#the red ones were more imposing somehow

[comfortless]

Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other #tw: dubcon

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

#mine #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost fluff #hurt/comfort #cod fluff

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown (Pt. 9)

Cover by @pinkiemme ✨

King! Miguel O'Hara x Princess! Reader

Warnings: Violence, implicit manslaughter, mild angst, Dark! Miguel, scheming, character introduction, emotional distress.

Summary: Miguel's time runs short to get you back. A new ally is brought in the game.

"Peter."

Jessica mumbled, concerned at her fellow commander's bewildered expression.

"He... He killed her?"

"Yes. Now we're instructed to wipe the D'Angelo family."

Jessica's words sat like a brick in his  stomach. Peter wasn't one to reminisce in the past, but knew that when Miguel, no, The Red King, showed up, only bloodshed satisfied the voracious appetite. Sometimes not even that.

The ever reminder of his friend's past, a nature that always caught up to him.

"He mentioned that he'd do it himself. I thought he was lying."

"Is Miguel we're talking about, Pete." Jessica secured her greaves and armor, ready for the upcoming bloodshed. "I just hope he gets to calm down before he hurts the Princess even further. What happened anyways? I saw Dana."

"She arranged a meeting. Guess she spilled it all to the princess."

Jessica sighed, rubbing her temples, "Although Dana's gone, the damage is done. Keep an eye on her and let me know as soon as Baron Darko shows up."

"Right..."

"And if possible... Keep the princess away from him. We don't know his reaction if she rejects him again."

Peter just nodded, letting a dreadful sigh.

----

With every step he gave, the more his preys recoiled. There was no room for them to escape as The Red King had blocked every escape route, and the ones that somehow managed to scurry from his blazing fury, ended up in the hands of his soldiers.

Screams and terror filled the D'Angelo Villa when the reaper showed up, in the shape of the King himself, mercilessly swinging his swords at whatever thing that moved.

The Red King took matters on his own, he wouldn't deny himself the right to end up the lives of those that reminded him of the woman that threw everything out the window, out of spite and jealousy.

With every swing of his twin swords, the anger that boiled inside, sung in delight. With every droplet of blood that soaked his body, his eyes seemed to twinkle in utter joy.

His task was clear. To wipe the D'Angelo's. It didn't matter if the house the bloodshed was happening was one of the first gifts he gave to Dana. It would burn too.

Jessica wielded her sword, sticking to only deliver the final blow if they survived the king's ruthless anger. But poor of Baroness Carla, Dana's mother.

Her pleas were ignored as Miguel dragged her by her hair to the chimney.

"Your majesty!" She pleaded and struggled  "I beg of you, stop this madness!"

She hiccuped as Miguel let her hair go

"You seem to have forgotten your place, Carla."

"I haven't! This is..." She panted and kneeled before him, begging, "Please.  Spare me. You won't hear from me again!"

"You're right. I won't. Cause I'll make sure of it."

"W-What?"

Carla's eyes could only widen at his next words.

"You'll burn. With this place."

Her head shook, just like the bird's nest she had for a hair.

"No!"

The rest of his soldiers had been dousing the villa with flammable oil, the same kind that were used in the machineries back in the main cities of Arachne.

Glass shattered, and soon smoke begun filling the upper floors, fire consuming everything in it's wake. Temperature rising and fogging up the second part of the stairs.

"Miguel, I beg of you!"

He only quirked a brow, while his eyes remained in a deadpan.

"Cállate de una puta vez. Me tienes harto." (Shut the fuck up already. I'm sick of you)

Miguel took a lamp and doused the oil around Carla that backed away as soon as the liquid reached the hems of her skirt, without much thought he clashed his swords together, causing some sparks to bounce off and bringing to life a roaring fire.

Carla screamed, trying to put the flames away. The last thing she could see was a tall and imposing shadow, glowering with red eyes her way.

But if she was to die, he'd hear her. Even if it that meant to rush her death thanks to the rising smoke up her lungs.

"You'll pay with everything you love the most! You hear me!?" She shouted with the little strength she had. "You'll pay!"

The Red King's eyes crinkled in amusement, but instead of talking, he just turned on his heels, leaving the fire to devour everything in its wake.

The door was slammed, his red eyes roared in tandem with the fire around him. Like a true demon spat right out of the deepest corner of Hell.

"Keep the fire under control. Once done, search the area."

"What about Baron Darko?"

"Let him witness his failure, and deliver him Dana's ashes once he has done so."

His soulless stare contemplated for a bit more the fire that roared alive in mighty and loud cracks as it consumed the succumbing structure. Erasing all traces of a once noble home he took under his wing.

In truth, he never really cared about Dana's family. He had initially just wanted her, but her generous soul and body had gotten her family the very same Villa that now scorched at his feet. Carla's screams echoed weakly until they were no more.

There was nothing that bound him to the past, as it burned into nothing but ash and soot.

Yet, he felt empty. And he hated it.

Despite him getting rid of the now unnecessary evil, it felt like a tremendous pyrrhic victory. It didn't satisfied him.

"Your majesty." Jessica spoke, kneeling beside him, "All the family members were slaughtered. Dana's ashes soon will be ready."

"Do you think she'd fear me?"

Jessica looked at him as she rose, surprised by his sudden question and took a sigh. She needed to be careful with her words, he hated getting sugarcoated after all.

She could only muster a "Probably."

"I need to see the princess."

"And you think seeing her after a fresh kill is a good idea, because?"

His eyes glowered at her, Jessica looked away.

"As you wish."

---

Call it good or bad luck, but you weren't in your room. His nose flared angrily and his lips scowled upon not finding you inside.

He needed to see you, to show you what he had done to try and compensate the damage he had caused you indirectly. He needed you to witness what happened when someone tried to hurt you.

Cause the ones that had dared to tear you both apart were no more. The sleazy and annoying bitch he had for a mistress was being turned into plant's fertilizer as he roamed your room. But even so, the putrid aura that reminisced from Dana's soul would surely make the plants to die. Just like her.

He wouldn't dare to soil something so precious like your playground and knowledge. He had done enough.

His eyes went for the not so hidden diary on your desk. If the many times he had read it had taught him something, was that you always keep it hidden.

Could you possibly know about him reading and invading your privacy? No. He's always been careful and made sure to put it back where it was. But the way your diary was so carelessly placed on the desk only made him assume you left it there for resuming your writing later.

His hand hesitated before grabbing the worn out leather cover with all the gentleness he could muster, to then flip the pages, as if continuing his weekly reading.

The king has agreed! Against all odds and my own nerves, I've gotten him to take a break and invited him over lunch.

I cannot wait to see how everything unfolds!

He remembered that day as it was a couple of hours ago. You had caught him off guard, with all his defenses on his ankles. How could he say no to you when you were so excited to share with him?

Now he'd be lucky if he got glimpses of you if anything .

Miguel grunted as he read the next entry.

The king. He's such a wonderful man. He's been an amazing company. We shared some more of Arachne and even ourselves. I believe that we're getting closer.

Would he be a good kisser? Probably. His lips are always inviting and delectable. Oh dear... I'm thinking inappropriately again. My heart sings with joy whenever he thinks of me as his future bride.

He chuckled, feeding his ego for a moment only to frown at the next pages. It wasn't just the way the sheets were written, but the actual state of them. Wrinkled, crumpled even with blotches of ink smeared all over.

His finger traced over them, feeling the remnants of your liquid pain, long dry on the surface. And by the many stains in them, he assumed you had spent hours crying.

His scorching fury enervated, slowly, upon reading a simple line.

I thought him different.

He gulped and clenched his jaw. Ready to keep his eyes glued on the words you you didn't speak, but wrote.

I was naive in to believing this could be different. But I think I've forgotten my place in all this.

I really tried to understand, but at the end of the day everything that matters are selfish desires. I should have seen this coming

And he should too. It was all matter of time for the bomb to explode at his face. And now that it did, he was left with so much to do that for once he was at lost on how to get it all back. How to get you back.

I had a bad feeling when receiving that letter, after my picnic with him.

His frown deepened.

God, he wanted to be able to turn back time and have Dana killed in other painful ways for being so damn bold and stupid.

I met her. I met his mistress. And god, I wish I didn't.

She is cunning enough to lure me alone, dangerous and made sure to remind me of my place in all this political game with her words. And she's gorgeous.

I felt my heart break in million shards as she revealed her title to me. The king's main mistress.

He should've definitely made Dana's death slower.

Is this why he refused to see me at first? Is this why he was so reluctant to share his time with me? I don't know what to believe anymore.

I feel... dirty.

A painful pang ran through his chest, dulling the anger, replacing it with a glum wave of guilt.

I let his hands to touch me, when he has touched her. Even though I scrubbed hard enough to make my skin burn, I still feel his caresses on me. How do I get rid of them? I feel fooled and filthy.

"Princesa..." he mumbled, guilt dripping in every syllable.

He flipped the page.

She is set into producing him a heir, or so she stated. That they've been trying even before I came. No wonder why Prince Gabriel mistook me for a mistress that night.

But, why would I stay between the both? They both lie and hurt and I know when to admit defeat.

Miguel had to clutch at his chest as his heart gave a painful beat. A frustrated sigh escaped him.

"Jessica?"

"Yes, your majesty?"

"Bring my medicine."

Jessica left, and he kept on reading.

I spilled the truth to my mother back when I visited her. Bless her, it was good to see her despite our condition. She told me, instructed me even to return home if he ever causes me great pain again.

His breath hitched as his heartbeats increased erratically.

I wanted to give him the benefit of doubt first, and I believed him

His jaw clenched even tighter as there was a smudge of ink at the end of the word. Another dry tear muddling the last two letters.

May my people and God forgive me, but I won't marry him. I refuse to lay with him, and much less in a bed where he had so many others before. Lady Dana specially. He's like the rest of those I knew.

I might be selfish to think this way, but... I thought I could have him for myself. That I could have my own family and some peace at last, but now I realize that it's all been in my imagination. I've played my role as pawn in this game and although my purpose wasn't fulfilled completely, I can only hope that the next man I'm bound to isn't a liar.

No, he wouldn't allow it. No other man would have you. He couldn't.

My mother has always reminded me that there is always more men out there that would die for me without a second thought. Would they lie too, though? I don't know. I hope not. I couldn't take another blow like this.

Jessica returned just in time before he entered into a crisis. He gulped down the vial's content in a go. The sour and foul tasting liquid slid down his throat, burning his esophagus with its much needed nastiness.

The Commander watched him, concerned as he tucked the diary back on the desk and rummaged through the several scribbled papers in your desk. He found Dana's letter, trying his absolute best to resist the urge to tear to shreds the piece of paper. It was her handwriting.

And something else he wasn't prepared for. A letter to your mother, Queen Dhalia, announcing your return to Theleria.

You were leaving.

"Your majesty?" He ignored Jessica.

Too dumbstruck and stunned to actually say something. That sapped completely all reminiscing anger out of his body, only to be replaced by something he was rarely acquainted with. Despair and fear.

You were leaving.

The thought at first wouldn't have fazed him in the slightest, he'd just go back to his own duties and forget about you in a span of days. But now that he got to share something so important with you such as his vision for his people and open up more about himself, letting you go would have to be the most stupidest of things he could ever do.

"Get me this woman..." He snapped his fingers repeatedly to himself trying to remember the name, "Lucille."

Jessica had to blink a couple of times before speaking "Beg your pardon?"

"Lucille. The princess most trusted maiden." He repeated as he reread the paper, "Send a letter to Theleria asking for her, get a group of four to guard her. I need that woman in Arachne as soon as possible."

"Right?... Is there anything else?"

"Get a room ready for her too. As soon as she's here I wanna know. Keep it a secret though. Let me know when you intercept the princess' letter to the Queen."

Jessica's eyes softened and nodded with a small smile as she left, his scribes would come up with the letter and in matter of hours, the messenger was already galloping through.

It took your tears and ink smeared in the paper to bring him back.

----

As much as you wanted to cry and hide from the world, you knew that giving in the righteous feeling of sadness wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Every time you woke up, prayed to not see him, to keep him away from you. And so far the universe or whoever above listened.

You still wanted to leave some knowledge behind before returning home. You spent your days teaching, but not in the lab.

You chose to go to the hospital instead, and see the treatments for yourself. Some effective, and others not so much.

It kept you busy and grounded as it also gave you a small taste of royal duties

And it was good. It kept you away from the ever constant thoughts that awaited for you to give into them, to plague and hunt your mind.

So far it had helped, You barely spent your days in the castle anyways, Peter always tailed behind, keeping you safe, but even then, you spoke with him when needed. It made it easier to detach from everything that rendered Arachne.

The letter was sent soon enough, and hopefully within a couple of days you'd get a reply.

Not only you missed your home but Lucille. The only one you trusted now. Soon you'll be home, away from the kingdom that brought you nothing but a few moments of joy yet so much pain.

Now you understood why the kingdom was feared. It's power to inflict such pain and suffering not only through blades and weapons wasn't to be underestimated. And you learned it the bad way.

You could almost taste freedom. Just a couple of days more and you'll be back home. There was so many things you wanted to share, so much to tell and write with your own students.

If you weren't at the hospital, you were in your room. Like the beginning of everything. Slowly rotting away, until your mother would scoop you up and save you. She refused to have her story repeated on you.

Queen Dhalia knew when to press and when to step aside. And she promised you to find a way to keep the kingdom safe. You'd be fine.

With a deep breath, you sat on the desk you had been pouring your memories into and grabbed a paper and your pen.

Ready to break your engagement with Miguel through a letter.

----

Lucille could only stare at Miguel for what it felt like forever. His order had left her speechless.

Tell me everything you know about her.

Simple as that.

Lucille was five years older than you, she had been your confidant, your friend through thick and thin, and also the one that helped Queen Dhalia to raise you and train you in the medical arts.

And now, the most powerful man of the continent sat before her, asking about you in order to come up with a plan to get you back.

"Why don't you just apologize, my lord?"

"She refuses me. I tried to explain, but... she refused to be addressed even."

"Rightfully so." Lucille mouthed.

His eyes narrowed at her words, but he could do nothing but accept them. You avoided him like the plague. In fact, he hadn't seen you in a week now.

"Having me retrieved from my homeland in order to be spilling her secrets, for you to gain her favor again seems not only excessive, but frightening if I'm honest."

"And I apologize. But the princess is to remain here."

With me.

Lucille sighed and watched him.

"She only wanted you to be honest ever since the beginning, my lord. I truly will never understand why you men make it so complicated when it's the simplest things a woman ask of you."

"I hurt her."

"Very much, yes. It'll be useless of me to tell you all you wanna know, if you don't apologise."

"Santa Muerte, mujer... what part of she refuses me, haven't you understood yet?"

"The part you skip for your own convenience? The truth?"

Miguel snapped his head at Lucille so fast his neck almost sprained, glaring both in surprise and anger. How dared she put him in his place.

"You're talking to a king, lady Lucille. Be mindful of your words."

Lucille nodded, bowing her head in a quick yet dismissive motion. Thelerian women were truly something else.

"I'm aware that my words upset you, my lord and I apologize for it. But In truth, there isn't much I can do."

"What do you mean? You were there with her when Queen Dhalia offered me her hand."

Lucille sighed, defeated.

"Neither of you were subtle in the slightest."

"And bringing me here when she's probably packing up for leaving is also subtle because?"

Miguel pursed his lips, getting a hint of where you had gotten the attitude from. You carried a bit of those you loved, close.

"Touché."

Lucille smirked and spoke again.

"You already know the only way hou can fix this is asking her forgiveness."

Miguel kept shaking his head. Neither of them seemed to cave in, but Lucille sighed.

"But if you believe that getting me to talk to her will fix this situation, then I see what I can do, I don't promise anything though."

His shoulders slumped as he sat before Lucille across the desk "Having her agree to a hearing is more than enough for me. I will apologize."

"Good. Know that doing this feels like I'm betraying her trust already. But you seem true to your intentions and that's enough for me to try and talk some sense into her. You'll let her go in case she rejects you again, right?"

His brow quirked, curious and a tad annoyed. "You seem convinced I'll get my hopes crushed."

"It's not out of spite for hurting my Princess I assure you, your majesty. When something gets into her head nothing can get her out of it. Not even I."

Miguel watched her. Probably in her early thirties, plump body shape, sharp face that only matched her hazel feline look and dark blonde curls.

Lucille regarded him with the Thelerian look. A gaze Miguel had learned to understand as a 'Truth or deceit, I'll know about it anyways.'

Unwavering, slow blinks, deep and soul searching that not only weighed words but judged silently without even actually intending to. It unnerved him. Even more when you did it. He had witnessed such stare when he invited you at the council's meeting.

"Have you disposed off your mistress already, my lord?"

Miguel nodded, and this brought nothing but surprise to your friend.

"Seems times have changed. That gives me an idea."

Miguel gestured for her to continue.

"Have you heard about our Thelerian holiday, the Festival of Embers?"

"Vaguely."

"We use such day to remember our fallen, it's also the day to remember Prince Emmett's funeral. It's a holiday dedicated to honor and remember, but also heal."

His brow quirked again.

"You see, as most Thelerian visit the cemeteries, some leave a small offers in their loved ones grave's. Mostly potions and medicines for those that can't reach the main cities for aid."

"Your point is?" His tone irked

"You can use the holiday to rekindle with the princess. She'll appreciate it so."

Miguel seemed to ponder her words. And still he was at lost on what to do. He smacked his lips before speaking again

"How does she celebrate it?"

Lucille smiled "The Princess usually goes to a meaningful place to her, lights up a little fire and burns a letter. In it is written whatever thing she wants to forget. Quite simple, but it brings her comfort."

"It shall be done."

"Then you better get your letter written soon. The festival is in two days. I must ask though, your highness."

"Hm?" Miguel straightened up as he rummaged through his desk, in search of paper.

"Why did you keep that woman all this time?"

He rolled his eyes as he resumed his search, speaking a bir curt. "I bid you a good evening, Lady Lucille."

She chuckled, pleased at his reluctance. After all you were the only one he owed explanations to.

"Likewise, your highness."

----

The loud and maddening shrieks from Baron Darko could be felt through the skies.

He cursed, panted a bit more, recovering his breath only to have it escaping again with his maudlin and desperate cries.

His family was gone. Like his home as there was nothing but ash, soot and debris before him.

Fire had consumed everything, part of the structure collapsed within, leaving a massive hole in the second floor. Black and jagged columns were imprinted on the white stony walls.

Darko's boots crunched over the tiny fragments of wood and stone as he frantically searched for anyone that remained in a piece, not really caring if his fingers blistered or splintered. But not even that was granted to him.

He found none, not even the fabric pieces of dresses, nothing.

Jessica stepped closer as the man folded over to cry and mourn, she held the small urn with Dana's ashes and placed it next to him.

"No... No! Get it away from me!"

He scrambled on the floor away from her, slithering through the dirt and debris.

"This was Dana's doing."

"Shut up!"

Baron Darko spat, everything he held dear was now gone. All because you had came between Dana and Miguel. You were the culprit of what laid before his bleary eyes.

All his descendants were gone. Wiped away in the blink of an eye. How could the king do it?

Jessica put the ashes next to him and turned on her back, leaving him on his own. With the exception of a guard.

Tears and snot rolled down and his weathered face, pain oozed out of every pore of his skin. Smothering his anxiety with something so raw and persistent. Rage.

His blood boiled as he slammed his fist nonstop on the floor, to then slam Dana's urn into the ruins of his home. An ashy cloud surrounded him for a moment.

"They'll pay... Dana."

His daughter. His pride and everything that rendered The D'Angelos. His triumph card to get him closer to the throne.

Or so he had believed for so long his delusions had affected Dana and the rest of his family.

He always believed Dana would make a great Queen. But now, plans had drastically changed.

Miguel was making an example out of him and what happens when people didn't pay attention to his warnings.

But this time, he'd prove not only the King himself but you, what he was capable of. If he was the last remaining, it only meant for him to be the chosen one to see the O'Hara and Blanchard bloodline fall.

A pair of light brown eyes watched him.

"Leave me alone!"

Darko roared but the young guard only advanced to him, Even though Arachne's uniform covered him, his heart and mind was elsewhere. There was a purple and green collar he wore around his slender neck. The braids hung loose behind his head as his soul piercing eyes bore into the distraught elder man.

"Wanna join us?"

Darko did nothing but spit at his feet. The boy looked unamused but stood next to him, repeating the question, impatient.

"You wanna join us, old man?"

