun’s nerves cool into beautiful numbness.

The money he gets doesn’t exactly hinder his wanting either. He can simply flash some of the notes and suddenly everyone bends over backwards.

Everything seems more feasible and within his grasp. His dream of simply surviving now a mishappen...blob.

A blob that has no shape. No colour. No ideals. No goals. He simply fulfils his sister's wishes because he loves her and can clearly see her dream in its vivid colours.

Then, as if the world had finally listened to his incomprehensible thoughts, you came into his life.

It was night time  — most of Jeong-Hyun's activities is when the sky is dark  — and he'd been accompanying his sister in her discussions with some drug lord.

Swaying favours, swapping fielty, trading a few secrets and cash for more access.

The usual business.

Jeong-Hyun hated the entrance of it. The narrow pathway between two buildings, climbing down the stairs into an even tighter foyer, before being let in. Even then, the tightness does not dissipate.

This gentleman's club — with it's heavy red drapery along the walls that reek of cigar and artificial fruit flavoured smoke — and the yellow and dim lighting that was meant to be moody...

He saw it as nothing more than headache inducing nuisances.

Secrecy was a must considering what goes on beyond these doors.

Gambling, prostitution, drugs, money laundering — the whole nine yards.

But fuck, couldn't they afford a bigger spot?

Seo-Yun glanced his way, then to his curled fingers and white knuckles. They meet their gazes. He offers a grimace, his left eye twitching just slightly, and shakes his head. Being uncomfortable was the norm for him before Seo-Yun. He can perserver. There was nothing here that he wasn’t used to.

The girls here knew better than to lay hands on him.

Or perhaps they were too frightened with how intimidating he was. With his broad shoulders and imposing height, his good eye shining in the low light; he wasn’t shy about flooding his space with his scent either.

Jeong-Hyun didn’t give a shit if it was unseemly or ungentlemanly. If it got the message across that he wasn’t someone you shoved around — he didn’t care if it made noses curl or cheeks turn red.

The girls, however, crowded his sister.

Her scent was more muted despite the core of it being alpha-like. A musk that all alpha’s equally shared as a base note. She grinned, using her tall frame to make them coo as they hung onto her arms.

She’d always been so nice to the whores. Jeong-Hyun rolled his eyes, air escaping through his nose as Seo-Yun tucked some hair behind one of their ears, purposefully ghosting her wrist along their jaw. Their brain basically exploded, pupils growing so wide it made Jeong-Hyun think of a rat’s shimmering eyeballs.

Seo-Yun gives them a lipless, yet coy, curl of her lips. No teeth in sight, demure in their presence. It helps that they're familiar with her cues. Afterall, this was not their first time visiting this establishment.

But tonight was different. Because, once again, this was the night everything changed for him.

They were seated in the VIP area, tucked in a cove to ensure privacy whilst still having a clear unblocked view of the stage. The curtains lifted just as they sat down, Jeong-Hyun spreading his legs as a clear sign of impoliteness. His gun holster peeks from his leather jacket.

There’s the strum of a bass guitar. The echoing twang making him unclench his jaw as he turns his head to face the stage.

You were a sight he’d never seen, and he’d seen plenty.

Gaping bullet holes. Guts spilling with billowing steam as insides meet the outside. Ears and fingers torn apart. Heads splattered open on the concrete. Brain matter swirling down the concrete of a butcher shop.

All that horror dissipates into smoke.

You were dressed like an angel. An angel for gangsters like himself, anyways. No snowy white wings and cherub rosy-dusted cheeks and tight blonde curls.

Instead, you had elbow-high gloves that were beaded with pearls around the seam. The flesh of your thigh has a tantalizing shimmery hue of your skin tone, twinkling faintly as you swayed your hips and shimmied your fur-covered shoulders.

Did you know you pout every time you sing into the microphone? Nothing majorly obvious, but he was enchanted by the colour of your gloss and how soft your lips looked.

He noticed.

He remembers hearing your voice lift every time you smile as you sing. How adorable the crease between your eyebrows was as you crooned to the audience.

When you started to walk off the stage, he had to stop himself from snarling as the alphas in the crowd began cheering and whooping. Seo-Yun’s hand on his nape makes him damn near short circuit.

She’s staring at him with her brows furrowed. It’s his scent. That sharp, spicy, scent of a displeased alpha — he’d been seething so much the girls were cowering next to his sister.

Jeong-Hyun was an uncaring asshole but not a heartless one. He offers a grimace as an apology, uncurling his fists and turning his head around again only to be met with the sight of your gloved hand.

You’re singing. He can lip-read you from how close you are, and he can feel how warm you actually are — from the stage lights most likely. But most importantly, Jeong-Hyun can smell you.

That haunting smell of rare flowers blooming under the moonlight, hidden in their own utopia away from mankind. You smile at him, sweet and coy and insincere. This was just a transaction to you after all.

He brings his knees closer together, the bump of his throat bobs. You rest your hand on the collar of his jacket, leaning down and whispering the lyrics the song into his ear/microphone.

You're new to this place.

None of the other 'entertainers' dared to place hands on Jeong-Hyun. He wasn't fond of strangers invading his space, despised it really, and he had no problems letting it show. Yet, as though under a spell, he does nothing as you brush a hand to his chest.

Your voice echoing sin, your breath causing his mishappen ear to redden as his sullen skin flushes. When you pull back, he expects to see at least a smidge of disgust.

He wouldn't fault you for it. His years growing up inside of a dog fighting ring had not left him looking pretty  — his teeth were exposed on the left side of his face. Skin ripped off after a particularly rough day with an adrenaline-pumped mutt. His left eye was milky, perpetually tugged back from the scarring, there'd also been the pinkish scar across his neck. That'd been man-made, and you had probably felt the way it dipped and caved like a canyon across his skin.

The reason he wears gloves was because of the other scars too. Chunks of flesh missing, divots, messily stapled fingers.

Jeong-Hyun was a beast. He expects to be treated like one.

You smile at him. Lips parting to show just a sly of teeth, curled lashes making the stars in your eyes shine brighter as you peer down at him. There's just the slightest wisps of steam coming off your skin from the stage light behind you, but you seem completely unbothered by this.

His pupil constrict into slits when he feels your gloved hand trace upwards, grasping onto your wrist so harshly he sees your brows twinge in pain. Yet, you continue to sing. His grip doesn't loosen, keeping you awkwardly in place.

The show must go on.

He's held your wrist away from his neck, but your fingers stretch and his shock is written across his grotesque face. They stroke faintly on the underside of his chin  — a brush, a featherlight touch.

You use his shock to your advantage. As his grip falters, you swiftly slip your hand away and turn your back to him.

"Are you alright?" Seo-Yun speaks from his side. Watching him as he stares at you climbing back on stage, the left side of his face was harder to read. But she can tell he's clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring.

But he wasn't angry. Not the slightest bit.

It was no surprise Jeong-Hyun missed a few important milestones due to his childhood. Of course, Seo-Yun had hired the best doctors to rectify that and for the most part, he's been acclimating just nicely. But complicated emotions always escapes him. Instincts often wins over for Jeong-Hyun.

You were the first person in his life that had made him feel no fear  — you made him feel unabashed desire.

Ideally, you'd prefer to perform in a proper bar. One with less shady figures. Where the men with tattoos aren't so shameless in showing off the knife sheaths near their waist. But it's tough to be a singer in this day and age. Bills, bills and more bills.

Not to mention loan sharks.

You don't understand why fate had decided to put you through these battles  — to make your father pass and graciously leaving you with nothing but his debts. It royally pissed you off. People tell you to not speak ill of the dead, but fuck him.

You hadn't been rolling in dough before he decided to drop dead but you'd been fine. Living in a small, closet-like, apartment near your college; working part-time here and there and then busking at night. Life hadn't been easy but it'd been simple.

Now? You were here in a room full of the scum of the Earth. You didn't even want to imagine what they do for a living. You were just grateful that you'd been hired here  — the pay was enough to keep the loan sharks from banging onto your poor door and splashing red paint all over your entrance. You had to drop out but you can always continue once you survive this.

Because that's all that matters now. Surviving.

So even if you're pulled into the lap of some gangsters lap or have your nape be grabbed at as you sing and twirl around the room in a true Jessica Rabbit-esque fashion, you endure.

Because you'd rather be groped than be dead.

You deserved to be alive, goddammit.