Darko looked up as the braided boy pulled out a small scroll, still sealed in wax.

"W-What's that?" Darko immediately sobered up, cleaning his face with whatever means. The boy just scrunched mildly his face in disgust as he placed the scroll on his wet hand.

"Kingpin's invitation." His tone unamused, impassive with a tiny nit of apprehension in it.

Darko's breath hitched upon realizing the boy's position. A double agent.

"Are you in or not? I've got things to do"

Darko nodded.

"Then read that. We'll know if you break the rules."

"We?... Wait! How do I know I could trust you?" Although the idea of having double agents seemed preposterous, he knew the scheme wasn't impossible. Much less with a man like Kingpin at the front.

"The king ordered to wipe your family. I was in charge of Lady Dana's cremation. The king killed her by snapping her neck."

"Do you know why?"

"Lady Dana spoke to the princess. I don't know the details but it was enough to have the king angry."

"That Thelerian whore..." Darko hissed, "Count me in."

The boy nodded and turned on his back, and advanced towards his horse.

"Hey! wait! What's your name?"

"G."

Darko furrowed his brows in confusion, "G?"

"Morales. Needless to say that you'll know what will happen to you if this comes out to light."

Darko just nodded, letting the young boy leave. He wasn't older than sixteen. But ages were little when a dethroning was ahead.

----

Taglist:

@obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @nxrdamp @a--dedicated--fangirl @rin0r1na @queenofroses22 @sofi786 @murnsondock @okayiamkassandra @kimmis-stuff @ceoofmiguel @meeom @handsomeprettytoes @ladymoztaza @chiikasevennn @mxtokko @gabrielarose29 @oooof-ifellforyou @minalovesyoubabes @kikisstrawberrie @know-that-its-delicate @aikoiya @st0r-fruit @local-mr-frog @liidiaaag @berlinswifey @eepybunny0805 @vonev @cheerrioeoz @solesurvivorjen @zaunsin @ange-grayson @peachsteven @kdrosebme @geraskier-thots @rjasmin2021 @yehet-moi-ohorat @death-moth-art @smookycloyd @somehopeatlast @jadinwitch @bunnibitez @heartsia @wakeupr41 @scaleniusrm @itsameclinicaldepression @maimai020104 @av3da @plumplum2099   @sylveon-of-hearts

@maomaimao @m4dyy @migoharawife

@mcmiracles @xxvelvetxxxx @arrozyfrijoles23 @del-ightfulling

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨ #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Crimson Crown #dark!miguel o'hara

[fatuismooches]

Self-indulgent Omega fic to help turn my writing brain back on, inspired by this brainrot. He is referred to as 24 in here as fragile reader hasn't named the segments yet. You two aren't the closest yet, but a chance encounter with the segment begins to change that. (I will respond to asks... eventually).

After a few centuries-long coma, when you woke up, the hardest thing to process wasn't that fact. It wasn't the fact your lover, who now went by "Dottore" instead of "Zandik" was now a powerful Harbinger. It wasn't the fact you had to deal with this illness for who knows how long (actually, this was quite hard to process, but you tried your best not to dwell on it.) Rather, it was the fact that Dottore now had copies of himself running around. And if you were to properly adjust to your new life, you absolutely had to make room for them. But that was easier said than done.

They were all Zandik, but at the same time, they felt like strangers to you. They were familiarly enigmatic as you had remembered the original one, but you weren't sure if you were good enough to puzzle each of them out all over again... However, pursuing Zandik as a student meant that you certainly were a persistent soul, so you would try!

One of Dottore's segments that you were trying to crack was named 24 (he hadn't bothered to give them names for some reason). 24 was tall and imposing, authoritative even among the segments, despite their tendency to bicker with one another. He was also different from the other segments in a way, but you couldn't put your finger on what exactly it was, for some reason. Needless to say, intriguing (just like all the others). Unfortunately, your attempts to move this relationship forward weren't going the smoothest. You found that even building up your courage for numerous minutes still resulted in a dry throat and awkward moments of the segment looking at you expectantly.

However, that would change one night.

Sleepless nights were frequent when you were a student, but they seemed to have followed you even all this time later. At least, instead of studying and dealing with assignments, you were left to stare at the ceiling in peace or pull out a nice book to read until you became sleepy again. But this time, no option satisfied you. You wanted company. And so you set off to find Dottore. The walk was always nice, but it seemed like you were more tired than you thought, as you eventually realized you were definitely not going the right way in the maze of a building, evident from the recognizable doors of one of the main labs.

Well, you were already here, and you didn't want to walk all the way back. You should just enter and loop your way back around somehow. Judging from the silence on the other side, there was most likely no one else there either, which was good for you! And so you pushed the doors open, intent on entering until you saw him.

24.

He sat there unmasked, screwdriver in hand, carefully tweaking himself, a few other tools to the side as well. Wait, a screwdriver to his face? You squinted a bit more and that's when you realized he... had no face? Well, kind of, he had a mouth and squishy cheeks, but the upper half was replaced by mechanics instead. A gleaming red gem in the middle along with blue wires made up 24's face in replacement for actual eyes, You had no clue that this was what he really looked like.

You were a mix of shock and awe. It was surprising but you supposed you should have expected the segments, who weren't human, to have some features like this. And didn't Prime say 24 was the most recently made segment? More recent, more advanced, you guessed. But you also had a feeling you really shouldn't have walked in on this, so you should leave while you still could. Maybe 24 didn't notice you yet-

"It's awfully past your bedtime, isn't it, [Name]?" 24 hummed, continuing whatever modification he was doing calmly, not the slightest bothered by your intrusion, or by the fact you saw his face. You wanted to retort with something, but your usual attitude with Zandik seemed to die down around this individual that you had yet to become fully comfortable with.

"I could not sleep. So I took a walk." You glanced away from 24, then back at him. "What... what are you doing?" You asked, curiosity overtaking your nervousness.

"Simply performing some routine maintenance. I will be finished soon, and then-"

"Can I see?" The sudden, rather eager question from you, made 24 pause. You had always been quiet and a bit jumpy around him, so this sudden change in attitude had him interested. On the contrary, he thought that seeing this inhuman face of his would make you keep your distance more, but it attracted you? Not what the segment predicted, but he found himself enjoying the surprises you brought with you.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the old days of helping Zandik put together and apart various contraptions. It was a mixture of 24's display and also the star in the middle, which reminded you of all the Ruin Guards you'd dissected in the Akademiya. It was quite fun. You wanted to see more. Hopefully, this could be a splendid opportunity to satiate your inner researcher and also get closer to the segment.

"Of course, if that is what you'd like." You walked up to him, steps full of caution yet fascination. The way his fingers maneuvered effortlessly with precision at something that appeared delicate - it was very cool, to you at least.

"You don't need a mirror or anything?"

"No, I know my body more than well enough."

"Do you have any sensation up there?"

"Yes, I can feel my own fingers when they brush against it."

"Can I touch you?" Though 24 had entertained your barrage of questions, it was this request that made him pause his work and stare at you. The red star that glimmered intensely at you suddenly made your nervousness go all the way up again.

"I'm sor-"

"Very well," 24 interrupted you, placing his hands on his lap, now looking at you expectantly. You held back a sigh of relief as you stepped even closer to him, giving his upper mechanical face an experimental tap. He didn't react outwardly, but you could tell he felt that. Gulping, you tried again, this time gliding your finger over the blue lines imprinted on the black background. And then the red star in the middle, you gave into the urge to press down on it like a button. Still, 24 seemed to be unbothered. Darn, you had hoped he was ticklish there or something.

Regardless, the area was pretty hard, compared to the softness of his cheeks, which you unconsciously slid another finger down to calculate the exact difference. Until a hand grasped your own, not too tight or too light, firm enough to make you jump.

"[Name], would you care to explain your reasons for such prodding?" Oops. 24 didn't seem very amused.

"I have no intentions, I am just interested in feeling you." As soon as the words came out, you realized how they sounded and rushed to clarify yourself. "Because I've never seen anything like this before! The technology is just interesting to me! As a scholar and all! You understand, right?" But alas, from the now growing smirk on his face, you had already lost.

"Is that so? I shall allow you to continue then, if that is what you wish. I would never block a fellow scholar's pursuit of knowledge," he grinned, pointy teeth grazing his lip as he let go of your hand. Ugh, he was definitely making fun of you.

"And, if you truly desire to obtain satisfactory results, you should come closer, no?" At that moment, the segment suddenly pulled you toward him so that you fell into his lap, legs draped over him and chests nearly pressed against each other. It was rather intimate - the only other lap you've been on was Prime Dottore's. But although your heart was beating quicker than normal, you liked how it felt...

"Better?"

"Yes," your lone word came out quiet, an attempt to hide your flustered state. But you quickly moved on, not wanting to endure further teasing. "S-So, how do you see? Since you have no... you know." 24 chuckled, relishing in the state he and he only reduced you to. But he decided to spare you this one time. He didn't want to drive you too far away now, did he, now that he finally had the chance to be alone with you.

"I have a Kamera installed inside."

"A... Kamera?" The unfamiliar word felt strange on your tongue. You never heard of such a thing.

"It is a device that takes photographs. A photograph is..." 24 pondered, trying to come up with the simplest definition for someone who hadn't had knowledge of the developments of the past four hundred years yet. "It is something that captures a moment of time in physical form." You furrowed your eyebrows at that. It sort of made sense, but it also didn't. How could time be permanent? From the expression on your face, 24 could tell you most definitely wanted to see a Kamera.

"I shall show you it-" you brightened up, "in the morning," and then deflated. "You have delayed far too long, and no one will let you sleep in." You pouted at this finality.

"But what if I want to stay with you?"

"I will accompany you back to your room, and wait until you fall asleep. Is that satisfactory?" You nodded, and then you were lifted into the air as 24 began to carry you effortlessly, making his way to dreary corridors.

And so you began to reflect in the segment's arms, which had gone from never touching you to holding you so intimately. You were surprised to see this side of the segment - you never thought he could act this way. But you suppose, if Dottore cares for you, then the rest of them really do as well.

"We should talk more," you said, just as he slipped you right back into bed. "It would be fun, I think." You don't know why you felt the need to provide a reason, perhaps because he was undoubtedly extremely busy and had better things to do than chat with you all day. And ugh - "fun"? That was such a stupid reason. Why would 24 care about fun? But he seemed to find your request attractive anyway.

"I have harbored the same sentiment for a while. I await our future conversations with great anticipation, [Name]." With a light feeling in your heart, greatly proud of yourself for your progress with the segment, the sleepiness began to settle in once more. The last thing you saw before you fell asleep was the red glow emitting from 24.

From the day he came into this world as 24, to the day you named him to live and die as Omega, he will love you.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #dottore x reader #did u guys know i love omega... #i also have a lil cute idea of comforting him after the other segments stress him out #sniffs... i miss him... i miss the silly pookie... #i also have a lil hc that reader calls him 'mega but i should keep the delusions to myself huh #divider by cafekitsune #i wrote this in like one sitting which is pretty impressive for me #(i get distracted and unmotivated quickly) #why am i actually kinda proud of this...

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 1: The Mortals' Side of the Wall

Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know. 

Chapter Summary: After Feyre is taken to Prythian, the Archeron sisters navigate their lives in the mortal lands.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

A sleepy Nyra Archeron opened the door of her room and found the cottage in an unprecedented state. The door had been broken and the cold of the night was seeping in. Father and Elain stood in a stunned silence.

Nyra was not usually allowed to step out of her room unless the living area had been warmed enough. It was a mandate all her sisters had imposed on her and she had no issue complying with their demands. She was, after all, sick. A consequence of something that transpired years ago. Nyra kept quiet about it with only their father knowing the truth of it. She had made him promise his silence in that matter. 

Nesta, having noticed her, marched over to her and used her body to shield her twin from the cold winds. She took her hands and a single tear escaped her eye. “Feyre. She’s gone.” Nyra’s eyes widened. She could not come up with the correct words to say. She could not process this information and the sudden shock of it had her in silence.

Despite being twins, the two sisters had their differences. The physical differences started with subtle details like the natural shape of their eyebrows, Nesta's narrower eyes and even their hair. The former had wavy hair and the latter had curls but none of that mattered. Now, Nyra was sick and Nesta was not and that was the greatest difference between them. Which illness had grabbed Nyra in its clutches was not known to any physician they had consulted so far.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Nyra’s voice was somehow colder than the winds howling outside. 

“Some beast… a fae came and took her. In exchange for the life of the fae she hunted.” Nesta looked terrified. Nyra had never seen such a sight, not for a long time. Not since their mother.

But when had Feyre hunted a fae? It had been weeks since she went out to those woods. And then it was today. She had returned with the corpse of that ridiculously large wolf. Skinned it and sold its pelt in the market for some decent amount. They had talked a bit after dinner. Feyre sounded relieved at having hunted something that would last for weeks and had earned money for bread and some vegetables. They had talked about that fellow Nesta claimed would propose to her. Feyre had gone quiet upon the mention of that man's name and had only told Nyra that she would talk to Nesta. And now, she was gone. They had just had dinner. A decent meal after so long. She was gone.

“The wolf?” Nyra asked. And at that moment, a red haired male walked in. The sisters looked at him and watched him as he observed his surroudings, clearly displeased by the sight before him with his frown as an indication. He looked at the twins, then at Elain and their father. He bowed just a little before he walked forward with authority as though he was the lord of this land. 

“I apologise for the intrusion. This will be quick and I will be off on my way.” He was fae. Many factors indicated that. The pointed ears, the otherworldly beauty and the power he exuded from his presence and many other factors the sisters were not able to identify in the aftermath of the youngest of them no longer in the cottage. 

Something changed in the air and another fae walked in. Blonde hair and dressed in hunting attire. He spoke nothing but lifted a hand and a wave of something unrecognisable washed over the air. Nesta and Nyra watched as the two fae watch their family and discuss something. The golden haired fae walked forward.

"Feyre Archeron has been invited to your distant aunt, Mrs Ripleigh's estate. The old lady has fallen seriously ill and apologises for calling your sister on such short notice. Feyre has left to tend to this ill aunt of yours and in exchange for her care, you have been gifted with some gold and gems and the like which you will find waiting for you in the carriages outside. Feyre will be well taken care of in Mrs Ripleigh's estate." He paused just for a moment as he looked at the twins now. "We bid you farewell, Archerons." And with that grand and unconvincing background story, the golden haired fae snapped his fingers.

Moments passed by. The next thing anyone knew, there was no one in the cottage except for the Archerons sans Feyre. A few moments passed before Elain and their father came to their senses and began rambling about a distant aunt who had called the youngest sister to take care of her. Both of them sounded worried about this non-existent aunt.

Nyra and Nesta shared a glance. There was no such aunt. And the astonishing amount of wealth in the carriages outside their cottage was completely suspicious. But their father and Elain did not notice as they prepared to return to the life of riches. 

With not even a moment to mourn for the loss of her sister and the strange males who had entered their house and did something to cause everyone except herself and her twin from forgetting the original version of events, Nyra Archeron found herself being transported to this new house the very next day. Three days later, the Archeron family had re-entered high society. 

****

“Nyra?” Elain’s gentle voice called out, followed by two knocks on her bedroom door. 

The new mansion had brought a lot of safety and space for the Archerons. While Elain and their father were blissfully unaware of the reality of Feyre’s situation, Nesta and Nyra sat together and discussed what could be done.

Nesta had just come up with a wild idea to go towards the wall and Nyra had firmly opposed it. It was completely out of character for Nesta to come up with such a reckless idea. The contention her twin had placed was that their younger sister was out there and they did not even know if she was safe. It had been a month and Nesta was more than determined to seek answers. And Nyra admitted defeat. 

The twins were supposed to plan for the journey. Together. That was what they had decided last night. 

“Good morning, Elain.” The middle sister smiled. Elain had not lost the ability to smile, poverty or not. She walked in with a bouquet of freshly cut flowers. Nesta had completely lost her smile and Nyra was on the verge of it.

Elain always made sure there was a bouquet of fresh flowers in all their rooms, the library and their father's office ever since wealth came back to their family. It was her way of expressing her affections. Her personal maid, Lola, followed her with a tray of steaming soup and cutlery. 

Mere moments later, Nyra’s personal maid, Ayla, walked in with a bright smile as she saw the older Archeron already awake. Two more maids followed her with some things required for preparations for a bath and headed to the bathing chambers. 

“Good morning, my lady.” Ayla greeted as she opened the curtains and Elain carefully placed the flowers on the table. She took the vase and headed to the bathing room to change the water. 

“Good morning. Ayla. Lola.” The other maid looked up in surprise after having set down the tray and quietly returned the greeting. 

Ayla had been assigned to take care of Nyra like Lola had been for Elain. Her sister walked into the room and began carefully placing the flowers in the vase. Despite her concentration, she began to speak.

“I have something to tell you.” Elain was bright and glowing and Nyra suspected something major might have happened. Maybe she’d gotten a hold of those new fertilisers from the Continent for her garden. Or the orchids had finally bloomed after so long. Or maybe, she’d met someone. 

“There’s a ball. And we’re invited.” Nyra nodded at her with a gentle smile, encouraging her to continue. Elain told her all the details she’d been privy to so far. Details of the host, the location, the time and the venue, other potential invitees. And finally, of Elain’s hopes for the ball. 

“I do hope I meet someone.” The smile vanished and Nyra blinked once and then smiled again.

“If that is what you wish.” Nyra sounded like an old lady in these moments. As though she were blessing her family to get all that they desired in her dying moments.

One would suppose that was true in a way. Nyra was still running the risk of being on her deathbed. Nesta had a very heated conversation with their father about the best physicians being there for Nyra at their beck and call. And for the merchant guilds to be out searching for a cure or any leads to the same. And for the warmest furs so that she did not feel cold, the softest fabrics so that her dresses would not itch. And a lot of things that made Nyra feel that it was supposed to be compensation for their lives during those years of poverty that were still fresh in their minds.

Back in Nyra's bedroom, Elain did not know how to speak more about the ball. She did not want to speak of the seamstress who had just been hired for making gowns for the sisters, or the rich fabrics their father had procured from his recent travels. She knew Nyra would not be able to attend a ball unless it was hosted right here where she could retire for the night at her convenience. 

“You should go, Elain." Nyra took her hand in hers as a gesture of assurance, hoping she would get the message. "It is a good opportunity to meet potential husbands. I only ask that you marry not for convenience and that you genuinely get along with him. If you do happen to love someone then that would be a blessing indeed.” 

Elain’s answering smile was the first bloom of spring. “Yes.” But then it vanished at the thought of Nyra not being able to attend the ball. Her face dipped and sadness started clouding over.

“Do not worry for me. A sick girl has no use for husbands.” Nyra placed a hand on Elain’s cheek and gently lifted her face. “Come, show me your gowns when they are ready. And go and enjoy all the balls and tea parties and every gathering you wish to attend. For both of us.” Elain took her sister in an embrace and Nyra fondly returned the same. 

“I have asked Nesta to help me with my dancing.” Elain’s words were a sharp reminder that their mother had groomed Nesta to be a master of many including the art of dancing. With demanding lessons and harsh criticism, the woman had managed to mold Nesta into some version of herself. Being their mother’s daughter, she did become like that but at the end of the day, she was also father’s daughter. And love was a trait she inherited from father, not mother. 

It was then that Nyra remembered where she had left off her conversation with Nesta the last night. “Where is Nesta?” She asked Elain. 

They walked towards the bathing chambers. Elain took a seat on a chair near the window, a few feet from the bathtub. The hot water was ready for the bath and Ayla helped Nyra undress. As a naked Nyra slowly sat down inside the tub, Elain looked outside and replied. “She has gone off to meet Aunt Ripleigh. Took the carriage the first thing in the morning.”

It took control for Nyra to stop herself from expressing her anger right then. Elain was not privy to the discussions she had with Nesta and Nyra did not want to expose anything now when there was absolutely no guarantee any of them would ever see Feyre again. After having gathered herself with the assistance of the pleasantly warm water surrounding her body, Nyra asked Elain another question. “Did she say something else?”

“She wanted to invite Feyre to the ball and see if she could convince our aunt to let her go for a few days.” Elain did not know that the existence of this aunt was a lie. And Nyra couldn’t help the anger rising in her chest at Nesta’s abrupt departure. They were still supposed to discuss more about it but Nesta had just gone off this fine morning. Nyra made a mental note to give her hell for that. For now, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

While Nyra was bathed in a luxury that seemed to be a distant memory from the past, Elain looked outside the window lost in her own thoughts. “Do you think Feyre is enjoying there?” Elain’s question was an unexpected one for Nyra who knew the truth and was in the middle of discussions to get their sister out. 