At least you weren't like the other omegas 'entertainers' in the room. You didn't think yourself as above them, not at all, but you were grateful your shady contract didn't mention any backroom work.

Tonight, like most nights, began with the curtains raising to reveal you. The  — in all the ways that count  — untouchable omega in his sparkling outfit of feathers and velvet. You sing and dance, walk down the stage to the wolf-whistles of many, and make your way through the room.

A few familiar faces stick out. The man with the lip scar grips your waist as you walk past and you look at him from over your shoulder, pretending to be delighted at the sight of him uncrossing his legs to show the tent in his pants.

Pig.

Then, there, at the more VIP tables. A woman in a red dress, surrounded by other omegas all fawning over her. Next to her, an imposing figure.

His profile was so beautiful. His nose had a subtle curve, the tip more round than sharp, and his strong brows complimenting the deep-high crease of his double eyelid. Such a strong jaw, inky black hair tousled but in the way that makes him look like a boy rather than a gangster.

With his legs spread, and his broad shoulders. His gloved hands crossed over his chest. You place yourself between his knees and when he turns you're momentarily caught off guard.

Holy. Fuck.

You'd seen scars before. Missing fingers, milky eyes, nicked lips, tattoos having a streak of pink flesh forever ruining it. This guy must've royally pissed someone off to have his fucked up like that. Despite that, as his good eye processes you're in front of him, he clams up like a shy school girl.

No slimy smirk, no rough hands gripping at your ass, no flare of scent. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his mouth gapes. When you touch him, he stiffens just slightly, but he keeps his hands to himself. Behind you, the bassist's fingers stutter, missing his rhythm for a split second before smoothly recovering.

Leaning in, you continue to sing right into his good ear, feeling the scars on his chest through the thin shirt. Which gives your nimble fingers to the chance to feel the leather straps he had and your eyes widen.

Fuck, he must be some sort of legend here, huh? Sitting in VIP, having a fucking gun on him.

You glance at the woman behind him and you suck in a quick breath as she narrows her eyes at you. The girls around her all shoot you concerned expressions, lips pursing as they ping-pong between you and the scarred man beneath you.

Oh, shit. Were they together or something?

You pull away, attempting to keep your heart calm as you continue to play off this entire act as smoothly as you can. Lifting your hand upwards, just to tease his Adam's apple and then turn away.

But the second your hand is past his collarbones, he reacts. His grip is deadly. Your bones wheeze under the pressure and the leather gloves he wears creak along with it.

Be calm, you tell yourself. He can't shoot you in the middle of a show in front of everyone...can he?

Cold sweat beads down the back of your neck. Still, you keep your composure.

The show must go on.

He looks at your face and falters, so you offer his chin a quick brush as thanks before you swiftly turn to walk away. Your heart racing in your chest. The stage, the stage is safe.

Not if he decides to shoot you from there, you think solemnly. You shoot him another glance, and your gazes clash together. His hands are on his lap, gripping his knees instead. Far away from his gun.

You're safe.

You're safe.

You're safe.

The curtains close and you close your eyes, placing a hand over your chest as you grip onto the microphone stand. A hand grabs at your shoulder and you barely suppress the yelp when it spins you around. It's the bassist, a tall lanky alpha with his wavy hair always neatly slicked back. The entire band is standing, making their way to you with concern so evident between the crease in their brows.

"Are you fucking stupid?"

Instantly, their concern makes you annoyed. You smack his hand away and frown. You put the microphone back in its place and take out your in-ear, sighing tiredly as you walk past them.

"No, I'm not stupid, hyung." He chases after you behind stage, his bass still slung across his neck.

"Then you must be suicidal! Do you know who the hell you just groped?" Your shoulders raise and your cheeks warm. You turn to glare at him, tugging away that stupid feathered boa and scowling.

"I didn't fucking grope anyone! Shit, what's the big fucking deal? I didn't know he had a girlfriend, or wife, or madam, okay?" He shakes his head and takes steps towards you, hands raise as he emphasizes his shock.

"That's Kim Jeong-Hyun. Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun. And the woman behind him? That's his sister, Kim Seo-Yun."

"Ha-Joon-hyung, there's a million fucking Kim's in this country. Gangsters don't have a gangster-pedia, I don't know who they are, nor do I care," you say exasperatedly. Ha-Joon's hands flap around wildly for a moment as he stutters, trying his hardest it seemed to not just grab your shoulders and shake you around.

"Hyung, I'm really tired  — " you turn " — and I'm not interested in knowing who they are. I'll just avoid them next time, okay? I've got an early shift tomorrow, see you."

Ha-Joon's hands drop to his side as he stares at you walking away.

"...He's fucking crazy...that kid is fucking crazy..."

A week or so after that, your life continues as normal. Your legal part-time job had been uneventful. Not much customers, and the few that were there had been polite. You hope your shady part-time job was as mundane. Arriving through the back of a seafood restaurant, you greet the dishwasher who'd been smoking as he crouched under a flickering light.

"Hey, got any leftovers from tonight?" he nods, offering you a smile as he stands. "Got some packed away for you already, left it in your room."

You beam up at him, thanking him and slipping under his arm when he opens the door for you. The restaurant was winding down, cleaning up and preparing the drunkards that'll meander in. You greet a few familiar faces, expertly getting out of their way until you finally reach the door that leads you underground.

Your room was tiny. A vanity squeezed in with one flimsy rack of clothes and a poorly ventilated bathroom. You find your dinner awaiting you and eagerly sit down to feast. But then something catches your eye.

Flowers were normal. Not wanted but easy to get rid off.

These were not flowers. You stared at the box for a moment. Chocolates? No. It's a wide box. A lot of chocolates? Sighing, you reach over and stare at the unfamiliar logo on the box, picking up the note it came with.

Keep u safe - K. JH

You blink a few times as you stare at the messy handwriting. When you look at the box again, you are torn between feeling relief that you hadn't pissed him off and feeling a bit scared that you'd apparently caught his eye. When opened, the box reveals a fucking knife. Not an ordinary kitchen knife either. It was a proper fucking knife — for hunting. Animals and people. The blade was shining under the bulbs of your vanity; the handle rough and hefty and dark. You drop the lid, taking a step back only to stiffen as a familiar voice speaks from behind you.

"Fucking weirdo, right?"

"Boss!" You turn and bow at the waist, he regards you with a smile and nod. You straighten up and turn your attention to the fucking knife on your desk sitting all pretty and safe. Next to it seemed to be its sheath, along with some sort of straps.

He bought you the whole fucking set?

"What kind of alpha gifts an omega a fucking knife? Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun, that ugly bastard," he enters the already too small room and you bump into the clothing rack to give him room. He lifts the knife and whistles, eyeing the sharp edge.

"...Do you wanna take it?" you wonder as you watch his face from the mirror. He cringes, tilting his head and hissing through his teeth as he uses the mirror to glance your way too. "And lose my fucking hand? Hell no. If any of his sisters men sees me with this? I'm as good as dead."

He slips the knife into its sheath, carefully putting it back in the box then kicking the fallen lid to your feet. He notices your dinner and picks up the plastic bowl, taking the lid off and taking a sniff. He leans on the table and shamelessly grabs the plastic spoon in the plastic to take a bite.

"I forgot to tell you not to get in their way, my mistake. I thought with a face that ugly you'd be too scared to get close anyways." He speaks through mouthfuls of rice. You lose your appetite.

"Who is he, sir?" you shifted your weight from one foot to another. He chews, swallowing thickly then answers.

"His sisters monster. Her hellhound. Nobody has any idea what hole those two freaks crawled out of, but they've been killing entire fucking gangs in the 3 years they're here. Entire bloodlines." He points the spoon your way, splashing some soup your way and you flinch as some rice sticks to your cheek. You frown, he ignores it.

"3 years, fucking insane! Burning down buildings, painting entire towns red until the leader puts his head on the floor and submits. Fucking brats, she doesn’t even use honorifics when speaking to me. That bitch."

Okay, perhaps you should have listened to Ha-Joon.

"You know I heard that once he cut off someone's arms and legs and left them crawling on the ground? Sicked his dogs on them. Heard that poor bastard's dick got torn off by some German Shepherd."

Your appetite was officially gone and your face was surely a shade of green now. He glances at the box again, shaking his head as he takes another hefty bite of your dinner.