“Enjoying?” Nyra had a hard time saying that word. Feyre did leave of her own will but only so that their family would be spared. There was not much of a choice for her. 

Ayla scrubbed her back while another maid held her hair. Her curls were beautiful and Elain loved them. Feyre and Nesta had gentle waves whereas she And Nyra had the curls. Elain stood out a little apart from the rest of the sisters due to her being the only one with their father’s brown eyes but these curls gave her a sense of belongingness. 

It seemed like a waste. Nyra as a child had been as adorable as the rest of them. The Archeron girls were pleasant to look at. With very little life left in her, Nyra’s physical beauty had been ripped away from her. Her curls would have been beautiful like her own if she were healthy. She did not know how the eyes would look like if they are full of health and life. Nesta seemed less inclined to enjoy anything except the comfort of their home and Feyre was not here. A healthy Nyra would have had the milky skin Elain had. Nesta and Feyre had slightly rosier complexions.

"Enjoying as in is she taken care of? Does she have new clothes now? A more comfortable bed? I have nothing against Aunt Ripleigh and her health but I can't help but think of Feyre. It was all so sudden."

Elain's words did strike Nyra. It was, indeed, all so sudden. For a long time, there were only rumours of anyone having ever seen a fae. And within one day, Feyre had killed one, been taken away by another, and the family had been visited by two fae.

Elain herself was now busy thinking of the upcoming ball and the gowns and all the people she would get to meet. Her thoughts drifted to Nyra and she imagined her older sister in a gown. It could be silver or a pastel shade. Could be gossamer or pure silk with tulle here and there. Gowns would trail after the four sisters as they entered the ballroom. All of them would be so beautiful.

Medication for Nyra was now affordable and their father ordered lots of it. New physicians were summoned and they promised an improvement in her health. Elain hoped that was the case. That Nyra would be completely rid of her illness and would join her in the social circles. She knew that Nyra would have kept Nesta and her claws at bay thereby giving Elain a bit more space to enjoy the parties and balls and whatever celebrations that would take place. 

****

That evening, Nesta returned and barged into Nyra’s room. She looked thoroughly unnerved. “Feyre. She…” Nesta paced around the room, around the armchairs, across the length of the room. When she finally stopped, she looked over at Nyra who was comfortable cuddled in a blanket on an armchair near the fireplace. Nyra calmly waited for her twin to stop panicking but the tone she used to mention their youngest sister was rather worrisome. 

Nesta walked over and kneeled before Nyra who took her hands in her own. “I couldn’t get over. I couldn’t go beyond that damned wall.” And the tears began. Nyra slightly moved and slowly made Nesta lie down on the sofa with the latter's head resting on the former's lap. As Nesta weeped, silent tears flowed freely from Nyra's eyes.

Where was Feyre?

Was she okay?

Was she...

****

#a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #acotar #acosf #acofas #acomaf #acowar #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #cassian #rhysand #feysand #nessian #elain archeron #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel spymaster

[mtkay13]

The one and only Qi Ye trio!

Details on the painting, meta and more below!

So this piece is actually a "remake" of a much older drawing that I made right after I had finished reading Qi Ye:

First, I want to elaborate on the drawing itself. I usually don't like to detail the symbolism and ideas that I put in my art, simply because I don't want to impose a reading and I'd rather everyone gets their own; but following some discussions I have decided to do so for this one.

The main theme of this illustration is glory, power, and the ascention towards it. The principal symbol of it is, of course, the stairs going up. I used light, directly, colours and positioning to signify each character's relationship to those themes.

Helian Yi is the one in the light, ascending upwards, in red clothing. Helian Yi's power, as future emperor, is in the light, visible, going towards the heavens as the son of heaven himself--to enact his heavenly duty. Part of his face is in the shadows, and his being casts a broad shadow behind him for, of course, a lot has to happen in the shadows for him to reach the throne. He's looking behind as his ascension comes with dread and paranoia, never being able to fully trust anyone.

Zhou Zishu is entirely in the shadows, doesn't exist in the light. He's standing tall on the stairs but not facing upwards because his own way towards power isn't following the traditional path of having one's name being remembered in historical records. He is at his most powerful concealed in the shadows and doesn't look directly, his gaze unreadable.

Jing Beiyuan is sitting on the stairs, uninterested with the climb towards power itself, uninterested in the glory. The thin line of light on his figure means that among Helian Yi's closest allies, he's the one using his title and influence; light grazes him even if he doesn't want it to. His presence in Helian Yi's shadow signifies how he, along with Zishu, is quite literally behind HLY's ascension. His gaze is knowingly directed towards the watcher.

The main reason I decided to repaint it was because I wanted it to match my current style and, more importantly, my current mental image/character design for them. Jing Qi barely changed since my idea of him was fairly clear from the start, but Helian Yi and Zishu went through much bigger changes.

For Helian Yi, it was mainly a question from taking him out of Jin Wang's robes to get him his own. I really like Jin Wang's wardrobe in SHL, which is why I initially wanted it for HLY, but nowadays it simply doesn't correspond to how I picture him anymore. My understanding and/or envisioning of Da Qing's fashion has changed a bit as well, so I wanted to reflect that. In the original, he more seemed like a kid in vaguely chique robes that were too big for him LOL. His face was afforded a bit of refinement as well, especially since my big Qi Ye spread.

Jing Qi's robes are just a tad less flashy somehow--which wasn't so much planned as just... another design I had in mind. I still really like the first version of the robes but, oh well. His face is a bit more defined now, and overall more details in the quality of his clothing and in his hair piece.

Zhou Zishu...... well, haha. His original design was quite unpolished--a vague mix of SHL!Zishu and some random hakama I barely worked on. He was also very slim and had big eyes, which I just don't see anymore. He's bigger now, by quite a bit, both in height and musculature, and I made him look just a bit older as well--simply because he is older than HLY and JBY by a few years. I much prefer his current expression which is a tad more vicious but also a bit harder to read (I think). His robes, hair shape are much better defined and thought-out, and I am happy with the subtle shading on his face.

That's it!! Thanks for readiinngggg as always!

#qi ye meta #qi ye #helian yi #jing beiyuan #zhou zishu

[cleopatra-x]

Take Me Deeper (18+)

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x female reader

word count | 1.7k

Summary: Bored at family dinner, you decide to tease your lord husband.

Warnings | SEXUAL CONTENT - MINORS DNI; mean!aemond, oral (m reciving), choking, breath play?, light bondage

Notes | Not really sure what this is, but I hope you enjoy it. This is NOT beta read.

You know this is wanton, but you don’t care.

It’s another boring family dinner with your good family, and you hate having to play the role of the modest wife. Especially, when all you can think about is your husband bending you into every position possible. It’s only been two weeks since you were wed, and your husband has satisfied you in ways you never imagined. You quite literally never want to leave his bed.

So, you decide to get a raise out of your darling husband.

You subtly pick up a dark red cherry from the fruit bowl, staring Aemond in his eye. You envelope your lips around the sweet fruit, gently pulling it from its stem. You take a large bite, as the juice dribble down your chin.

You can see the effect it has on him, as he shifts in his seat, clenching his jaw. He glances around the room, everyone focused in their own conversation to even consider the both of you.

Aemond narrows his eye at you from across the room, a silent but deadly warning. You were getting extremely impatient, the heat between your legs intensifying at the thought of him taking you in front of his entire family.

You use your index finger to wipe your stained chin, and suck the finger clean. You can see his thoughts run wild, as if they were painted on his forehead.

The sudden thunderous slam on the table, makes everyone jump including yourself. The room descends into quietness, everyone’s attention directed towards Aemond.

“I would like a word with my wife.” He finally speaks up, before anyone could ask or protest, he was around the table, and dragging you out into the halls.  

Aemond was never truly rough with you in bed, always being delicate as if you were made of glass. But this time it feels different. Excitement bubbles in your stomach as he silently rushes towards your martial chambers.

“Under no circumstances should we be disturbed,” he calls out with a dismissive gesture towards his guard. “Doesn’t matter what you hear coming from our bed-chamber, no one should approach. Is that clear?” His nameless guard nods solemnly and scurries away.

You swallow audibly, now becoming nervous as he herds you into the bedchambers and slams it shut.

“You need to learn that such depraved actions have consequences,” he cautions, staring you down.

He somehow looks taller, more imposing than usual. His face has harsher contours. A static hot shiver slides down your spine. You part your lips to defend your actions, but he raises a hand, cutting you off.

“You may only speak if I ask you to,” he snarls and walks behind you. 

“Aem,” you begin, but he clasps his hand roughly over your mouth from behind.

“What did I just say?” He warns hot against your ear. “And you call me Sir tonight, or you don’t call me anything. Do you understand me?” He removes the hand away from your mouth.

You nod. 

“Answer me,” he orders.

“Yes, Sir,” you respond breathily. The last word feels weighty in your mouth. 

“That’s more like it,” he clicks his tongue, “now take off all your clothes,” a commandment as he starts to circle you.

You instantly begin to untie the laces of your dress, your fingers moving shaking, excited and nervous for what is to occur. The thrill of him being so utterly authoritative is doing things you never imagined to your body.

You peel off your clothes under his heavy gaze – even your chemise. You are left in only your stockings when he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hand me your stockings once you take them off,” he requests.

The heat from the roaring fire warms your naked skin as you do as asked, placing one then the other in his outstretched palm. He pulls them roughly between his hands, testing their strength.

“Excellent, this will do,” he utters and disappears behind you. “Clasp your hands behind your back.”

You do as told; then, you feel the silk of one of your stockings loop around your forearm and wrists. A thrill runs through you right to your core. He pulls it tight and makes a knot to bind it.  There’s discomfort in your arms, but somehow that heightens the throb you feel between your legs.

The hand returns to your shoulder, pushing down slightly. “Kneel,” he commands.

Oh. As you obey, you feel a trickle down your thighs, anticipation burning through you. You are right on the edge of the rug, your knees on its plush texture, but your feet are on the polished wood.

“Widen your knees,” he instructs; you feel the woolen fibers of the rug catch against your skin as you push them further apart. “Arch your back,” you do as bidden, your breasts pushed out. This position feels so lewd, so open. The air brushing against your soaked cunt, emitting a shiver from you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, one hand stroking your hair like a pet.

“If you need me to stop, tap my thighs three times,” he instructs, “because you’re not going to be able to say a word for a while.” The warning catches your breath. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you exhale, your heartbeat speeding up as you realize what he’s about to do.

He rounds in front of you, releasing the buttons on his trousers. He takes hold of his cock, already rigid and leaking; he smears the wetness at his tip over your lips. 

“Since you seem so eager to have something in your mouth,” he darkly chuckles. “Take me in your mouth.” he states. 

You part your lips, taking a breath as he plunges in without ceremony, nudging towards the back of your mouth. You are eager to please him, to take him all the way down, you don't want him to be gentle, and he is not. The hand in your hair grips tighter as he pushes in a slow rhythm, deeper on every stroke, until he is into your throat.

As he holds you there with a firm hand, you feel silk wrap around your neck and realize he is looping your other stocking around you like a makeshift noose. He moves to hold the ends in either hand. Then he pulls on the fabric, and it keeps you locked in place on his cock, constricting your windpipe even tighter against him deep inside you. Your clit throbs and stomach clenches as your body fights for air. This feels dangerous, so heady, intoxicating. With your hands tied, you cannot control how he uses you.

He pulls his cock halfway out, slackening the material around your neck, then pushes back in with a low groan, pulling the stocking tight again so you are flush against his body, bound and choked onto his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly, a slight tremble in his legs.

He doesn’t pull out, but he loosens the noose. Wanting so much to please him, you swirl your tongue against the underside of his shaft, drool escaping your mouth and running down your chin.

“Look up at me,” he groans, “Say my name,”

You attempt to voice it, holding his gaze as your eye water, but it's just a muffled noise that vibrates against him, making him moan harder.

“God, yes, your throat was made for me to punish,” he stutters, yanking more on the stocking, winding the ends around his fists. You feel the restriction pulling you even tighter onto him. The silk is digging into your skin, your throat closing. You struggle for air, your eye beginning to cross and the feel of yourself leaking out onto the rug beneath you.

Just as you start to feel lightheaded, he pulls out, strings of saliva roping from your mouth to his glistening cock. Your stocking flutters down against your breasts as he releases it from his hands. You gasp for air, your lungs burning, your throat raspy. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” his voice is dangerous. 

After allowing you a few breaths, his hands clasp around your head, cupped over your ears, and he pushes back into your mouth. He rocks into you with deep, swift thrusts, allowing you no reprieve. The ambush on your throat caused tears to flow down your cheeks. You can only listen to the gagging, drooling sounds you make as he fucks into your throat as if it were your cunt. It’s shocking how much it turns you on; it makes you utterly mindless for him.

Your eyebrows furrow, feeling your air slowly but surely leave your lungs. Your throat was beginning burn, but the danger of possibly passing out spurred you on more. Spit dangled onto the rug and onto your naked chest. Moaning at how dirty this was.

“I know you can take me deeper than that, love” he encouraged in a stern manner. Both of his palms nudged you further, your nose pressed against his pubic hair, where his scent is so musky and all male. 

He doesn’t move for a while, keeping you there, almost testing your limits. But it doesn’t last long until he’s brutally fucking your throat again. Your vision of Aemond faded to a blur.

He was on the verge of release, you can tell y the way his cock twitches and his highs struggle to hold himself up. You hallow your cheeks, desperate for him to finish.

“Mm, fuck, like that,” he tipped his head back, stilling as his seed shot directly down my throat. You had no other choice than to gag around him constantly.

Grasping your hair, he yanked you back, and moaned pleasingly. Spit and his seed ran down your body, as you heaved on the floor, coughing loudly.

Aemond patted your head twice, giving you silent encouragement.

He tucks himself back into his trousers, shaking slightly from the aftermaths. Aemond walks away towards your shared bed. Confusion was written all over your face.

“Sir...” you began, and he turned around at the sound of your raspy voice. “What... about my release?”

The whole point of teasing him was to get him to fuck you, your cunt aching for his attention. You truly felt like you deserved to be rewarded.

Your question causes him to laugh darkly, almost as if he was shocked you asked for it at all.

“Maybe next time, darling.”

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #hotd #house targaryen #hotd x reader #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #fic rec

[hana-no-seiiki]

☁️ . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ FIVE STAGES OF YANDERE ࿐: IDOL EDITION

“ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃. “

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere! idol! oc (jisoo han) x superfan/manager! reader

✧ tw/cw: yandere themes, reader is also yandere at the start, mentions of anxiety and self harm, honestly idol life is its own tw

HAPPY HANA NO SEIIKI ANNIVERSARY YA’LL!!

[ series masterlist ]

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE ONE. ✧ DENIAL

“Oh gosh (oh gosh) this is so crazy. I’ve fallen in love again.

I trip so easily.

Adore new things, they sparkle.”

“Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“Dunno, just am.”

Your entire life revolved around Yesterday’s Dawn’s ace, Eve. The idol who had been in everyone’s lips. Whose name had been heard throughout nations you’ve never even heard of.

He was your sun, the reason you had the energy to wake up every single day, the light of your life.

Every waking moment you spent it either thinking of him or offering your services for name.

It was normal for you to spend hours looking at his schedule, knowing where he was, being around him most times, or staring at media of him.

Somehow, you were able to land a job as his manager.

You were finally closer to your god.

But you swiftly find out that no man should be likened to one for only disappointment can be found in such a path.

Eve was a lot more . . . burnt out than you expected. A lot less passionate and energetic than he was in camera if not irritable.

It was normal for him to harass workers when they didn’t meet a standard he imposed, as such, after the first few weeks of your employment everyone that you were with have already been fired, quit, and/or paid to keep their silence on the matter.

Yet your feelings for him only stayed; as your employment with the company. Your meticulous and proactive nature as a fan site owner allowed you to take much of the workload he threw at you.

The little admiration you have left for the man kept you standing.

And if only you were a little less stressed you’d notice his scarlet eyes providing stares of amusement, bewilderment, and growing affection.

You never complained (at least, in a place where he could hear you).

Whenever he asked for impossible items or schedules you’ll simply grin and work things out in your little way.

You adjusted to his turbulent temperament as quickly as an experienced pilot in a stormy sky, a sailor of uncharted, dangerous waters.

You were brilliant. Reminiscent of his times as a trainee.

Bit by bit he started lessening your workload. Allowing you to rest. Hell, even giving you his coffee if he didn’t want it. He never gives away his coffee.

You acquiesced to many of his whims but were never a pushover. Always doing your job perfectly. Keeping him in line.

He would have fallen for you already, had he not been in love with someone else.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE TWO. ✧ ANGER

“Peek-a-boo! It’s only love when my heart quivers.

All my friends yell at me, they say I have a problem.

I’m fine fine fine fine fine fine!”

“ For this comeback period, [L/N] will be assigned to Hayate instead. Eve will have his senior’s manager work with him instead.”

“Understood.”

You were assigned to another member around Spring.

Yesterday Dawn’s most hectic time of the year aside from fall as the group’s concept was as the name suggested, focused more on nostalgia and times of youth.

You were relieved.

You never thought you would have been able to say that after being separated from Eve, but now it was the only thing you had on your mind.

No more late night calls about wanting coffee but throwing the leftovers at you the moment he was sick of the taste, no more work being thrown at you and taken away at random moments, no more working around his schedule so that he’ll have time to meet that dear senior of his in private.

You were free.

Hayate was known to be the harsher one in the fandom, but much like Eve his image was a bit different from his actual self.

Sure he was demanding, but he was fair. He wasn’t controlled by whims and impulse. You were finally able to do your job properly til the end, and you didn’t always feel a judging stare from him like Jisoo would always throw at you.

You were finally able to smile.

However, you see, being a manager for another member did not mean you would completely be free of your original client.

Hayate and Eve worked quite closely, and as such, you’d often help with Jisoo’s requests even if you weren’t obligated to.

Eve immediately saw the change in you.

You were, a lot more bright. Less haggard. Your voice less hoarse. Relaxed.

You were already getting along better with his group member than you ever did with him.

Eve wasn’t really the type to show his anger actively. He was always more, passive.

The senior he was head over heels for was slowly forgotten as he’d spent countless of hours pouring his feelings into his music. What was supposed to be a bittersweet spring album turned out to be one of sour regret and frustration.

Of course, it was still a hit. It even scored him a collaboration with the senior he oh so wanted to have their eyes on him. But all he could think of as he went to bed early in the morning was the way you’d laugh whenever Hayate spoke to you.

Hmph, the guy wasn’t even funny.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE THREE. ✧ BARGAINING

“Hey you, do you wanna play a game? I already know what you want.

Close your eyes and count to 10. Don’t matter anyways

Cause I am going to find you.”

“Did you hear? Jisoo got his first scandal. Apparently he bullied a bunch of students during high-school.”

“Wasn’t he . . . homeschooled?”

Causing scandals was easy. Dealing with scandals was not.

All Eve had to do was talk to some people, had a few pictures edited and voila, chaos.

It was amusing really, his company superiors would ply him with reassurances and sweet words; telling him that everything will be fine and dealt with while his pr managers dropped down like flies trying to prevent the flames of hatred from spreading too far.

All of them, hopelessly unaware.

All but his stupid senior.

“Why are you doing this now, Ji?”

They always looked down at him almost. Like he was a petulant child that needed to be coddled or scolded depending on their mood.

“We should focus on the track.”

And like he expected, you were brought right back to him. As you should be.

The heads figured out that you were the only one capable of handling the shitstorm without falling into the hands of alcohol or other substances in grief.

And as they expected you did.

After all, you had a timeline of his entire life in a canva document. Even if it was only mentioned once in a concert interview before they went famous. You were an Eve superfan.

All you did was confirm the fact that Jisoo got homeschooled by contacting his parents and teachers, and the rest was easy. You even reactivated your fansite for such an occasion.

If only you hadn’t.

Maybe then Jisoo wouldn’t have a definite reason to pursue you.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FOUR. ✧ DEPRESSION

“You’ll never get this concept, you might as well forget it

Just play again, bet it all, roll the dice

BLANCA”

Eve thought he was doing well in terms of romancing you.

Ever since he found out about your fansite instead of feeling disgust and horror he felt . . . great, amazing even. A high the stage could never give him.