"He give a note or something?" You squeeze the card in your hand and slip it behind you. He scoffs as you shake your head. "Yeah, thought so. 'pparently he's dimwitted. Just stay away from him next time, yeah? Hurts my heart just thinkin' of your pretty face getting ripped apart."

He pats your shoulders as he walks out. Well, there goes your dinner. For a moment, you take a moment to process what you’d been told before you reread the note in your hand.

Keep u safe — K.JH

After that night, like some ironic joke, you haven't felt safe. You feel followed. Everywhere you went, you were certain someone was there to watch. In the beginning, when the hairs on your neck prickled in the middle of your part-time job of serving people food, you thought that it was just paranoia. But then, then, you start seeing them.

Men in black caps and face masks. Women with their phone camera always tilted your way. Just in your peripheral, always avoiding your gaze and smoothly slipping away when they know that you know.

That knife was still in its box, you refused to use it. Keeping it under your bed out of all places. But lately, you swear all you can think about when you're at home is how its just right there.

Keep u safe.

Did he know something you didn't? Was he actually just trying to give you a fighting chance against these pro-stalkers? Or were you losing your goddamn mind and the stress was getting to you?

A month of this and you were already contemplating carrying a weapon that'd just get you in more trouble. What did you know about handling a knife like that?

You were scared of nicking your knuckles whenever you were cooking. Did he think you would just magically understand how self-defense worked?

You knocked on Ha-Joon's door. He's been expecting you so he opens with no trepidation. You had a backpack and a duffel bag, greeting him politely and he allows you inside his home. It's nothing grand but he had a guest bedroom and he pitied you enough.

"Thanks, hyung" he shuts the door behind you and sighs. "Don't mention it."

He was a scaredy cat but he couldn't let you keep this up. You'd been sleeping in the room backstage, putting on more concealer and constantly gazing off into nothingness. One of the band members had offered you cocaine and the second he saw you even contemplating it he knew you were at your wits end.

It's one thing to keep gangsters entertained, it's another to be dirtying your hands with the same filth.

He leads you to your room, hoping that sleeping under the same roof as another person would give your anxieties some reprieve.

You place your things down and sit at the edge of the bed, swaying a bit and he bids you goodnight for now.

When the curtains raise, he's there. Right there. In front of you, looking up at you. His sister was nowhere in sight. Instead, there's a pack of men and women behind of him. They're not even looking at you, they have other omegas or betas hanging off their arms and seem intent on keeping their gaze away from you.

He's staring at you. Tilting his head slowly, the left side of his face kept hidden in the shadows and you try to keep your heart calm but when he looks at you like that — like he wants to swallow you whole.

The lyrics slip your mind, so you play it off by glancing at the band instead and moving your body to the beat.

Breathe, you remind yourself. You're fine, you're okay, you're safe.

The flash of gore erupting behind your eyelids with every blink was not helping. Your imagination runs wild, conjuring the image of a human torso wriggling desperately on the ground as dogs viciously ripped into him as he screamed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling sharply as you shakily bring the microphone to your lips. Don't tremble, don't let your voice waver. The boss was going to cut your pay if you fuck up.

When you turn to face the crowd again, Jeong-Hyun isn't looking at you anymore. He's signing to the man closest to him, his movements short and concise. The man, who wore sunglasses, nods and then stands. He disappears into the crowd.

You slip down from the stage, as per your routine, and feel instantly trapped. The pack of his men were like maze walls, cold and uninterested. When you approached, they curl their lips in a quick huff, turning their head away and your hand hangs in the air dejectedly. The prize at the end of the maze was obvious. He was waiting for you, looking at you from over his shoulder as you feebly attempted to find someone else anyways.

It was beginning to look pathetic. Every time you did attempt to head over to the leering alphas in the back, you found long legs blocking your way.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You put a smile on your face and float to his side. He doesn't smile, doesn't leer, he fucking blushes. Your brows twitch but you place a hand on his shoulder and move to sit on his lap. He instantly moves to keep you steady, hand floating away from your waist and you wonder if the stalkers were truly his doing.

What kind of mobster is he? Surely a 'hellhound' would be more vicious in their pursuit. You press your chest to his shoulder, curling one hand behind him and brushing his untainted skin. He faces you and his eye was glimmering like molten gold.

When you brush under his jaw — being wary of his neck — he lashes tremble. His gaze softening at once. You experimentally cup his cheek, and he all at once leans into your hold; like a puppy.

You're stunned.

Keep u safe.

There's no way these strange men and women were because of him. It's not like he's the first person to send you gifts — although he is the first person to send you a fucking knife as a gift — and you do interact with dangerous people nightly. Perhaps he really did mean well. In his own weird way. You continue to sing on his lap and he looks up at you like you're the moon.

Monster? Him?

Perhaps the sleep deprivation and working yourself to your bones is starting to cloud your judgement but you reach behind and guide his hand closer.

He can feel it. The shape of the sheath and hilt, just under the slit of your long-dress. Not an ideal place, it’s too high. If you attempted to use it, the fur coat you wore would get in the way and you'd be wasting precious seconds. He flicks his gaze to your thighs and you can feel his gloved hands lift your dress. You squeeze your thighs, eyes widening in alarm but that deadly grip keeps you still.

He pulls the dress up and slips it over your unarmed thigh. The fur coat you wore is keeping it all concealed, so he slips his finger underneath the top band around your thigh.

Too fucking tight, Jesus Christ.

He tugs and your thighs jerk. He fixes it one-handed, seamlessly loosening it and tightening it just right. Your leg tingles in relief. The lower band is still the same, so he loosens it and tenderly strokes the hexagonal pattern that pressed into your skin. Then he fixes the knife, pulls it down so the hilt won't get stuck and just as you finish your song he slips the dress back in place and his hands float away.

When you stand, his eyes flutters close when you brush your wrist across his cheek; he takes a deep inhale and stares at you. If he could, he’d put your scent in a bottle. To savour forever. That mountain peak, that valley of rare flowers — his and only his.

Jeong-Hyun stares up at you. Honey and milk-coloured eyes glowing like the moon.

There's flowers waiting in your room this time. Dark red flowers, an unusual bouquet of exotic flowers. You shut the door behind you and inspect them, noting the card slipped between the petals.

Pretty like u — K. JH

This was a significant improvement from the knife. Your thighs prickle at the memory of his touch and you shake your head. Sitting down, you lean in to take a whiff and the blend of scents makes your ears warm. That base, a woody blend of oak and ash; a constant burning ember.

It smells like Jeong-Hyun. Kim fucking Jeong-Hyun.

He was strange. From his scribbly handwriting to his muted self; the scars on his face and body; the bashfulness he exhibits; the attentiveness he provides you with.

Those big hands adjusting the gift he gave you. Silent, admiring, courteous.

You place your arms on the desk and melt onto it, brows furrowed.

There’s no way you would ever catch yourself falling for him. You weren’t jetting to be some helpless omega ensnared in some mob romance. This wasn’t going to happen. You could imagine fucking him or being sweet with him, but could that actually happen?

You’ve had enough with loan sharks and now weird stalkers.

You just wanted to survive.

Shutting your eyes, you hide your face in your arms.

Just survive.

Everything will die down soon enough. Still, as you move to remove your coat and undress yourself — the sight of the knife holstered to your thigh as you stand naked in the mirror, it stirs something in your hindbrain. Your inner-omega, that stupid little shit, was incredibly pleased. Goosebumps spread as you remember his touch and you inch closer to the mirror.

You slip a finger under the strap and shudder. The flowers scent had permeated through the tiny room and you feel like he’s here. All over you. Close enough to feel how he burns.

Bowing your head, you curse under your breath. Slick was beginning to appear and you can’t risk stinking up this room. It’s a stupid risk and you aren’t fucking stupid. Not a damsel omega in distress.

Your stomach howling in hunger distracts you enough. Reaching for your casual wear, you hurriedly dress and shove the knife into your backpack. You glance over at the flowers as you open the door.

“...Fuck.”

The bouquet box is small enough to fit under your arm but not small enough to be inconspicuous. So you don’t flinch when the guy who guards the backdoor of the restaurant asks if you need him to dispose of it.

“Nah, these are way too nice!” you chirp out. At this, he pauses and raises his thick brow. Flustered, you bid him goodbye and rush to Ha-Joon’s idling car.

Pretty or not, you know how people would see it. An omega accepting an alphas gifts, twice now, was an obvious sign that the courting was being accepted. Ha-Joon’s displeasure at the sight of flowers was so obvious you send him a pleasing look he disregards.