Of course, you two were destined.

It was only his duty to protect you as your partner, to spoil you, dote on you.

Even if you don’t realize your intertwined fates yet.

. . .

Eve always hovered over you.

Usually managers took shifts with watching over the idols. Half of your time was supposed to be spent planning rather than overseeing his activities.

Yet you seemed to have a never ending babysitting responsibility.

Your past self would have committed several war crimes for the sake of this opportunity. But after a year or so under his ‘care’ you found yourself slowly veering off into the type of insanity you didn’t like falling in.

You felt a bit like Andy from the original Devil Wears Prada book, only that your resentment simmered slowly. Forming into a hideous red sludge of exasperation whenever he randomly wanted to take a vacation. Forcing only you to come with him. Which meant an even bigger workload, and even more people to talk to for flights, schedule conflicts, reservations and all that.

You snapped.

It was a calm afternoon.

The sun was burning you alive as Eve insisted you two would go on a ‘beach date’ for some summer fun.

He shoved a drink in your hand.

And you just broke down.

Tears fell from your eyes, your breath shallow.

You asked him if this amused him. If your suffering was funny to him. If making you fall over just to get his demands on time made him feel fulfilled as a person.

And before he could answer you ran.

A week after that your schedule was finally normal.

Eve kept his distance. Not just from you but from everyone.

You knew of his anxiety attacks and depression before. But seeing those up close and personal scared you.

Things only get worse from here.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FIVE. ✧ ACCEPTANCE

“So it’s too late you’re in the game now. If you keep up might not lose it.

The jungle gym of fun, like hell yeah

Makin the moon fall down down down.”

Eve spent most of his ‘hiatus’ watching your posts of him. Edits, fanfictions, photography, fancams.

Of course, it wasn’t to see himself perform again. He already did that on a regular basis to make sure he kept himself up to the standards of an idol.

It was to see your captions.

Your fanatic raving made him feel . . . loved.

Your previous thoughts on his performances made him feel complete. Like he found a missing piece of a puzzle he kept trying to put something else to fill it in.

Another part of his hiatus was spent preparing for his graduation. The termination of his contract.

It was clear you didn’t love him as an idol anymore. It was his fault really. He couldn’t see how he was hurting you with his work and desires.

If there was another thing he can thank his idol work for was the amount of money he had saved.

Now, he had a new home built far away from civilization. It was completely soundproof. The bed he ordered was custom made, tailored to your preferences this time rather than his. Food stocked to the nines. A few instruments here and there so he could compose even while retired.

He can always make a new song, a new life for you two to enjoy together.

“My voice, my body, my soul. It had always been yours. I just didn’t realize it.”

✧ [AUTHOR’S NOTE]:

For more EVE content check out the #hns.eve tag 🩵

Lyrics are a mix of translations from the og song and Mitch Joseph’s cover.

OFFICIAL EVE CHARACTER AI

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere boy x readere #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere scenario #yandere headcannons #yandere idol #yandere singer #yandere self insert #yandere x darling

[tinytinyblogs]

Mafia!Skz and their romantic tales

⚠This story contains mentions of gun use, mild cursing, and blood. A cringeworthy story, poorly written and a lot more.⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

Chan

He is a busy man, unsurprisingly, with no time for anything else. When asked about finding someone for himself, he didn't think much of it, didn't hope much for it. Though his friends and family try to set him up with people they think he might like, he never feels a connection. But then, he saw you though his friends introduced you without romantic intentions he couldn't help but be drawn to you and his entire world stopped. He thought you were perfect for him. For the first time, he didn't talk much, feeling shy and awkward, wanting to stay cool. But after a while, he felt the need to talk to you more, and he slowly opened up. He may be a scary man around others, especially when he's doing business, but he silently tries his best to make you comfortable. He feels slightly sorry to leave you due to his busy schedule, but he always makes a plan to make it up to you.

He is a true gentleman, always putting your needs first and taking the best care of you. Even when he is busy, he still thinks about what you need and what you should do. And even when he is incredibly angry, he manages to calm down when he sees you. He would never lash out at you, no matter how upset he is. Wherever he goes, he instinctively places his hand on your waist, pulling you closer to his side. It's his way of ensuring your safety and well-being, and it also serves as a calming mechanism for him. The thought of you being hurt without him being there to protect you is unbearable to him, so he keeps you close at all times. Home is not home without you, he now truly believes. "Don't think too much about what you're going to wear, you look good in everything." he says with a sudden compliment out of nowhere before shyly walking away.

Minho

This man is a serious individual who approaches everything with utmost seriousness. He rarely lets loose and can be quite uptight. However, he is not without his flaws. He is prone to making mistakes, such as mistaking, you the innocent one for his enemies. But he is not a cruel man, and he would never intentionally harm anyone. When he discovers that you know his identity, he is initially wary of you. But he also feels a sense of responsibility to protect you, so he lets you stay with him until he can figure out how to fix the mess he has made but he was so confused by his own emotions that he couldn't figure out what to do. Over time, he realizes that he is starting to care about you and feel more comfortable around you. He doesn't realize it at first, but he begins to soften up around you.

He silently observes you, even though he pretends not to care. He notices when you lose your appetite or when you glance at something that catches your attention and he notices when you're sad. He is falling for you, even though he doesn't want to admit it. Despite his tough exterior, he is actually a kind and gentle soul. He may not be the most talkative person, but he is always expressive with his actions. He may act louder than he speaks, but he always tries his best to show you that he is worthy of your affection. Sometimes, he even craves your attention, sneaking glances at you when you're not looking. He doesn't understand why you wouldn't want to look at him, "Put down your phone, you're scaring them off, especially when you have me right here."

Changbin

He is a strong, imposing figure, especially for a mafia boss. But beneath his tough exterior lies a kind and compassionate heart. When he accidentally witnesses you being almost kidnapped by his enemy, he springs into action and saves you. The sight of your red, tear-stained eyes, your trembling form as you cling to his hand, and your tiny stature compared to his own somehow touches his heart deeply. After that, he checks on you frequently, ostensibly out of concern for your safety, but in reality, he just wants to see you more. Eventually, the two of you become close enough, and he boldly asks you to stay with him for your own safety. If you agree, he secretly performs a silly little ceremony in his room before emerging with his usual stoic expression.

As the leader of the mafia, he doesn't want anyone to know about this softer side of him. When he is in love, he is a complete simp for his beloved. He becomes a big baby around them, craving their attention and affection. He transforms into a completely different person in your presence, shedding his title and authority. He loves to spoil them with gifts and experiences, wanting you to have everything you desire. He plans elaborate dates and meticulously curates every detail, all in the pursuit of your love and attention. He needs you desperately, your presence a balm to his soul. "Prepare yourself, honey," he says. "We're going out tonight, and I want to give the world to you."

Han

Han prefers to keep his business and personal life separate, so he met you as an ordinary person, not a mafia boss. He is usually quiet and shy, but one day, he bumped into you while you were both lost in deep thought. You started talking, and the conversation flowed easily. You learned more about each other, and his heart filled with joy as he got to know you. He continued to visit you and befriend you, and your relationship gradually deepened. He almost forgot his true identity, everything is exactly as it should be until one fateful night, when both of you were attacked by one of his enemies. The shy and quiet Han transformed into a completely different person, fiercely protecting you from harm.

Everything happened so fast: the scream, the gunshot, and Han's hand on your waist, pulling you close until your face was buried against his chest and your vision was obscured. Han explained everything later, saying that he had been hit hard by reality and panicked in the moment. But he promised you that he would protect you no matter what. You needed some time to think this obviously makes him very anxious about the possibility of you leaving him, but you eventually came back to him because you were both already stuck in that feeling called love. He pulled you closer and whispered to you over and over again, feeling like he had finally found his happiness. "Thank you, my love," he said. "I will never let anyone hurt you."

Hyunjin

Hyunjin is a romantic man with a smooth love story with you. Unlike his business life, his relationship with you is sweet and fulfilling. He has been thinking about how to tell you about his real identity as a mafia boss, knowing that it could be scary for some people. He is afraid that you will not accept him if you know about his dark side. But his love for you grows stronger every day, and he feels uneasy keeping this secret from you. One lazy day, when you are spending time at his place, Hyunjin decides to show you his secret room full of weapons a side of him you never knew existed. You are surprised to see this side of him, as he does not seem like the kind of man who would be involved in such a dangerous world. When Hyunjin told you the truth, you could see the regret and fear in his eyes. He tried to explain himself, but his words fell on deaf ears. He didn't intentionally mislead you; he simply found it difficult to reveal the truth.

At first, it created a dramatic situation as you struggled to absorb and process the revelation. You knew that nothing could change the fact that he was involved in a dangerous world. Hyunjin was still the same loving man you knew and loved. He would never let his dark life touch you. With every passing moment, he unveiled the depth of his love for you, demonstrating his unwavering commitment to earn your full acceptance. He knew that you were too precious to be exposed to the violence and danger that he faced every day. He shed his guarded exterior, revealing the kind and affectionate man beneath, eagerly seeking your attention and affection. On his busiest and most frustrating days, he would hug you tightly, without saying a word. He simply needed to feel your presence to recharge. "Do you know how much I love you?" he would whisper. "To the moon and back, honey."

Felix

The night was quiet, until it wasn't. You found Felix bleeding in a dark alleyway his life hanging by a thread, and despite knowing it was foolish to bring a stranger home, you couldn't let him die. He refused to go to the hospital without providing a valid reason the presence of a firearm in his possession suggests that he is not an average citizen, even though your mind raised doubts your heart guided you to extend a helping hand to him so you took him back to your cozy home and cared for him. When Felix woke up, he found himself in a warm and inviting space. The food you served him was delicious, and your voice was like music to his ears. He fell in love with you quickly, but you didn't seem scared of him. You didn't bombard him with questions, and you didn't seem to mind his presence. It was a revelation, a glimpse into a world where he was not judged or feared, but simply loved for who he was.

On that day, Felix vowed to love you with all his heart. Loving him is so simple. Just let him shower you with all his love. Your love created a safe haven for him, a place where he could breathe freely and embrace his true self without fear of judgment. He's a sweetheart who will make your favorite dishes, help you with anything you need, and do anything for his loved one. You almost forgotten about his dark business, sometimes. He's really cute when it comes to you, with his smile always shining on his face when he's with you. He'll stay really close to you, sharing everything on his mind and listening to all your words with love in his eyes. He even takes care of you really well, just like you take care of him with love, even though you've only known each other for a short time. "Damn, I think I fall in love with you again and again," he says. "What would I do without you?"

Seungmin

Being forced into an arranged marriage with him brought you into his lavish yet shadowy world. He was a man of few words, and his constant irritation made you wonder if he was even fond of you. His busy schedule left you feeling isolated in the vast mansion it creates a chasm within you, an emptiness that echoes with the silence of companionship. Even though he's a deep thinker, he might occasionally overlook the signs of loneliness that you unintentionally convey he's just trying to find his footing amidst a hectic schedule and the unfamiliar responsibility of caring for someone. He's a little lost, but he's trying. Over time you gradually noticed a subtle change in him, he would check on you unexpectedly, opening your bedroom door only to glance at you before leaving. He began to ask if the food was to your liking and if you had eaten.

Eventually, he asked you to sleep in his bed instead of your own. He is more focused on learning about you than on developing his mafia skills. He even takes notes on what he needs to do to win your heart, as if he is trying to solidify his role as your husband. Perhaps because he's a mafia leader, Seungmin needs to be serious and isn't sure how to act around you. But again he's trying his best. Every day he spends with you, he worries about you more and more. He wonders what you're doing and if there's anything he can do for you. He even takes you out without his men around, to restaurants he knows you love and places he thinks have beautiful scenery. Once he feels comfortable enough, he shows you his goofy side his smile and laughter are radiant, as if you've seen the real him behind his walls, which is actually adorable, especially his cute laugh. He says, "Hold my hand, stay close to me, and tell me if you want to leave." He'll protect you from anything.

Jeongin

Establishing a friendship with him is quite challenging, and it's uncertain whether you can truly consider each other friends. His behavior around you is so puzzling. He says he doesn't like you, he watches you with his side eyes and judges your every move. Yet his actions speak louder than words. He protects you without saying a word, and then walks away like he doesn't care. But he does. He even bought you food and hung it on your doorknob, pretending it wasn't him, but it obviously was. And when danger threatened one night, he rescued you first, without thinking about anyone else he rushes toward you. In your pajamas and sleepy-faced, you looked adorable to him. He pulled you into his car and drove like crazy to his luxurious mansion. After that day, Jeongin became bolder in claiming you as his, without asking for your opinion as he always did.

But to be honest, he didn't make you feel uncomfortable. He brought you everything you wanted and needed, held you close without words, and took you on dates. He was just being himself, full of himself, so all you could do was get used to it. He was also easily jealous, although he didn't want to admit it. In the ruthless world of the mafia, where loyalty and protection are paramount, he stands as a formidable figure, safeguarding his territory and those he holds dear. Having claimed you as his own, he is not one to shy away from asserting his dominance. With the unwavering resolve of a true mafia, he will ensure that the world knows you belong to him, leaving no room for doubt or challenge. He would give death glares to anyone who came too close to you, and pull you so close that you felt like glue. But even though he could be irritating sometimes, you understood why he acted that way. He had shown you enough to know that he was in love with you. "You look like a total mess with that sleepy face," he said, "but it's cute. Sleep in my room tomorrow."

💬I'm hesitant to share this, but I've been working on it for so long. I promise the next one will be better!

©Tinytinyblogs

#kpop #kpop au #stray kids reaction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids mafia #stray kids bang chan #stray kids lee know #stray kids changbin #stray kids han #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids felix #stray kids seungmin #stray kids jeongin #stray kids masterlist #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz scenarios #skz reactions #skz chan #skz minho #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz mafia #skz x reader #skz seungmin #skz hyunjin

[diejager]

OMG FINALLY!! *muach muach* oh my actually I'm a bit nervous and excited now lolol. Uhm—well since your request is open can I have Pyra head and Michael Myers (separately) chasing survivor!reader in trial but they just ignore the other survivors, solely chasing reader till the end of game. Something dark and lustful lingers around those two killers and you just don't know why! By the end of the game, the other survivors manage to escape to the campfire safely, however reader got stuck alone with the killer. When they finally catch you, oh shall you know all your hopes may shatter to pieces. You think this is the end, in the hands of ruthless killer chosen by Entity. But why their face (in pyra head's case it's his helmet) getting closer to your face and what make it's more confusing something comes out of that mask (i.e. a long tendril similar to tongue). Breath kink but instead of hand choking or strangulation, you choked on their tongue 👅

Feel free to ignore this if you still don't open req for dbd fandom

☀️

You are feeding me ambrosia with this sunnie!!! I have a weak spot for both of them, but-but- the Unknown??? Any thoughts????

Cw: DARKFIC?(it’s dbd, what do you expect??), DUB-CON/NON-CON, predator/prey, implied death, obsessive behaviour, choking?, super long tongue??, size kink/difference, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.5k

You were… unlucky. The Entity seemed to rejoiced in your pain more than any other survivor, feeding on your dashed hope for an escape from the perpetual cycle death and sacrifice, the painful sting on being slashed, the horrifying fate of being killed by the killer’s weapon of choice or the terrifying agony of being hooked. It was a painful affair, being the subject of her perverse protection, locked away in her universe to feed and be fed, blood for blood —quid pro quo.

But at times, your moments in her dark world was warm and charming like the people who gathered at the campfire, sharing their skills and abilities to keep the others alive throughout the…trials. The small moments stolen within the fog to keep yourself up and going, and happy, little smiles and bubbly laughs. It made trials easier, to know that the people who were screaming and working had your back in and out of them, to know what they would do made working in teams better and reassuring. 

And yet- and yet it was all for nought, the killer had eyes for you only, stalking and following you with his arm raised despite the others coming between you two to stop him from maiming you. Unfortunately, The Shape - Micheal Myers - in all his ghostly glory and dirty suit, was a creature of obsession, of predatory possession that gave him a one track mind, tunnelling the person who he chose as his obsession; and you happened to be his choice of madness these last round, even when Laurie was with you. 

There were some pros and cons with his constant stalking, the quiet steps echoing not so far behind you while they worked on the generators, unbothered and safe fro Myers, but you were stuck kitting him, running away from him by jumping over windows and dropping palettes wherever you could stun him to give you just a few more seconds of distance. He grew so, so close on multiple occasions, you felt his breath and his dark and imposing figure behind you, but he never once struck you down with his big knife. 

It wasn’t so bad as long as he didn’t hit you, letting you run around and avoid the other three until they finished all five generators and opened the gates, the bell ringing loudly over your head, and even then, he ignored everyone for you. He, somehow, managed to corner you, to far from both gates and your teammates who you - in a desperate plea for a win - had yelled out to leave and let you find the hatch or run to a gate if things got didn’t worsen. Which had left you alone, ears ringing and head beating against your cage, cornered and afraid of the giant who stared you down with a red gleam in the dark pits of his eyes.

Every step he took backed you up further against the rugged wall of a house - his childhood home - and pressed himself against you, the rough texture of his suit irritating your skin as he dropped the knife to touch you, running over his course fingers down your shoulders. Myers was scarily touchy, pads digging into the fat of your hips, groaning and grunting as he ground against you, drinking in your whimpers and hisses, fists hitting his chest without any result. Was it so surprising? He was a monster, a devil’s spawn, who had you in hands, a uselessly struggling victim that was too weak to stop him. 

His game of cat and mouse came to an end, where you forgot what you were initially doing, choking around his thick fingers, the filthy taste hitting you harshly as his jabs. He pressed his fingers down the back of your throat, panting loudly at your gags and rutting his fattening cock on your navel. You shuddered at the feel of it, the thick bulge threatening to pop a button off his jumpsuit, and you feared, you were terrified at your wandering thoughts, the implication of it when faced with a beast like Myers. 

Ding

Then the final call rang, a long and echoing sound that called the end of the trial. It was quiet for a few seconds, and all you felt was pain, agony ripping through you as The Entity swallowed you up with her many arms. The last thing you saw was Myers bulge, pushed to your bloodied lips and filling your dying nose with a thick and heady musk, a metallic and dusty smell that would linger on your tongue. 

You had hoped that she would give you a second, let you bask in the worry and affection the other survivors gave you, her whispers summoning you elsewhere in a drowning cloud of black fog and sent into your next match, placed somewhere in Midwich Elementary School. The many winding halls and rusted metal worked to confuse the survivors and killers alike, leaving only a selected few who were familiar with this realm. You crossed path with James a few times, but you knew he wouldn’t have given an offering for this, it was a sore memory for him, a reminder of his sins and regrets. So that left a single open left: Pyramid Head, the wandering executioner in the halls of Midwich, sentient and brutal in his ways.

He was a monster everyone feared, something created from the mind of a tortured man rather than a human turned monster, he was born a nightmare and would perish as one. That’s why you hid whenever you heard the telltale sound of his rusted great sword drag across the floor, knowing he had chosen you as his obsession and was actively turning a blind eye to the other survivors. You heard a few screams here and there, but he hadn’t downed anyone, seemingly to prefer leaving them half dead and limping to the next generator or survivor to heal.

You were doing well, working with Jane on the third machine, smiling to each other and sending encouraging glances while you looked over your shoulders from time to time, but your luck had run out. Pyramid Head stumbled your way, his head bobbing over the thick cords of his shoulders and chest, sinewy muscles bulging with every move. You both ran, Jane up the stairs and you down the hall, and he followed you. It was a familiar feeling, being the chased obsession of a killer, singled out by him to be the victim of his choosing.

Unfortunately, The Executioner never truly relished in the hunt, prowling fast and hard, ready to kill whoever he crossed, yet, strangely, he hadn’t raised his great sword, chasing you down a hall and into a dead end. You were fucked. Oh so terribly fucked if your assumptions were right. You turned to face Pyramid Head, fearfully glaring at him, eyes scouring the open space around him for a small point to slip away. You felt your small star of hope extinguish when he suddenly appeared before you, moving faster than he usually would, blocking your way with his body. 

He was hard and warm under your palms, his laboured breathing resting on your shoulder in his dazed wandering, his ripped and bloody and filthy arms brushing against yours and feeling you up. You closed your eyes in terror, trying your best to snuff out your thoughts and the feeling of his touches, his fingers pinching and kneading the skin of your hips and thighs, slipping behind to occasionally feel your ass bend under his strong hands. You whimpered, raking your nails down his arms, trying and failing to stop him from going forward with his wants, turning your head away from him. 

It seemed like he didn’t like that, forcing a gasp out of you when a wet appendage lapped at your cheek, leaving a slimy trail of drool until you reacted to him, gaping and hissing at him; and he took your shock and disgust to his advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You retched, throat closing around his tongue, thrusting slowly to the back of your throat and up to spread over your palate. He lathered your mouth in his drool, willing your smaller and less nimble tongue to push at him, choking down any cries or gags from the sheer disgust that filled your guts (despite the small spike of arousal in your guts). 

You wanted to scream about your situation, this fucked up situation you keep finding yourself with monsters like The Shape and The Executioner. Why you? Why you out of everyone else? You weren’t as significant or strong and determined as other survivors, so it confused and worried you, if they would force themselves onto you again and again until they either broke you or moved onto another poor survivor. But perhaps- just perhaps you could make something of it, seeing the thick pole that poked at your stomach, poking from under his loose loincloth and wetting it with a dark spot at the tip.

You loathed The Entity and her plans. 

#x reader #dbd fanfic #dbd survivor #dbd killer #micheal myers #dbd the shape #Micheal myers x reader #The shape x reader #pyramid head x reader smut #pyramid head x reader #pyramid head #silent hill pyramid head #dbd pyramid head #the executioner #tw: dark content #dark content #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight survivor #tw: dubcon #tw: non con #predator prey #size difference

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Sadness, realizations.

Word Count: 633

Previously On...: A phone call in the middle of the night sends Bucky to Jade's side at the med bay to help her through a "panic attack," which you're sure she's faking. You warn Bucky that if he keeps going to her, you might not be willing to take him back.

A/N: I didn't realize some of these parts were so short. They were difficult to write, so they took a lot of time, and therefore seemed longer. I feel like I'm drawing out the inevitable, and I probably am. I'm sorry!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

When you woke up a few hours later, Bucky wasn’t back. You checked your phone. It was well past the time you’d planned on leaving to go Upstate, not that you were surprised. He’d text you, apologizing, telling you that Jade was too emotionally distraught to be left alone for the time being, but he promised to be back soon, and you’d still make your trip. You knew the promise was hollow. You didn’t believe he was sleeping with her, not really, but the situation was becoming untenable. You’d always said you would never try to control who he could or couldn’t be friends with, but you began to wonder if it was time for an ultimatum. The idea of imposing one sat poorly with you; it wasn’t the kind of girlfriend you wanted to be, but you felt he was leaving you no choice anymore. Every boundary you had asked him to keep with her, she’d somehow find a way to push him past. 

He wasn’t blameless in the situation, you knew that. You knew he loved you, wanted to be with you, but how many chances could you give him to put you first, only to have him fail you? He wasn’t doing it on purpose; he was a genuinely good person who saw someone who had suffered as he had, and who wanted to provide support in a way that had been denied to him, but he was doing it at the expense of your relationship, your heart, your fucking sanity. He was taking you for granted, assuming that you’d always forgive him. And why wouldn’t he? You’d done it each and every time before.

You got up and got dressed, trying to find a use for your time so that you weren’t incessantly staring at the clock, waiting for Bucky to finally decide to make time for you. You suddenly remembered the request that Sam had made of you the night before– that you check the Tower’s systems to see if Jade had attempted to access anything that might set up red flags. 

Grabbing your laptop, you made your way to the kitchen to grab a bagel and glass of juice before curling up on a chaise lounge in the common room and began working. It was going to be a time consuming task; the Tower’s systems were massive, but you’d built a good portion of them yourself, so it was a lot like wandering the forest in your own backyard. 

Hours later, you were rubbing your eyes, regretting that you had left your glasses in your room. The sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the city skyline. Standing up to stretch, you cracked your neck and lower back before shooting off a text to Sam.

>>Just ran a check of the Tower systems for Jade’s footprint.

Ole Sammy: And???? Don’t leave me hangin in suspense, Baby Girl!

>> And, nothing screaming ENEMY AGENT. 

>> She accessed Bucky’s unlocked files.

>> Like, a lot.

Ole Sammy: Creepy, but not surprising.

>> No, considering she’s fucking obsessed with him.

Ole Sammy: Unless…

>> Unless what, Samuel?

Ole Sammy: Nothing. Just a thought. Probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.

>> Stop being cryptic. Tell me.

Ole Sammy: Not unless I have proof to back it up. I don’t want to make accusations without evidence. Bitch’s scary AF. Besides, she could kick my ass.

>> Pretty sure I could kick your ass.

Ole Sammy: Only if I didn’t have my wings!

>> Not the flex you think it is.

Ole Sammy: How’s Upstate?

>> Wouldn’t know. Jade had a ‘panic attack’ in the night and has needed Bucky by her side ever since.

Ole Sammy: That dumb ass mother fucker! How much longer you gonna put up with this shit, Baby Girl?

>> I’ll talk to you later, Sam.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 7: Stuck In Wall

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7468

Warnings: Afab! Reader, master/servant dynamic, stuck in wall, age difference, dubcon, reader is a rabbit illuminated beast, vaginal fingering, bareback, no protection lol no gendered terms but he does call us “little one” because that is what I am personally weak for

A/N: alright so I definitely got a little carried away with this one but in my defense … in my defense Zhongli is my favorite character. I started playing specifically FOR him. So I think my bias was going to show no matter what 😂

⭐

Peering out from your hiding place behind a wide, red painted column, you secretly observe your lord and master while he sips his afternoon tea in the sprawling manor garden. The Lord of Geo is a sight to behold even when at ease, and you can’t quite seem to decide what it was you were feeling flitter about inside your chest when you looked at him. Was it excitement, pure and headstrong adrenaline at the prospect of challenging him in the way the young test themselves against the old? Or was it something more personal and intimate — a crush, you’d heard human adolescents call it before. This strange feeling wasn’t exactly new but it was still as much of an unknown as it had been the first time you’d realized Morax was the cause of it. 

You think you’re just eager to try out what you’ve learned since the last time you came here and sparred with him though. Had even spent some time with the five Yaksha between then and now, most notably with Alatus who had (begrudgingly) helped you work on your speed. Bonanus had even teased you about biting off more than you could chew when you’d told her why you were so keen on training like this, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. For as much as you looked up to and admired the Yaksha for their strength and commitment to Morax’s nation, nothing was held in quite so high regard as earning his approval the same way they had. 

All you wanted was to prove yourself to him. To be looked at with the same fondness and mutual respect that he gave the others rather than the doting, indulgent smiles he always gave you. It was undeniably frustrating, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. It wasn’t your fault you were a bit too young to have stood beside him during the Archon War but you were determined to win his favor no matter the cost. 

So you very quietly sneak out into the open, recalling what Alatus had told you about the importance of concealing your presence until you were ready to actually deliver the killing blow. Not that you were trying to kill him or anything — as if you even could. But considering that all of your previous encounters with the Geo Archon had ended in resounding failure, with you slinking off with your tail tucked between your legs and licking your wounds, it seemed like it was worth a shot. Somehow, you’d almost managed to convince yourself that sneaking up on him instead of clashing head on would net you a different result. 

But of course it is not meant to be, and you barely make it within twenty feet of the powerful god when the earth abruptly shudders and gives way, exploding outward from the force of a glowing geo construct erupting out of nothing. You give a startled jerk and immediately fall into a defensive crouch, but they just keep appearing around you; one by one, tall, imposing monoliths springing up out of the ground to entrap you where you stood. 

Realizing you have fallen for a trap and Alatus’ advice was no good against someone like the Lord of Geo, you make a hasty attempt to escape. Try to utilize his training to your advantage even though it’s done you little good up til’ now, but you don’t make it very far. 

You’re hyper aware of the moment that a construct of Morax’s making bursts up underneath you, shooting right towards your middle. You lurch, too surprised to even breathe as you see it spearing straight through you and up into the very heavens themselves. For a split second you actually think he’s going to kill you — but to your great surprise it suddenly splits down the middle and branches off into two separate halves that fly up past you only to reconvene and become one at the top. 

It’s like you’re watching it all happen in slow motion, painfully aware of what’s happening as it seals around you and stops your momentum mid fall. You jerk to a sudden, screeching halt that rattles your teeth, and you suck in a harsh gasp that seems to tear at your throat. You’re stuck. Just like that. In the blink of an eye you’ve been left dangling there, trapped inside the unrelenting prison of one of his geo spires, and you had no way out. 

You’re still desperately clawing and kicking at the solid stone when he steps up beside you, long dark robes swaying softly as he comes into view. You go stock still, heart hammering wildly inside your chest even as you bring your head up to look at him. To your gobsmacked, stuttering surprise, he was smiling at you. 

“M - m - my lord!” 

“Hello, little one. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. A very grumpy bird told me you’ve been training with the Yaksha recently and I assumed that would continue to take up a significant amount of your time for at least a while longer.” 

Heat floods your face in a sudden rush that leaves you sputtering, trying to work out what to say to that. Dammit, Alatus! He wasn’t supposed to go behind your back and tell Morax what you’ve been doing! No wonder his advice hadn’t worked. 

“Forgive me, master.” You finally manage to say. “It was not my intention to displease you. I only wanted to - -“ 

“Oh, I’m well aware what it is you wanted. My attention, isn’t that right?” He tips his head to one side, ever so, his expression still serene and gentle, but that doesn’t stop you from flushing even hotter than before. Quickly, you avert your gaze and try not to look so guilty even though that seemed to be a losing battle in this situation. You felt so stupid, and all the more when Morax draws a patient breath at your continued silence. “Honestly, I'm a little surprised with you. I didn’t take you for the sort to sneak around like that. At first I assumed you were merely working up the courage to come over and ask to spar with me, but that was not the case … was it?” 

You sorely wished you could wither away, right then and there, but the unrelenting geo construct made it impossible to even turn from him and hide your shame, let alone beat a hasty retreat. “No, master. It wasn’t.” 

“Then why?” 

His gloved fingers suddenly brush your chin and you jolt, choking on a very unbecoming squawk of surprise as he tips your face up. Left with no choice but to look at him, you make a desperate attempt to school your expression and hide your fluster from the piercing intensity of his gaze only to fail miserably on all fronts. You couldn’t even remember a time you’d embarrassed yourself so badly in front of him. 

“W - well, I just — I thought …” You trail off in uncertainty, but he just nudges your chin with a soft little hum of encouragement. Whimpering faintly, you squeeze your eyes shut so you won’t have to see him looking at you, patient and expectant, while you’re forced to admit to your wrongdoings. “I’m sorry, master! I thought if I took you by surprise I might fare better this time. Alatus said - -“

“Alatus?” Morax’s fingers abruptly slip away. Blinking back the sting of humiliated tears, you cautiously glance up to find him lost in his own thoughts and a tiny little spark of hope flares to life inside you. Perhaps he would let you go and direct his displeasure at the one who had given you that bad advice in the first place! 

“I see,” He says at last. “I wouldn’t say he was necessarily wrong to tell you that. Given your size and strength, it certainly does make sense to rely on concealment when approaching a potential threat. However,” The deep timber inflected in just that one word sends shivers racing down your spine as much as the hard edge in his golden eyes does. “You had to have known such tricks would not work against me, little one, and I very much doubt Alatus intended for you to utilize that particular strategy in such a way. If I was so easily taken by surprise then surely I would not be standing before you as I am now, would I? Frankly, I'm not sure if I find your underestimation of me cute or insulting.” 

Your chest wrenches violently at that. “No … no, no, I'm sorry, master! Please don’t be displeased with me, I didn’t mean to offend you! I would never! I promise!” 

Evidently unmoved by your pleas, Morax makes a casual show of folding his arms behind his back before shifting into motion. Slowly, he walks around the side of the monolith he’d conjured to trap you where he disappears from your line of sight. Even trying to twist around is useless and all you can make out is the hard column of stone and a thin, sideways glimpse of the lush garden foliage. You squirm and brace your hands on the faintly glowing rock, making an attempt to wriggle your way out, but then he appears on the other side and you go still again. 

You realize, in a far off, distant kind of way, that he’s circling you like a predator and with that knowledge comes a silent reminder of who he is. What he is. You’d never been lucky or privileged enough to see Morax in his truest form, nor had you ever caught so much as a glimpse of it until now, but you’d heard tales of it. Whispers of his magnificent size and strength. How he was just as big, if not bigger, than most of the gods he fought in the war and equally deadly too. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the kind and gentle individual before you now, with his doting smiles and easy company, was in fact hiding a beast under that disarming facade. A monstrous dragon. 

And you, little more than a rabbit, were trapped in his lethal claws. 

“You must forgive my mood today. It isn’t exactly that I am unhappy with you, or Alatus for that matter.” He says quietly. Much too quietly to do anything except further rattle your nerves and make you more anxious. “But I think there is something to be said for these times of peace, don’t you? Not only do the years wear away at the memory of the people but even my beloved adepti too, and it seems that everyone is slowly forgetting what this land looked like not that long ago.” 

Pausing in front of you, Morax sends you a slow, unreadable look of consideration. 

“The same cannot be said of me though. I can’t forget it. I won’t forget.” 

With that, he resumes his pacing around the monolith and you just hang there, having no choice but to attentively listen in even when you want nothing more than to crawl inside a hole and bury yourself alive. 

“I’ve not faced a real challenge in many, many centuries now,” He continues, sedate and almost leisurely. “Most save a select few don’t even bother to spar with me now, whether because they hold me in too high regard to even take up their weapons or because they already know what the outcome will be. I must confess though, I miss it sometimes. That is why I have enjoyed our little sessions so much. Even if you cannot truly stand against me, it was still nice … refreshing to see someone standing on the side of opposition with neither hesitation nor reverence on their face. You just wanted to prove yourself, isn’t that right,” His hand abruptly caresses over your leg, starting at the knee and trailing a sensuous path up the back of your thigh, over your buttocks and higher still to finally flick at your small, curved tail. “My helpless rabbit?” 

Yelping and blushing profusely, you quickly slap your hands over your mouth to stop yourself from making any further noise. You had no idea what was happening, what he was talking about, and you knew even less how you felt about any of it. Your heart slams a wild, continuous beat against your chest, feeling like it was likely to explode out of you at any given moment, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or … excitement? 

Either oblivious or unconcerned with your current predicament, Morax just keeps pacing around you at a steady canter. “That is also why I’m so disappointed in your behavior today. I thought you were better than that. I expected better from you than that. Using such strategy against a lesser foe would have been another matter entirely but me?” He barks a quick, mirthless laugh that seems to set your guts to vibrate. “The only ones foolish enough to use such a shameless tactic against me in the Archon War were beings so far beneath my concern that I didn’t even bother learning their name before I destroyed them. Any warrior with even an ounce of pride would never stoop to such a low, for both his own integrity as well as that of his opponents. Is it possible that I have been much too lenient with you?” 

You suck in such a sharp, painful breath that it claws at your throat on the way down. “Master, please! That’s not it at all! I - I just thought … I thought you would be impressed with me if I could implement what I learned from the Yaksha and show you I’m serious. I d - didn’t …” 

You trail off, not sure what else to say to defend yourself or your actions, and Morax halts in front of you again. Eyeing you for a moment longer, he finally reaches up to touch fingers to his chin in thought. “You were still small during the war, weren’t you? Only just ascended, if I remember correctly.” You give a miserable little nod, prompting him to slowly exhale through his nose. “I see. It’s not that you’ve forgotten, nor did you intentionally mean any disrespect. It’s just that you don’t know any better. All you’ve ever truly lived is peace, so a warrior's sense of pride is likely just some fanciful concept rather than a tangible thing to you. Still, there is something … a part of me doesn’t want to let it go even knowing this. I want — no, I need to show you that I am not someone such petty tricks will work on.” 

“Wha - -“ 

His hand is suddenly under your chin again, nudging you to look up even as he bends close to put his face in yours. Veins turning to ice, you just stare at him in speechless disbelief. If you could have backed up at that moment you would have gone skittering in the opposite direction, but the geo construct keeps you rooted to the spot. All you can do is take it when he carefully curls those long, blocky fingers over your jaw and gives them a brief squeeze to make you wince. It was only a very small fraction of his power, you knew this, but you still issue a quiet whimper anyway, more from your bruised ego than any physical pain he was causing you. 

“Do not misunderstand, little one. You are young and naive, while I am willing to forgive and as patient as the tallest mountain.” Morax intones, his voice dropped to such a low register it almost seems to carry with it a … growl. “But I am also still the Archon of this land. It is my duty to soundly guide all who inhabit Liyue, whether they be human or adepti, and that very much includes you. Forgive me for saying so, but I think it’s high time I teach you an important lesson. One that appears to be long overdue.” 

“… my lord?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“Oh, don’t look at me with such fear in your eyes.” Cooing softly, Morax releases your jaw in favor of reaching up to carefully brush some of the hair back from your face. Just like that, his mood seems to have returned to the calm you were used to and it only leaves you even more unnerved. Confused to see him acting like this. But if he notices any of the disconcert in your expression he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead dragging his hand lower to tenderly cup your cheek in his gloved palm. “I have no intention of harming you today, nor do I wish to scare you. But I think it’s important for you to understand what I am.”

You swallow your nerves. Almost choke on them. “What are you?” You prod, wanting to hear him say it out loud with his own voice, in his own words. 

With a slow, almost unsettling blink of his eyes, Morax puts his head to one side. “A very territorial god.” 

The shudder that tears through you is so powerful it leaves you outright gasping in shock. He merely smiles though, that same soft, vague smile he usually wears, except … there’s an edge in the gilted amber of his eyes that makes you run hot. Hotter than any bath or spring, or teakettle, and you can’t quite seem to get your breathing under control now as he straightens up, letting his hand fall away, and then moves to step behind you again. 

Panicking, you slap your clammy palms against the lower half of the geo construct and desperately try to find some amount of leverage you could use to shimmy free but it is resoundingly useless. His control over the element was so great, so fine tuned and honed that there was barely even a seam between your midsection and the cool stone you were imprisoned in. You’d never be able to squeeze your hips through such a narrow opening, nor your shoulders — not without dislocating them and causing irreparable damage in the process. The reality of that truth slams into you mere seconds before you feel his fingers brush against your tiny tail again, and you can’t quite stop yourself from letting out a frightened squeak. 

“Now, now,” He chides, a heavy note of laughter dancing in his voice. “You needn’t rile yourself so. I already told you I’ll be gentle … but there are things you need to understand about this world. The way you came here today was so lacking in manners and propriety that you’ve struck an old chord in me, I’m afraid. But I won’t treat you as I did those who tried such petty, simple tricks in the past,” His hand abandons your twitching tail in favor of skimming down lower to pet over the seat of your form-fitted shorts, startling another gasp out of you at the static jolts that race through your body. “But I think we can come up with an appropriate substitute that will get the point across just as well. I will show you what it truly means to bend the knee to a god and impart upon you the significance of not underestimating one’s elders.” 

Your mouth drops open in shock but nothing comes out, every single hair on your body immediately standing on end. The thought that this was really happening seemed so distant, so implausible, that you almost don’t even believe it. Morax had never touched you like this, usually much too polite and proud to lay hands on you (or anyone, for that matter) more than what was strictly necessary, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it now. The glide of his fingers along the seam of your cunt is sure and confident, like he’s done this a million times before. 

The weight of it slams into you all at once and you finally give a delayed little jerk as your stomach violently seizes. “M - master! Thats - -“ 

“Mine, is it not?” 

You go stock still, halfway through the motion of trying to push against the stone again. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. “I … I don't understand.” 

With a soft, vaguely condescending click of his tongue, Morax adjusts his hand to rub over the apex of your slit with a greater sense of purpose to make you twitch and seethe through your teeth. “Which is precisely why I would be remiss not to educate you, little one. You have truly lived a largely comfortable life and you do not grasp what would be apparent to you had you endured any of the hardships of the past. Respect, decorum, integrity … these are not just words without meaning. You must learn to maintain these principles even in your youth, or you won’t live to see the same old age I enjoy.” 

Biting down on your bottom lip to stifle the embarrassing sounds trying to slip out, you frantically turn that over in your head. It was exceedingly hard to do when he was caressing you like that, gradually coaxing your body to bend to his will which it does with a horrifying lack of compulsion, but you desperately wanted to figure out what had set him off and why he was acting this way. You wanted to understand him … easier said than done, of course, when he always spoke in such a complicated and enigmatic manner. Yet a thought starts to slowly dawn on you, alighting inside your mind like the morning sun appearing over the horizon. 