“You’re really losing your head...”

“I’ll throw ‘em out! But not here, okay? What if he sees I do and he turns me into a human stick?” Ha-Joon’s face turns white and he mutters that you have an active imagination. But your lame reasoning has him reluctantly nodding so you count it as a win.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of that bouquet under your arm had already made Jeong-Hyun’s heart flutter. He watches as Ha-Joon’s car drives off, hidden in the shadows as he takes special notice of his license plate.

You were accepting his gifts. His knife and his flowers. Jeong-Hyun felt his lips twitching and he pushed himself off the rough walls to continue keeping his eyes on the car. A lightness in his step that dissipates as he takes notice of an unnerving sight. The headlights of a car in the alleyway across from him.

Rationale should tell him this was most likely just a coincidence but his instincts bare its teeth. The car pulls out and goes along the same road that Ha-Joon’s had. He huffs through his nose, brows furrowed.

Trouble.

Jeong-Hyun’s knuckles whiten as he imprints the car's license plate to his memory.

Danger.

When it escapes from his sight, he turns sharply on his heel and makes his way to his own car. He gets inside, grinding his teeth together as he fishes his phone out from his jacket.

Keep u safe.

[mayullla]

Title: Princess rescued by the hero

Character(s): Hero (Named character/original work)

Summary: A Hero arrived to save you yet you could not help but fear him more than the villain.

Tags/Warnings: Princess!reader, male!yandere, general yandere themes, implied manipulation, drabble: 680 words

It was a classic tale of a princess, a hero, and a villain. The princess was taken away from her home and family by the villain, only to be trapped within an old and dusty castle, and later saved by a hero.

You thought that they were just stories, nothing more.

Your captor was a man who knew how to use both dark magic and the sword. His subordinates were monsters and shadows that he created to rule over the kingdoms and nations. You wondered what you had done to catch the eyes of such a man, but in the end, there was always a hero.

Someone who would save you from the grasp of the wicked man…

"Thank you for saving me." It was hard for you to breathe as you stood in front of the ruined halls of the old castle and stared at the hero's face. The man who saved you placed a hand on his chest as he got down on one knee along with his team. You couldn't see his face as he looked down, bowing at you in a respectful manner. "You are now safe, princess."

Maybe it was best that you didn't see his face, you thought to yourself as you looked at the hero and his group.

You were still conscious of what happened in the fight. Your hands shivered at the thought when the dark lord turned into a dragon to kill the hero’s group, only to die at the hands of the hero who stabbed his sword into the monster’s chest.

You looked to your side to see the dead dark lord who took you away from your home, or what was left of him. He had turned into nothing but a burnt corpse consumed by the flames that he made.

The fight was still fresh in your mind, the spells that were cast on both sides from the dark lord himself and a wizard from the hero's group. Arrows flew at both sides in such a small space, and the crashes of swords still rang in your ears.

"What is your name? I need to know the hero who saved me." You spoke, holding on to whatever little pride you had. Holding yourself back from stuttering after everything you have gone through till now.

"My name is Vale," he said, his head still down. You didn't want to see his face. You were grateful truly that you were saved, and able to return home, but you could not help but become suspicious of the hero.

The hero who saved you was someone you feared.

"Thank you, Sir Vale, for killing the dark lord and saving me from him," you said as you lowered yourself down to take the man's hand, telling him to stand up and asking him if he was okay. “I will not forget you and your group's sacrifices.”

You didn't have any pity for the dark lord, for he was the one who destroyed homes and killed many. You weren't sympathetic to his death. But the moment when the hero stabbed the dark lord in the chest, the determined look on his face held something else.

You avoided the hero's eyes. Avoided looking at the blood splatter on his clothes. You could not help but wonder if there was something that you didn't know here. His eyes held a certain kind of insanity within them. The overconfidence of knowing that he would win as if this whole scenario was staged from the start.

A stage that was to reach a goal.

And you knew that this had something to do with you. When your eyes met his, you were sure of it as he held your hand tightly, warning but also clinging. The love in his eyes was crazed as he looked at you with so much passion. You were familiar with those eyes of his even before he became a hero, and tried to avoid him. Was he the one who created this stage, you wondered by yourself.

You were a fool, as you have placed yourself right on his hand.