Was it possible that the lesson he wanted you to take from this boiled down to something as simple as a reestablishment of his dominance? Had you really stoked the mighty dragon in him enough that he now felt compelled to dominate you like he would any lesser foe who dared to disrespect his position and authority? He said you’d approached him without respect … had opined about the past and how he missed partaking in true battles, establishing his own superiority over others with fists rather than words. Said he’d enjoyed your sparring matches because of the way you’d looked at him with neither awe or reverence — but by sneaking around like an assassin you’d overstepped that understanding between you and your lord? 

A sudden groan bursts out of you when your pussy eagerly flutters against the ministration of his hand, growing wet for him, and it quickly becomes that much harder for you to concentrate. But you frantically try to hold onto that string of thought, panting slightly where you hang from the geo construct. It felt like you were right on the brink of a solid idea … an epiphany. 

You almost write it off completely when it finally comes to you, so absurd and implausible at first glance. But the longer he pets your cunt with sure, steady motions of his hand, as if he already knew exactly how to toy with you, the more you found yourself faltering. Could it really be that you had simply offended his greater sense of pride, his monstrous instincts, by suggesting (intentionally or not) that you didn’t consider him worth the effort of meeting face to face in the sparring ring anymore? 

It’s not lost on you that Morax was well within his right to do as he pleased, however he so pleased, and he normally chose kind smiles, a soft hand to guide, friendly company and the grace to only show you a very small fraction of his great strength. The goodwill to let you think you ever stood any kind of fighting chance against him if you just trained enough, just stuck with it long enough. But now it seemed he was set on reminding you of your place in his world, bring you to heel, and let it be known in no uncertain terms where you stood. He had been nothing but tenderhearted and indulgent towards you until now, doting the way a father figure would be. Infinitely lenient, or so it had seemed. 

That was not who was standing behind you any longer though. He’d been replaced by a king, a war general, a fierce draconian lord. Someone who took without asking and who claimed what was his by right, and that very much included you and your body, evidently. 

Sucking in a sharp, wavering breath, you abruptly snap back into the moment when you feel him pinch at your clit through the thin fabric of your pants to get your attention again. His motions are self assured and confident as he gently teases the sensitive nub with a slow, rolling motion of his fingers before squarely pressing down on it. Your legs weakly kick out behind you at a series of awkward angles, torn between either balancing the distribution of your weight so there wasn’t quite so much pressure on your middle where the stone was holding you up or trying to close your thighs and keep him out. The latter was useless though. You were completely defenseless like this without even the privilege of being able to twist away, and you soon realize all you can do is accept your fate. 

So you hang there, whimpering softly as he grinds mean little circles into your clit. He doesn’t stop until your hips start to judder and buck against the stimulation, a startling amount of sticky slick already bleeding into the fabric plastered to your cunt. You can’t help groaning in frazzled disappointment when he finally withdraws his hand some moments later, leaving your body thrumming with unspent kinetic energy, but he’s quick to smooth his hand over the curve of your ass and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze. 

“There. That’s better isn’t it?” He rumbles behind you, that same hint of amusement making you tremble again. “Rest assured, little one. I will not be unfair or cruel to you. I’ll make sure this is as pleasant for you as myself, but I trust my greater intention will not be lost either. This is a symbolic act, so do pay attention.”

“M - master —!” Your voice warbles and catches, breaking off with a stilted little gasp when Morax redirects his hand to grasp at the material and tug at it. It takes him a prolonged beat to inch it down enough, between all your squirming and the position he’s got you stuck in, trapped within one of his monoliths, but soon he can slip his fingers inside the waist. Tugging your shorts down, pausing to untangle them from your twisting legs, he finally gets them pulled over your ankles and tossed aside. 

You’re left naked from the waist down with only your socks and shoes allotted to you, and you’d never felt more exposed or vulnerable in all your life. Try as you might, you just couldn’t seem to find enough leverage to curl your legs up and it has you awkwardly writhing against either side of the stone spire. No matter what you do though you can still feel the waft of cool, pristine air against your bared cunt and, much to your mounting horror, even the clenched pucker of your ass. You were completely on display like this. He could see everything — and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it! 

Was this how helpless his enemies had felt against him in the past? How weak, pathetic and unequivocally at his mercy they’d been? 

“My,” He seems to pur, gently touching a fingertip to the meat of your cunt to make you jolt. “What a sweet little thing you are. Already so wet for me … I’m flattered.” 

You momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads your lips with a deliberate, savory slowness, and lets out a quiet huff at what he sees. Flushed so hot you think you might just pass out from the sharp, debilitating stabs of humiliation that slice into you, your hands blindly reach down to brace against the lower half of the construct and lift your weight up off your stomach a bit. You couldn’t process this. Couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he was not only touching you but even looking right at your most intimate of spots, completely unheeded.  

The sting of burning, deeply embarrassed tears floods your eyes and you whimper, mewling a plaintive plea as he idly draws smooth, glove encased fingers through folds and petal-soft creases to further spread your slick around. Emphasizing how copious it is, and how very sticky you were. You try to brace yourself for what will come next — unsure what that would be, exactly, but knowing in some primal, animal part of your brain that your trial was far from over — but it still shocks you a great deal when Morax finds your entrance and applies just enough pressure to dip a finger inside. 

Your whole body jerks with the sensation of him reaching into you, the sinuously smooth texture of his glove slipping and sliding indecently against your guts. Even when your pussy squeezes around the unexpected intrusion, even when your body aches in protest at being suddenly stretched, it does nothing to stop him from gliding in straight down to the knuckle. Heaving a gutted little noise, you lurch and almost lose your hold on the geo construct. 

“Oh!” 

“A tight fit.” He murmurs, more to himself than you. Which is good, because your head is spinning so fast you really aren’t confident in your ability to respond coherently right now. “I suppose I will have to take the time to properly prepare you first, then … I don’t think you’ll be able to take me like this.” 

Take him? 

The powerful god behind you doesn’t give you a chance to linger on that thought, gradually withdrawing his finger and then pushing back in to send you scrabbling at the surface of the stone. Slow and steady, he takes his time massaging along your inner sleeve with a level of patience you’d long since come to recognize in him but it drives you absolutely insane in this situation. Your pussy thrums eagerly around him, already so keen and sensitized from his earlier petting that it doesn’t take long at all for you to start feeling the muscles lock up in vibrating tension. Seething through your teeth, you try once again to bring your legs up even if only to brace against the sensation wracking through your lower body, but it’s futile. All you do is uselessly squirm in place, hips bucking slightly every time he reaches deep inside you. 

But then — you choke on a haggard, frantic sound when he introduces a second finger to your soaked cunt, sliding in just as easily as before but the stretch was so much more intense this time that your eyes start to roll back. Hissing through your teeth, you can do nothing but endure it while he takes a moment to rub along your interior, caressing over every bump and ridge as if in careful consideration before he finally angles his fingertips down. Down. He curls them, crooks them in a come hither motion, and presses right into something that makes your heart catch in your throat. You start to wheeze, gasping and choking on the blinding pressure as he teases that spongy spot for a just moment and then sedately jabs into it again. Once, twice, and on the third time you shatter, falling into uncontrollable tremors while you wail in distress. 

But no matter how hard you shake or judder your hips, he just keeps moving his fingers. Alternating between teasing at that insidious nerve cluster and casually working those long digits in and out of you at a tortuously slow, stilted pace. In a matter of moments he seems to milk your orgasm for everything it’s worth, leaving your cunt soft and pliant around the intrusion, and then immediately starts to build into the next. Your sensitive, post-climax twitching is very quickly replaced by the eager, needy roll of your shaking hips as you instinctively grind back on him, seeking out more like you were already addicted to it. 

Your cheeks burn in excitement and shame alike, and another faltering groan slips out of you, unbidden, when you realize how stiff your nipples have become under your shirt. They seem to jut out in stiff, fine points, as if seeking out that same source of friction your cunt was getting, and that only humiliates you even further. You’d never felt like this before. Never known your body to turn on you so completely that your tits felt heavy with arousal where they were swaying softly each time you moved, nor had your pussy ever been so very responsive … either Morax was a very talented individual when it came to stroking another’s body to vibrating fever pitch or you were far weaker for him than you’d first thought. 

Somehow you got the feeling it was a potent combination of the two. You also can’t quite shake the sense of being even more outmatched against him in this situation than you ever were in any of your martial sparring bouts, and that was certainly saying something. 

“Master, p - please! I can’t take it …” You finally manage to hiss. 

“Oh? Are you going to cum again already, my sweet little rabbit?” 

Involuntarily, your pussy clamps down on his fingers hard, and he issues a low chuckle in response, still sedately fucking into your body at the same unhurried pace. It was like he had all the time in the world to do this, and he probably did. You can’t help but grimace at the sticky clicks and wet little slurps coming from the other side of the spire, as embarrassed that your cunt was making those kinds of noises as you were about Morax being the one to not only cause them but that he was hearing them too. That shame does very little to dissuade your arousal though and it seems like you’re wildly shaking again in just a matter of moments, your jaw clenched so tight it actually hurts. It was too much. 

“My, this is a surprise.” He says over your high pitched, sensitive bleating. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so easily brought to climax, and in such a short amount of time too … perhaps I should retrieve a bucket to put under you if you’re going to keep cumming like this?” 

You let out a long, keening groan as the tremors in your body finally start to ebb and fade but he merely chuckles at your reaction, clearly finding humor in it. If you’d been in any position to do so, you probably would have found the whole thing rather funny too. After all, it wasn’t every day one was able to witness the Lord of Geo laying claim to one of his Adepti with such ease and agility. 

Distantly, you’re aware of him shifting behind you moments before his fingers pull out with a wet pop that leaves you shuddering anew while your pussy weakly squeezes around something that was no longer there. You try to catch your breath in that moment, having no idea how long it would last, but your body is so high strung and sore, a lingering ache settling deep within you in the aftermath of being stretched open, that you can’t seem to calm yourself. 

“Master, please,” You beg, still wheezing harshly. “I did not mean to upset you … I only wanted to show you what I learned from the Yaksha, I swear it! I wouldn’t ever — ahhn!” 

Your desperate pleas suddenly catch in your throat when you feel him brush against you, long robes fluttering around your bare, quaking thighs as something decidedly fleshy presses into you from behind. Warm and uncompromisingly rigid, it just touches your sticky labia and then pauses there, hovering. Waiting. The not so subtle threat has you wildly bucking against the stone structure, struggling just to breathe. You’d never wanted to turn and look at something so much in your entire life, but you can’t do that like this. Not with your front half dangling from one side of the construct while the lower - - 

His hands abruptly squeeze around your hips, holding you still, and you let out a frazzled, helpless little mewl when he nudges into you enough you can feel your cunt lips parting under the stilted pressure. Weakly kicking your legs in an attempt to find something you could brace against, even if it was just by the tips of your toes, proves utterly useless. You were a bit too high off the ground, evidently level with his hips, and it forces you to experience the slow press of his cock in startling high definition. 

You may not have been able to see it, but he felt big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take, and you loose a wild, high pitched squeal at the oppressive sensation of him poised and ready to lay claim to you. 

“Do you remember what I said, little one?” Drawing a brief, savory breath, Morax gives another, barely there push, and just sinks into the give of your entrance before stilling again. Not quite breaching you yet but positioned to follow through at any moment, giving you plenty of time to process the full weight of your impending domination. “This is a symbolic act, first and foremost. You are inexperienced in the ways of this world so it is my duty to teach you … tell me, then. Do you know what the lesson is?” 

It takes you a shamefully long moment to kickstart your brain enough to even realize he’s asked you a question. You were so overwhelmed by just his presence behind you, the impact of this innate claim he had on you and your body. For a long beat, you can’t even seem to find your voice. 

“… I — I don’t know. I’m not sure.” You finally manage to warble. 

“Hm? I don’t think I quite believe that. Why don’t you take a guess?” 

He nudges you again, tauntingly sinking forward as if to finally penetrate you at long last, but never quite following through on it. Your pussy thrums in nervous anticipation, and he sighs very softly when your body seems to suckle at the tip of him with each shuddering clench of vibrating muscle. Arms trembling slightly from the effort, you awkwardly readjust their slipping hold on the spire and try to think. You needed to say something, preferably something other than mindless, overwrought gibberish. 

“Is it that — you want me to feel what it’s like to be bested by you? To understand how weak I really am …?” 

“Oh, precious thing. It’s not that you are weak, nor is that what I want you to take away from this.” Gently, almost affectionately, Morax smooths over the skin across your hips with blunt thumbs as if to comfort you. “Rather, this is but a symbolic representation of what can happen if you underestimate your foes. Even your god is not quite as immune to territorial displays as he would like to be. It’s been a long, long time since someone last challenged me in earnest … and you’ve awakened the beast in me today by presenting yourself as one.” 

His strong fingers abruptly dig into you, hard enough to bruise, and you gasp at the pain. It is quickly overshadowed, however, by the sharp, splintering stretch of his tip pressing into you, forcing your guts to allow him entry one earth shuddering inch at a time. You abruptly understand then, realization lighting up within you in a far off, dreamy sort of way. This was a conquest. You’d been teasing the dragon in him this entire time — the way you looked at him, the way you challenged him and even the way you’d taken the word of one of his most loyal followers in a sea of many and tried to turn it back around on him. He wasn’t punishing you in the strictest sense, but giving in to his instinctive urge to dominate and claim. To quash opposition with his heavy fists and stand at the top, on his divine throne, where he rightfully belonged, to claim the spoils for himself and breed his powerful heirs. 

A hollowed out, gutted groan tumbles from your mouth as he enters you from behind, his cock so big and heavy inside you the stretch of it seems to reverberate deep in your bones. You can barely even breathe around it, the way it seems to punch the air right out of your lungs, leaving you clawing at the monolith like a trapped animal. A hare, in a hunters noose. Inch by staggering inch, it feels like he’s breaking you in half and all you can do is woundedly bleat into the otherwise still garden. Morax was not just taking you for himself in the physical sense, he was subjugating your body to his rock solid will like a tyrant. 

“My lesson to you is thus,” He growls, practically snarls behind you, as he sinks another tortuous fraction into your heaving guts. “Do not tempt fate and let sleeping gods lie. You never know what sort of mood they’ll wake up in.” 

Keening frantically now, you arch so hard against your stone prison you feel the strain of it in your spine. But his hold on your hips is as good as iron and your lower body is practically immobilized like this, save the uncontrollable shake of your legs. You hear him grunt behind you, very softly, and then give his cock a stilted little push that has him sinking in even deeper, so deep you can practically taste him on the back of your tongue. The way he stretches your cunt so completely, so oppressive with the weight of him behind you, in you, against you, seems to overwhelm all your senses at once, and it takes you a prolonged beat to realize when he’s stilled again.

Panting harshly, you hang there for a moment as if in suspended animation, just trying to process his heavy presence inside your body, and then it occurs to you … his strong, narrow hips are pressed flush against your upturned ass. Seated in you straight down to the hilt. Your cunt had never felt so full, so stuffed right to the breaking point before, and you wheeze like some broken, wounded little thing.  

“Hunger,” Morax intones, so abruptly it startles a low whine out of you. “For the flesh and blood of the illuminated beasts. Wrath, for those that dared disturb their slumber. Greed, to reclaim what was once theirs by any means necessary.” His fingers dig further into your hips and hold you in place as he carefully angles back just enough to drag at your guts. “Or, in some cases, you might even find yourself speared down the middle on a beastly cock that is much too big for your poor little body to take. You must tread carefully around the gods, little one. We are not quite as magnanimous as we may seem.” 

Nudging himself forward again, he sinks back into you as far as he can reach. Your pussy throbs around him, weakly contracts with a warning tremor that makes fresh tears spring up in your eyes. You know you’re riding a dangerous line, just hanging on the precipice of some great, gaping abyss, and you’re helpless to stop it as he settles into a mind numbingly stilted rhythm. He fucks you like he could do this for hours and never tire, like he has all the stamina in the world to put his mark on you at his own pace, on his own time. Morax is not in any hurry to rush this, and it is that slow, halting motion of his hips and the blinding stretch that comes with it that soon shoves you over the edge. 

You cum again, embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t so much as pause to let you catch your breath. Just keeps fucking you even when you wail in overstimulated distress and dire urgency, your jolting legs slowly losing their strength until you have no choice but to let them dangle loose in the air while he ruts into you. You were exhausted. Completely spent. 

And Morax was not going to stop until he finished sating the draconic instinct to take whatsoever happened to catch his golden eye, even if that thing was but a helpless little rabbit.

⭐

Crossposted here

#genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #self insert bullshit

[sehtoast]

Hii! Id like a request!

Could you perhaps do a scenario where the reader gets stranded at an airport (Perhaps with panic attack)?

I'm experiencing this currently and thinking about Homelander is helping, Somehow

i'm so sorry you had to go through that anon ❤️ homie has an odd way of making life's woes suck a little less. apologies that this took as long as it did (and also i've never been in an airport before so idk if this is even the right vibe adfkljdfk), but i hope it's still enjoyable and i hope your airport adventure ended happily.

Oh, if you thought it couldn’t get worse, you were so wrong. 

Cancellations across the board, a raging snow storm outside, disgruntled people everywhere, and far too much noise for your overloaded senses.  This is what you get for flying out to go see a friend in the dead of winter.

It wasn’t like you could call an uber to the nearest hotel, either.  Pretty much nobody was going anywhere in this storm, and you’ve been here for hours now. God, you should’ve picked a morning flight, but you just haaaad to sleep in.

Eventually it started getting to you.

You’re alone, surrounded by angry people, in the middle of fuck knows where, with no guarantee of getting home or if your ticket is still going to be honored and–

You don’t even notice your breathing growing frantic until it’s overpowering and all you can do is hug your knees and try to stay calm–

You reach for your phone and send off a text to the one person who would maybe be awake at this hour.

God I’m fucking stuck here and I miss you and I don’t know what to do.

Your chest feels tight and your mouth is dry.  You hold your phone tight, cringing at the battery level.

7%.

You’d love to charge it, but the iPad parents are currently occupying every outlet in the area and if you hear one more child scream because they couldn’t watch their damn skibidi toilet videos–

It buzzes and you unlock it like a madman.

Told ya you should’ve flown air-Homelander.

You smile, warmth trickling in to fill your otherwise endless pit of anxiety.

It would’ve been too cold on my face :(  and you’d be carrying all my luggage.  Besides, I couldn't ask you to fly all this way.

The next response comes almost instantly.  Well, as instantly as it can with how slow he types.

Picky picky.  Where are you?

In the lounge-ish area.  On the floor, because I guess I picked the busiest airport in the world…

2%.  You’re almost ready to snag one of those outlets and suffer the blubbering.

Shucks, that’s a bummer.  

It’s not so–

You wince as your screen flickers, waves of sadness overtaking you in conjunction with that dreaded anxiety.  Gone is your only lifeline, and it hits you that you’ll have technically left him on read too.  You should’ve told him about your battery– fuck, fuck, fuck.

You hug your knees again and shove your useless earbuds in, hoping to dampen some of the noise.  It doesn’t work, and you can distinctly make out the sound of a man loudly demanding a full refund.

You try to imagine Homelander.  What tales would he have for you once you returned home?  How much trouble did he stir up while you were away?  Probably the usual, but… you were supposed to see him tomorrow morning when you got home.

God, that thought makes you ache for home even more.

You shut your eyes and attempt a nap.

You try and try to sleep to no avail.  Just when you think you might get a wink of rest, you hear audible gasps and shouting.  Your eyes shoot open, expecting the absolute worst, but all you see are two imposing sets of red boots.

“You forgot to text me back,” he says nonchalantly.  

Tears of joy bite at your eyes as you look up, and you all but launch yourself off the ground and into his arms.

“M’sorry,” you mumble against him.  “Battery died.”

“Mm, if you say so. I feel like this was all part of your elaborate plan to get me here.”  Homelander pulls away just slightly to look down at you, a twinkle of sympathy in his eyes- a very rare sight.  “Well, I know I can’t fly you home, because you’ll turn into a big popsicle, but… there is a hotel nearby and you do deserve a nice place to lay your head.”

Your heart feels so warm it could melt the blizzard outside.

“You just gotta tolerate a little cold.” He grins, winking at you.  “And air-Homelander doesn’t have delays.  No luggage fees either.”

You throw yourself back into the hug, squeezing him with all you’ve got.  

“You’re the best,” you whisper in his ear.

“Yeah, I know.”  He replies, uncaring of the spectacle you two must be.  “Now let’s get you cozy.”

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #the boys #request

[kpopfanfictrash]

Love to Hate (Ch. 11)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: none for this chapter, but please read warnings for previous chapters before reading this series!   

Word Count: 8,641

“We should just have the party,” Olya says, rubbing her temple. “We could make it a thank-you for our donors, or something? Or an anniversary event? It’ll be eight years for Clean Ocean in a few months.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “An eight-year anniversary party months from the actual date is too sad, even for me.”

Olya sits back in her seat. “Sadder than cancelling a launch event the week of?”

“Ugh,” you groan, lowering your forehead to the table.

You came to the conference room to eat lunch but somehow, it turned into yet another brainstorming session with Hoseok and Olya. Infinity Motors pulled their donation back on Monday and right now, it’s Wednesday – your self-imposed deadline to decide Saturday’s launch party.

The event has been paid for, so Olya thinks you should just throw the party. Turn it into a fundraiser, or a thank-you to donors – anything so you don’t waste the funds. Hoseok and you are hesitant though, knowing the perception such a change would bring.

Yesterday you called all existing donors, trying to gather more funds. A few could contribute more, but not enough to save your project. If you can’t figure something out by the end of day, Clean Ocean is screwed.

“How about this?” Grabbing a carrot from her lunch, Olya uses it to gesticulate. “We have the party, but it’s Clean Ocean employees only. Thirty people drink the booze we bought for one hundred.”

“Sold,” you mumble against the table. “I’ll take half, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Olya agrees.

Leaning over, Hoseok flicks you on the arm. “We can’t give up yet,” he announces.

“No?” You lift your head. “Then, when can we give up? Asking for a friend.”

“I still think some of our donors will come through.”

You and Olya exchange a look.

Leaning in, she places her hand over his. “Hoseok,” she says slowly. “You know we love how optimistic you are, right?”

Hoseok looks at her hand, the tips of his ears turning red. “Why does it feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” he mutters.

“But,” you say. “I think we’re at a dead end. You called the entire donor list Monday. I followed back up with them yesterday. We’ve sent emails, showed up at people’s offices… and we still don’t have enough. You know I’m the last person to admit defeat, but I think we need to start to consider other options.”

Hoseok purses his lips. “What about new donors?”

You nearly laugh out loud. “What about new donors? I called the entire prospective donor list, too and it was a no-go.”

Though he remains skeptical, Hoseok exhales.

Deep down, you know he understands. You both have the same stubborn streak which rejects the idea of failure. Not that you’d call this a failure – not really. Although you lost Infinity Motors’ money, it’s a better alternative to having them as a donor. Non-profits should be kept separate from for-profit organizations for a reason.

“It’s Wednesday,” you say. “If we do cancel, we need to tell attendees tomorrow.”

“I know.” Hoseok’s frown deepens. “Let’s just give it until end of day, alright? A few of our donors said they’d try to move funds around.”

“Alright,” you say and sit back.

You can do that much for your friend. Olya nods in agreement, switching topics to ask what you thought of the last book you read. Conversation turns to reading – Hoseok finally finished the Six of Crows series – although the impending deadline continues to hang overhead.

Crumpling your napkin, you toss it in the trash as you exit the break room. Hoseok follows close behind, discussing options with Olya beneath his breath.

Pretending you can’t hear them, you enter your office and shut the door. Leaning your head to its frame, you take several deep breaths until your nerves quiet. Everyone at Clean Ocean has done a respectable job at avoiding blame, but you know deep down the situation is your fault.

Out of everything, Liam’s words keep rising to the surface: It’s not my fault you stopped looking for donors as soon as you had me.

He was right.

As much as you hate to admit it, Liam was correct. That’s exactly what you did. The moment Hoseok said the donation amount, you started celebrating instead of working harder. Infinity Motors wasn’t a done deal and yet, you acted like it was. Maybe if you’d been less confident, if you’d continue to fundraise… you wouldn’t be in the situation you are now.

In the back of your mind, a rational voice (often ignored) whispers that even if you’d kept fundraising, something else could have happened. You can’t prepare for every eventuality, but the rest of you doesn’t want to hear it. It was naïve of you to take Liam at his word, to trust him for no reason other than wanting to.

Glumly, you turn around and scan your office. The sight of your phone makes your jaw clench. Everything you said to Hoseok was true – you did call every existing Clean Ocean donor to beg for donations. Most said the same thing: their funding was tied up this year, but to try again the next.

Exhaling softly, you cross to your desk. Seated behind your monitors, you wriggle your mouse until the screens brighten. Postponing the coastal ecosystem project by a year wouldn’t be the worst thing. You trust Olya to come up with believable messaging for the sudden change in plans.

Part of you was holding out hope for a miracle, though. Maybe it’s arrogant, but a part of you genuinely believes you can accomplish whatever you set your mind to. The mindset has helped you many times, but when you do end up falling, the drop-off seems steeper. Clasping your hands beneath your chin, you stare at the search bar.

The blare of a ringtone cuts through the room.

Startled, you nearly knock over your Dante flip calendar in your haste to answer. Normally you don’t have a ringtone, so the sound of a classical version of WAP is especially surprising.

Grabbing the screen, you read Kim Seokjin, roll your eyes, and press answer.

“Did you change my ringtone?”

“Uh.” He pauses, considering. “I think so? Care to remind me what song?”

“A classical version of WAP.”

Seokjin cracks up so loud, you’re forced to move your phone away from your ear. When he finally quiets, there’s a slight wheeze to his voice.

“Ah – sorry, sorry,” he snorts. “Forgot I did that. Was it life-changing?”

“Absolutely,” you say, sitting back in your chair. “Now, why are you calling me?”

“Y/N, I’m offended. Can’t one best friend call another in the middle of the day just to chat?”

“Hypothetically?” You squint at a point on the wall. “Yes. With you, though? Rarely. What’s up?”

Ignoring this, Seokjin continues as though you haven’t spoken. “I’m still recovering from jet lag, so actually, I’m calling you around midnight.”

“Seokjin, you flew back three days ago.”

“And my sleep schedule has been off ever since. Anyways,” he sighs. “I’m calling to ask if you forgot to tell me something.”

You frown as you fix Dante’s calendar on your desk. “Forgot to tell you something?” you echo. “Be vaguer, why don’t you.”

“Okay. Do you have anything you want to say in relation to myself?”

Unwittingly, your lips twitch. “Seokjin, how is that supposed to help me? If I did have something to say but forgot, how would you asking if I – oh my god,” you blurt out, suddenly remembering what it is you forgot.

“Ye-s?” Seokjin says patiently.

Rubbing your forehead, you nearly groan. After all the confusion on Monday, you forgot to tell Seokjin about Yoongi. To be fair, by the time you reached your office and began damage control, all thoughts of courtship paled in comparison.

Despite leaving early to take Dante out, you continued working from home until long after midnight. The same thing happened yesterday, with everyone at your office stretching themselves thin. Still – Yoongi helped you out, and it was crappy of you to forget.

“So,” you say brightly. “You remember Min Yoongi, right?”

“Why, yes – yes, I do! And what a coincidence you’d mention him since I just got a follow request from ChefMin_estrone on Instagram.”

“Ha.” You crack a smile. “Min-estrone. That’s cute. You know, like the soup?”

“Y/N.” Seokjin drops his tone. “Why is this delicious man suddenly following me?”

“I mean, are you complaining?”

“Definitely not, but it feels sudden… just because I’m jet-lagged doesn’t mean my powers of observation have failed me.”

“Um…” You stall. “I may have gone to see him on Monday.”

Seokjin is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Seokjin?” you ask, unsure if he heard.

“I’m here.” He sounds strangled. “I’m just wondering how on earth TWO WHOLE DAYS HAVE PASSED before telling me this!”

“Seokjin! It wasn’t like that, I just–”

“Here I am, lazing around my apartment, recovering from the harrows of travel–”

“Three whole days of recovery?” you interject, alarmed. “Seokjin, what did you do on this trip?”

“Meanwhile, you’re gatekeeping valuable information. As your best friend in the entire world, I need to throw a red card.”

“That’s… not how any kind of football works. And I thought Hoseok was your best friend?”

“Who mentioned football?”

Your lips twitch. “I’m sorry – really, I am. Things have been so crazy, I forgot… do you forgive me?”

Seokjin sighs. “Of course, I forgive you, Y/N. I’m not a monster. My dating life comes second while Clean Ocean is falling apart.”

“Ouch,” you complain.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean it like that. You know how cranky jet lag makes me.”

“Again, three days ago!”

“Why did you go see Yoongi?”

Seokjin’s tone is full of curiosity, and the question gives you pause.

Momentarily, you debate whether to tell Seokjin the full story. You still haven’t relayed everything which happened with Liam – only that the contract fell through. If Hoseok explained things further, you don’t know.

“I… needed to ask Yoongi some questions,” you say at last.

“O-kay.” Seokjin sounds puzzled. “But what could you possibly have to ask him?”

“Uh…”

“Hang on.” His tone sharpens. “Was this about Jungkook? What did he do to you now – besides lead you on and fling you aside as soon as someone new walked by?”

“He didn’t fling me aside, Seokjin.”

“Close enough. You hooked up at your parents’ party, and then he just ended things without giving you a chance to explain – what did he do while I was gone?” Seokjin demands. “The Jeons aren’t the only ones with connections and money, you know.”

You’re sorely regretting calling Seokjin after your parents’ anniversary party. Understandably, you were upset and hurt, and may have come down on Jungkook a little too hard.

“Whoa, whoa – hang on,” you protest, rubbing your temple. “Look, I’ll explain the full story later, but not now. Okay? Telling you over the phone won’t do it justice. Short version – I may have overreacted about Jungkook. There are some things I didn’t know about him and Liam. Things Yoongi filled me in on.”

Seokjin pauses. “What kind of things?”

“This weekend,” you promise. “I’ll tell you everything then.”

Reluctant, he exhales. “Alright, fine.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You can practically hear the wheels turning in Seokjin’s brain. “And all this ends with Min Yoongi asking for my number?”

You nearly laugh, having forgotten how this conversation started. “It does,” you agree. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Who was that super annoying guy you came with the other night? I’d love to prank call him.’”

“You forget I can always tell when you’re lying, Y/N.”

“Oh, right.”

You’re about to respond when a knock sounds at your door. Blinking, you look up. “Seokjin, I have to go,” you say as you stand. “Someone’s at my office door.”

“Probably Hoseok. Tell him to organize his trash bins later, or whatever.”

“That makes no sense. I’ll tell him you said hi,” you respond. “Bye.”

“Bye!”

Shaking your head, you set down your phone and head for the door. When you open it, you find Olya standing on the other side. Her head swings to you.

“I – hi,” she says, speaking barely above a whisper. “Hey.”

You look at her strangely. “Hey?”

Olya glances away, down the hall. “There’s, uh, someone here to see you.”

“Who?” Frowning, you rack your brains. “I don’t think I have any meetings scheduled for this afternoon.”

“Right, yes.” She hesitates. “This visit is… unplanned.”

“Unplanned? What do you –”

The doors at the end of the hall open, and a stranger strides through. Startled, you watch him head in your direction. Hoseok hurries alongside, speaking in hushed tones and looking as though he’s contemplating kicking the stranger’s ass. Ears red, he shakes his head fervently as he walks.

The new man is taller than Hoseok, standing several inches over him. His hair is dark, falling loose and straight to his chin. Broad is a good way to describe him. When Hoseok comes to a stop, pointedly positioning himself between you, the man is still visible by the breadth of his shoulders.

Hoseok clears his throat loudly. “Y/N, are you free for a drop-in?”

You glance to him, then the man behind Hoseok, and back.

“Uh,” you say, thoroughly ineloquent. “Wouldn’t it have been better to call me and ask that?”

“Yes, it would’ve been.” Hoseok nods. “However, Mr. Kim insisted on coming back here with me to ask.”

It’s clear Mr. Kim has rattled Hoseok, which is unusual. Curious, you survey the man again and feel a slight familiarity, although you can’t quite place it.

“Why is that?” you ask the stranger over Hoseok’s shoulder.

“I apologize for the unorthodox entrance,” he says, placing a hand over his chest. “It’s just my boss is on his way, and I wanted to be sure his arrival was cleared.”

“Your boss?” you ask, puzzled. “Who do you represent?”

Hoseok’s lips thin further when Mr. Kim sidesteps him and holds out a hand.

“My name is Kim Namjoon,” he says, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “I represent Jeon Energy as their new Chief Operating Officer.”

Frozen, you stare at his outstretched palm. A beat passes while your mind catches up to what you heard. Kim Namjoon. Chief Operating Officer. Jeon Energy. His boss.

Your gaze snaps upward. “Your… boss is Jungkook?”

To his credit, Namjoon doesn’t falter.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, hand still held out.

Hoseok rolls his eyes at his manners, but Olya seems on the verge of sighing. You’re caught somewhere between them, per usual, but it’s not enough to distract you enough from what he just said.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you repeat, in disbelief.

Namjoon’s smile fades. “That’s correct.”

Your lips part to confirm this again when the doors open behind him.

Framed in the doorway is Jungkook, although it isn’t the version of him you’re familiar with. When you were together, Jungkook was well-groomed but casual, seated cross-legged on his sofa while eating bad pizza. He might have worn a suit, but he poked fun at donors and said cheesy lines.

This Jungkook looks like he only eats at Michelin star restaurants. He’s dressed in a custom Bijan suit, holding an Hermes briefcase and glances around your office as though he owns it. Beyond him, you catch sight of your entire office peering over their cubicles to catch a glimpse.

You can’t say you blame them; his presence is distracting, and not just because of what he is to you.

It feels like a dream when Jungkook comes to a stop before you. Casual, he slips a hand into his pocket and meets your gaze. You might as well be his grocer, for how much your appearance seems to unsettle him. This is more than you can say for yourself, whose jaw hasn’t shut since Namjoon’s entrance.

“I apologize for my lateness,” he says, glancing at Namjoon. “Has Namjoon explained the reason for our visit?”

“Not yet,” Namjoon says, and Olya snaps into action.

“It’s not a problem,” she says, jumping in. “Y/N was just confirming whether she has time to meet this afternoon.”

Heads swing in your direction, awaiting confirmation and although your mouth opens, nothing comes out. Jungkook’s presence seems to have negated your ability to speak. Several responses come to mind, all of them too intimate, too targeted for such a large audience.

Clearing his throat, Hoseok grants you reprieve.

“As Y/N’s assistant,” he says, and you shoot him a grateful look. “I know it’s a busy day. Maybe if we knew what the visit was regarding…?”

Namjoon and Jungkook glance at one another, holding a hasty and silent conversation. Eventually, Jungkook nods and looks at you. The intensity to his gaze sends shivers down your spine.

“I think it’d be best if we spoke in your office,” he says. “The topic is sensitive.”

Alarm bells go off in your mind, but you nod. By now, your curiosity is piqued enough that you can’t tell them no. Not without driving yourself crazy, wondering what-if for the rest of the week.

“Of course,” you say, turning around. “Follow me.”

With Jungkook out of sight, your pulse starts to slow. Facing away from him allows you to compartmentalize. You realize no matter how abrupt his appearance, you need to be a professional. The fact that Jungkook brought his Chief Operating Officer with him means this isn’t a personal call. You can last through one meeting with Jungkook.

At least, you think you can.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to make it to the end of the week, get through the launch party and then, figure this out. Jungkook wasn’t supposed to show up at your office in that gorgeous suit, insisting you speak about ‘sensitive matters.’

Sensitive matters which have nothing to do with you, you remind yourself as you enter. Jungkook wouldn’t have brought his COO along if he came here to talk about feelings.

Seated yourself at your desk, you watch as Jungkook enters. He helps Namjoon pull in two chairs, shutting the door to seat himself on one end. You can’t help but notice he sits closest to you, dismissing the idea that he would do so on purpose.

Folding your hands on top of the table, you wait for someone to speak.

Namjoon breaks the silence. “I supposed we should dive in,” he says, undoing the clasps of his briefcase. “That would be best, yes?”

You lift a brow, assuming the question is rhetorical. It would appear so, since Namjoon doesn’t wait for an answer before he withdraws a thick stack of papers and sets these down on your desk. You stare at them a moment, then look up.

“What is this?” you ask, speaking to Namjoon. You find it easier than addressing the man seated beside him, whose gaze you can feel on the side of your face.

Namjoon glances at the papers, as though the intent should be obvious. “It’s Jeon Energy’s donation paperwork. We utilized a standard contract we keep on file, but feel free to tell us if you prefer something different.”

From the corner of one eye, you see Hoseok’s jaw hit the floor. Olya mutters something beneath her breath which sounds vaguely like a swear and you – you go still as a statue. No breath, no movement; just shock.

Slowly, you regain enough control to say, “Donation to… what?”

“To Clean Ocean.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through your fog. Glancing at him, you immediately wish you had not. His gaze pierces yours, further muddling your thoughts.

“Jeon Energy would like to become a corporate sponsor of Clean Ocean.”

You continue to stare, a metallic tang coating the inside of your mouth. Another large corporation bailing you out. Not just any corporation but Jeon Energy, who’s historically topped your list of corporate obstacles. Flashbacks of Liam fill your mind as you imagine yourself entrenched in a similar situation.

Numbly, you shake your head no. “I – we can’t accept this.”

Hoseok looks at you sharply. “Shouldn’t we discuss before we respond?” he asks, emphasizing each word.

Although your face heats, you don’t back down. Hoseok will come to understand why this would be a bad idea. In fact, you’re surprised he’s even considering after everything that happened with Infinity Motors.

“I agree,” Olya says from his other side.

Startled, you glance at her and she shrugs.

“We should at least hear them out,” she continues. “It can’t hurt to listen.”

You pause, wanting to retort that it could hurt, but you know you’re outnumbered. Shifting your gaze to your desk, you slowly inhale.

“If I may.”

Jungkook’s interjection makes you look up.

“What is it that’s holding you back?” he asks.

Meeting his gaze, your eyes narrow. It’s clear Jungkook is now speaking as Jeon Jungkook, CEO and not Jeon Jungkook, the guy you hooked up with. You envy his ability to separate things so easily. For you, each word he says is a punch to your gut.

Longing, uncertainty, and frustration all vie for top bidding inside. Maybe Jungkook feels the same or maybe, he’s handling this meeting so well because Jungkook feels nothing for you.

Schooling your face to one of neutrality, you force yourself to respond.

“I won’t pretend we’re not in a difficult position right now.” Spreading your hands on your desk, you glance between them. “We’re launching a new project this Saturday, and a critical donor pulled out for us Monday.”

Jungkook glances at Namjoon, and something in his face tightens.

“Infinity Motors. We know,” Namjoon says, turning back.

You flinch. “You… know? How?”

“Your assistant,” he says, sparing a glance at Hoseok. “You sent an email to anyone who’s attended a past Clean Ocean fundraiser. When we received it… well, we assumed something like this might have happened.”

“Ah,” you say, your voice sounding small.

You proofread the email yourself, although you hadn’t considered the individual recipients. Nothing beyond the fact that you needed more money – and badly. How horribly humiliating to have your most recent failure broadcast to the man who walked away.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook returns your gaze to his.

“I did say I planned on donating,” he adds, his words soft. “At your fundraiser. It’s just taken a while to convince the Board of our plan. I didn’t want to approach you until I secured their approval.

Mind reeling, you sit back with a thud. The wheels of your chair creak, reminding you of all the reasons you badly need his money. You just wish it weren’t Jungkook who stepped in to help.

“When was the approval secured?” Hoseok asks, leaning forward.

“This morning,” says Namjoon. “The Board voted in our favor – five for and four against.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkens, and although you don’t ask, you know one of the ‘no’ votes must have been from his father. The barely concealed rage on his face is obvious, more so now after you spoke with Yoongi.

“But speaking of numbers.” Namjoon reaches for the papers. “Our donation amount is indicated on the second page. You mentioned a new project starting, so I’m sure you’re concerned about the amount we can contribute. Feel free to –”

Namjoon continues to speak, but his words fade as soon as you read the amount on the page. Fingers stilling, you read and re-read but the number stays the same. The symbols blur, zooming in and out as you stare at the contract.

The donation is more than what Infinity Motors promised. Rarely have you seen so many zeroes behind another integer. In a single gesture, Jeon Energy has doubled your charitable income.

“Is that” – Hoseok sounds strained – “amount granted on some sort of payment schedule, or…?”

Namjoon looks taken aback. “Oh, no. This is the annual amount Jeon Energy plans to donate. Of course, we’d need Board approval if you need more, but they’ve agreed to this amount for an initial period of ten years, and –”

Again, his words fade into the background.

You stare at the funds, imagining the possibilities. You could tackle the Great Pacific garbage patch. Do away with your lobbyists and contribute to politicians yourself. Each idea shines before you, grander than the last until – logic interjects. You can’t possibly accept this.

The knowledge is heavy, a blow as you contemplate what it’d be like to have Jungkook as a donor. To feel like you owe him. The ethical implications of admitting your feelings. Not only that – you’d always feel indebted to him, thankful to Jungkook for saving the day. A hollowness enters your chest, chipping away at the certainty of your feelings.

“Could I speak to Miss Y/L/N alone?”

Jungkook’s voice interrupts your spiral, forcing you to look up. Namjoon has stopped talking and, unsure how long you’ve been sitting in silence, you glance at Hoseok.

Lifting a brow, he gives away nothing.

“Of course,” Namjoon says, pushing back his chair. Reaching for the papers, he pauses and then, shoves them closer.

Olya glances at you, silently asking if it’s okay to leave. You nod; part of you expected this to happen – speaking to Jungkook alone. It might be easier this way; without an audience, you won’t need to guard your words so carefully.

“This way,” Hoseok says as he stands. “We can discuss financial details in the conference room. Olya?”

“Coming,” she adds, casting a final glance at you before leaving.

The door falls shut when they exit, leaving you in total silence. You focus on your breath, the rise and fall of your chest each time you inhale – anything to avoid looking at Jungkook.

“Y/N,” he says softly.

Beneath all his softness there’s an uncompromising edge, and you feel your hands curl into fists in response.

“What happened to Miss Y/L/N?” you ask, reaching out for the papers. “Or was that just for our audience?”

“Y/N,” he repeats.

Your grip on the contract tightens. “You know I can’t accept this,” you say, a note of desperation entering your voice. You despise the sound.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” you breathe and, unthinkingly, you look up.

Jungkook meets your gaze, unflinching.

A wave of indignation sweeps through you. You were naïve to imagine Jungkook might feel the same way about you. If he did, he wouldn’t be here with a binding legal contract that makes everything harder.

When Liam asked you out, you thought dating a donor wouldn’t be hard. Clearly, you didn’t think that one all the way through. If you do accept Jungkook’s money, you’d be constantly wondering what his motives were. Not to mention the hell it’d be to see him, knowing you can’t have him in the way that you want him.

“Because,” you blurt. “Because… of what you and I...”

His gaze sharpens. “I wish to assure you, Y/N, Jeon Energy’s donation has nothing to do with our prior relationship.”

Each word he says puts another nail in your coffin. His words mirror Liam’s so perfectly, it’s hard not to compare them.

“Oh?” you manage to say.

Jungkook nods, determined. “I heard when you told me to go. I understand things are over between us. I know I can’t change what happened, but I don’t want to let that come in the way of Clean Ocean benefitting.”

“It’s that… benefit, though,” you say, choosing your words, “which gives me pause.”

“I know.” He exhales. “You should know, though I’ve been trying to change Jeon Energy for a while now. It’s been an… arduous process to say the least.”

“How so?”

“Well. My father made it clear he wouldn’t pass on the title of CEO until he deemed me ready.” Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “My father’s idea of readiness vastly differs from mine. It was a difficult line to walk, gaining his approval while retaining a sense of decency with which I could live.”

A crack in your heart widens further, compounding what you already know from Yoongi.

“That must have been hard,” you say softly.

Jungkook merely nods. “When my father retired and joined the Board, I was voted in as CEO. I began implementing changes immediately – too late, my father realized his mistake.” A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “Of course, I still have restrictions. Board approval is required for large-scale projects, and such.”

“Of course,” you say, somewhat dazed.

“My donation to Clean Ocean isn’t isolated,” Jungkook adds, tilting his head. “Your organization fits with my deeper intentions to change Jeon Energy’s direction. I intend to remove us from crude oil over the next twenty years. We will become a clean energy leader.”

His determination is clear and, faced with such passion, your words fail you.

“That’s – that’s an admirable goal,” you say at last.

“In addition to our revenue goals, I’ve implemented new targets in community growth and social involvement. Essentially – if Jeon Energy has a net negative impact, we fail.”

You stare at him a moment, amazed. “That’s aggressive.”

“And necessary.” Jungkook hesitates. “I just… I don’t want it to seem like we’re investing in Clean Ocean solely for personal reasons. I have no ulterior motive here, I promise.”

Each word he says sends mixed regret through you.

Part of you hoped this was a grand gesture, as silly as that sounds. The almost-dead, believes-in-fairy-tales part of you hoped Jungkook was here because of you, not just Clean Ocean. Another – larger – part of you though, would have been uncomfortable if this were the case.

Hearing Jungkook explicitly state he’s here for business is a relief. And yet, a fragile place deep inside of you crumbles.

“I understand,” you say softly.

Something murkier crosses his features. “I understand why you might not accept my offer,” Jungkook continues. “Believe me. As someone who’s used to good things having strings attached, I understand if you’re hesitant. I hope you believe me when I say our donation won’t be like that.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you point out. “Most of the power in this conversation is yours, isn’t it?”

Jungkook’s eyes brim with unsaid emotion.

“No,” he murmurs. “I rather think it’s the opposite.”

His words floor you momentarily, but you shake it off quickly. Likely, Jungkook doesn’t mean what you think he means. Lowering your gaze, you reach for the papers.

“What’s this, then?” you ask, lifting them from the desk. “A contract means there are strings attached. Gratitude, if nothing else.”

Jungkook makes a dismissive noise. “I can’t just give you the money if that’s what you’re asking. I’m the CEO of Jeon Energy, which means I answer to people other than myself. I can’t … I can’t use company funds to help a friend.”

Horror dawns when you realize what he’s implying.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” you blurt. You were trying to decline his offer, not procure better terms. The fact that Jungkook thought you might ask this makes your face heat.

“Jeon Energy is donating to other organizations, if it makes you feel better,” he adds. “Clean Ocean has been on our radar since before we even met. I wasn’t in charge of charitable donation recommendations – Namjoon was.”

His proclamation silences your retort. It was arrogant of you to assume Jungkook had a hand in choosing Clean Ocean. Lowering the contract, you smooth out the first page.

“I… want to believe you,” you say at last.

Something in your expression makes him soften.

“Then, believe me,” Jungkook urges. “I know this is short notice, so I don’t expect you to sign today. We planned to reach out next month, but then Namjoon saw your email requesting funds and we pushed the Board to approve sooner.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

A lump has lodged in your throat, and you frantically scramble for further objections. It’d be foolish of you to decline, though – nearly as foolish as you would have been to accept Liam. All week you hoped for funds and now, here they are and from someone you trust.

Because you do trust him, you realize. Every word you said to Liam about Jungkook was true.

“What’s holding you back?” Jungkook asks, quiet.

His voice startles you into speaking honestly.

“Do you even have to ask me that?” you say, looking up. “It just… it feels wrong, accepting money from you after what we… after what happened between us.”

Jungkook’s expression shifts. Hurt bleeds into his gaze, and you don’t know what you said to put it there, nor how to make it stop.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he exhales. Looking away, he drags a hand through his hair. “What can I do to make this more palatable to you, Y/N?” He turns back. “Would it help if I removed myself from negotiations? If I don’t interact with your account personally going forward?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Jungkook blinks at you, baffled. “Then, what, Y/N?”

“I…”

Desperate, you cast about for an explanation.

You feel too much, too strongly for Jungkook to accept his money. Signing the contract feels akin to a death warrant, ending a future between you before it begins. Maybe that’s not what he intends, but why else would Jungkook be here? Why else would he tell you – over and over – his donation is nothing personal; he sees you as a friend.

Friend. Despair chokes the rest of your thoughts. You never wanted Jungkook as your savior; you only wanted him as an equal.

“Pretend it’s not me,” Jungkook suggests. “I know Jeon Energy has done terrible things; things which could rightly dissuade you from considering our donorship. Pretend I’m someone else – would you be pushing back as hard?”

“Well, no,” you admit. “But that’s kind of the point.”

“I can’t force you to take my money.” He pauses, then swallows. “I don’t want you to feel indebted to me, so let me say – this isn’t wholly altruistic. Jeon Energy needs to improve our image, and charitable donations help with that. Clean Ocean is a respected organization.”

“I… understand.”

“I know how much Clean Ocean means to you. And I… I would hate it if your project were stalled because I fucked up and now, you can’t trust me.”

A retort rises to your lips, but you can’t contradict Jungkook without revealing the truth. Now isn’t the time to tell him how you feel – not when Jungkook came here with an agenda. One which doesn’t involve romance between you.

Instead, you shut your mouth. “I’ll need to review the contract,” you say.

Hope sparks in his gaze.

“I understand,” Jungkook says quickly.

Tearing your gaze away, you push back your chair to stand. Suddenly, you feel tired – emotionally exhausted in a way you don’t know how to fix.

“Someone from my office will be in contact today or tomorrow,” you say as you walk towards the door. “Legal will need to review.”

His chair scrapes the floor as he stands. At the door, you turn and are startled to find how close Jungkook is.

His chest is eye-level, sturdy even as his breath quickens. The scent of him surrounds you and it’s true, what they say about the entwinement of scent and memory. Standing this close, you can’t escape your shared past. Not that you want to.

Uncertain, you slowly lift your gaze and find Jungkook staring.

You should go. You should step around him and push open the door, ever the consummate professional. Instead, you stare back. It was foolish of you to meet Jungkook alone. Foolish to think you could separate your feelings as easily as you have for others.

Jungkook is different. Jungkook means more.

Exhaling a breath, he quickly scans your body. Jungkook forces his gaze upward, finding your face with a distracted swallow.

“I’m sorry I didn’t… tell you before,” he murmurs, the words barely audible. “About the funding. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case I failed. I don’t like to disappoint people. Especially people I c- well, people in general.”

Jungkook ceases talking, lips pressed together as though to keep the words from pouring out. You wonder at this before landing on his use of the word fail.

“But Jungkook…” You pause, wondering if this is wise before deciding, fuck it. “How I feel about you isn’t tied to what you can do for me. It never has been.”

He stills. Something infinitesimal seems to shift in his gaze and god, you missed him looking at you like that. As though what you have to say is important; as though you somehow say the right thing, when everything else comes out wrong.

In so many ways, you sympathize with Jungkook. It took a long time to unlearn all the lessons taught by your parents and believe your self-worth. It would have taken longer, were it not for your friends and for Jason. Jungkook seems to be on the right path, but you don’t want to push.

“Thank you.” His gaze searches yours. “All the same, Y/N, I –”

Someone knocks on your door.

Cursing the universe for its bad timing, you turn. The back of Jungkook’s hand brushes yours and you stiffen, startled by the jolt of electricity. Jungkook sharply inhales and you know he feels it, too. There’s no time to dissect this before you throw the door open.

“Y/N?” Hoseok blinks, hand half-poised in a knock.

Namjoon stands at his side, both seeming startled by your swift appearance. Glancing past, Hoseok watches Jungkook take a step away. His gaze narrows.

“Namjoon clarified the contract language.” Hoseok’s eyes flick to yours. “Are you two done?”

“Yes,” you blurt before Jungkook can answer. “Come in.”

Leaving the door open behind you, you turn without making eye contact. The past minute has proven you can’t be alone with Jungkook. Settling at your desk, you wait for the rest to enter.

“Where’s Olya?” you ask, noting her absence.

“Contacting the venue,” Hoseok says as he sits. “Letting them know we won’t be cancelling.”

Although your brows lift, you say nothing. It appears Hoseok has already formed his opinion; after Infinity Motors, you find yourself surprised.

Grasping the contract, you skim its first pages. Namjoon and Jungkook wait patiently while you read. As suspected, the contract is pristine. Clear, standard language and manageable terms. Nothing to give any red flags, although you’d like legal to review all the same.

Setting the papers back down, you glance between them.

“I told Jungkook our legal team needs to review,” you inform Namjoon. “And our internal team will need to confer.”

“Of course.” Namjoon smiles. “There’s no pressure to respond now.”

“There’s a little pressure,” Hoseok mutters.

Ignoring this, you fold your hands on top of the table. “My assistant is correct. We do have a deadline looming, so we’ll be in touch tomorrow about whether we accept. Does that work?”

Namjoon glances at Jungkook, who nods.

“Yes,” Namjoon says, turning back. “That works.”

“Good.”

Namjoon stands first, clearly not the type to linger once a resolution has settled. You appreciate his brevity and are glad Jungkook has found someone to trust at work. Reaching out, Namjoon waits for you to shake his hand.

“We appreciate the audience,” he says, retracting briefly to open his briefcase. “Here’s my business card. Feel free to call.”

“We will,” Hoseok says, already standing.

He does you the favor of guiding Namjoon out, leaving you alone with Jungkook. You wonder if Hoseok did this on purpose. He’s not the scheming type – that would be Seokjin – but he’s known, on occasion, to break his rules for the greater good.

Before you can make an excuse to leave, Jungkook steps forward to block the exit. Surprised, you look up and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

You stare at him in shock. “What for?” you ask, pulling yourself together.

His gaze darkens. “What you’ve gone through this past week. I… heard what happened with Infinity Motors and it’s just… well, I feel responsible.”

Incredulous, your lips part.

“You feel responsible?” you say. “How?”

“Well, I know Liam.” A muscle in his jaw clenches. “I tried not to let my personal feelings get in the way of you doing business, but I know how Liam can be and I… I could have done more to warn you.”

“You did try and warn me,” you point out.

“I know.” Jungkook pauses. “I could have tried harder.”

His words soften at the end and for some reason, you think he’s referring to more than just Liam. Heart skipping a beat, you fervently wish you weren’t standing in your office.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But I don’t think you need to be sorry about what happened.”

Jungkook’s brows draw together. “No?”

“What happened with Infinity Motors wasn’t great,” you admit. “But it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“But…” He shakes his head. “Weren’t you dating?”

A knot in your stomach loosens. Despite the confusion, you hoped Jungkook didn’t still believe that lie. It would seem Yoongi hasn’t told Jungkook that you reached out. You try not to linger on why that might be.

“No,” you say flatly. “I told Liam I didn’t feel anything for him after my parents’ anniversary party.”

Jungkook stares at you, floored. “You…”

“We went out on a few dates, but he was never my boyfriend.”

Somewhat dazed, Jungkook looks at the door. Behind his eyelids you can see the wheels turning, events reshuffling themselves with this latest information – much as they did for you after your talk with Yoongi. Eventually, Jungkook turns back.

“Well, I’m still sorry,” he says, determined. “I don’t like Liam because he hurt me – in a personal way. We were friends, and he used it against me. I… I was ashamed of the way I responded to him.” Jungkook exhales. “And embarrassed I didn’t see through him. I just… I didn’t want you to know that side of me.”

“Now you do?” you ask him softly.

His gaze burns on yours. “Now, I do.”

The two of you stand there a moment, staring at one another. A lightness has spread through your chest which didn’t exist before.

“Thank you,” you whisper, unsure what you’re saying.

A small smile creases his lips. “You’re welcome.”

You’re dimly aware several minutes have passed since Namjoon left. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re about to ask whether Jungkook should leave when he starts.

“Fuck,” he mutters, digging around in his pocket. “I need to go. My phone has been buzzing – probably Namjoon, telling me I’m late.”

Your lips twitch. “Ah, you have a Hoseok.”

Jungkook fumbles with his phone. “Does Hoseok constantly belittle your time-keeping abilities?”

“Without fail.”

He laughs, glancing up. “Then, yes. I have a Hoseok. I do have to go, though,” he adds, glancing at his phone. Still, he hesitates. “You know… you can call me if you have any questions. Right?”

“I know,” you say, wondering if he really means  it.

Jungkook stares at you a moment longer than necessary before nodding and leaving. He’s nearly to the door when you have the sudden urge to call out – you suppress it, but for entirely different reasons than the last time he left.

The last time, it was because things were ending. Now though, you can’t help but feel something is starting. Whatever that is, you aren’t sure, but you feel undeniable hope as he walks out your door.

You aren’t sure how long you stand there before Hoseok reappears in your doorway. Casual, he leans against the frame.

“Well.” He crosses his arms. “That was something.”

Shaking yourself, you groan. Turning around, you head for your desk and reseat yourself with a plunk.

Hoseok takes the other seat for the third time today. “So?” he prompts.

You stare at the contract on your desk.

“I don’t know what to do, Hobi.”

“Do?” He sounds miffed. “What’s there to talk about? We take their money, Y/N.”

“But it’s Jungkook.”

“And?”

You look up, disgruntled. “And, what if he’s just doing this because he feels bad about the way things ended?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Nope. Try again.”

“He’s doing this because he does have feelings for me, and this is all just a misguided attempt to win me over.”

Hoseok’s brows furrow. “Is that what he said to you just now?”

“Well, no. But maybe he’s playing the long game.”

“Or” – Hoseok gives you a look – “Jungkook could genuinely be trying to turn Jeon Energy around, and Clean Ocean is a well-known and respected organization.”

“That, too,” you admit.

His words are so similar to Jungkook, it’s uncanny. The way Hoseok watches you though, it makes you think he knows more than he lets on. Glancing down, you shuffle through the papers piled up on your desk.

“Y/N.” Hoseok’s voice gentles. “Why are you so determined to believe the worst in him?”

Your fingers still. “I’m not,” you say, and Hoseok lifts a brow. After a moment, you sigh. “You want the short answer, or the therapist one?”

“Short. I’m not being paid by the hour.”

“You kind of are, though,” you point out, and your smile fades. “I guess… every time I put my faith in someone else, they tend to let me down. Most of the time, I just find it easier to just do things myself.”

“Easier how, though?” he prods. “That type of thinking always takes a toll – just in other ways. The amount of energy you expend. The constant worrying. The long hours and stress.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you know Hoseok is right. Maybe it’s easier for you mentally, since if you fail, you’re the only one to blame – a controllable factor. It’s easier to put in more time, to throw in more effort than to ask someone else to do something for you. That would imply you’re worthy of doing things for.

That’s how your therapist put it, anyways.

“You let me do things,” Hoseok points out. “And Olya. And even Seokjin, occasionally.”

“Well, yeah,” you admit. “But that’s because those people are you.”

“And now it’s Jungkook.”

Again, you pause because Hoseok is right. Despite your reservations, you do trust Jungkook. Somehow, somewhere, Jungkook gained that distinction. Exhaling deeply, you sit back.

“What if this changes things, though?” you ask, a bit softer. “What if having Jungkook as a donor means… nothing more can happen between us?”

Hoseok stills. “Do you want something more to happen?”

“Maybe. I – yeah,” you say, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. I do. I went to talk to Yoongi on Monday.”

“Did you, now?” Hoseok asks drily.

You give him a look. “Yes – I did, and he explained what happened between Liam and Jungkook. I guess… I’m just worried if I confess now, Jungkook will think I’m doing it out of gratitude. Or because things ended with Liam.”

“And is that the case?”

“No,” you blurt. “No, of course not!”

Hoseok seems amused by your outburst. “Then, you should tell him that. Let Jungkook decide.”

When you nod and look away, Hoseok sighs.

“Think of it this way,” he offers. “Jungkook just walked in with a bunch of power and money to save our asses. Maybe he didn’t tell you his feelings because he doesn’t want you to think he had a motive.”

It lines up with everything Jungkook just said – and all your uncertainties. Rubbing your forehead, you wish things could be simple for once.

“Anyways.” Hoseok pushes his chair back to stand. “This week has been a lot. Maybe it’s a good idea to take some time to think – make sure you know what you want before making any decisions.”

You nod, but deep down, you already know what you want. You’ve known for a while and, emboldened by this, you glance again at the contract.

“We should accept,” you say quietly.

Hoseok pauses. “What?”

“The donation,” you say, looking up. “Obviously, legal should review and all that – but if everything checks out, we should accept the donation. I trust them.”

“I do, too.” Hoseok nods. “Alright. I’ll go tell Olya everything is back on.”

“Thank you.”

Before leaving, he pauses to survey you. “Breathe, Y/N.” Hoseok smiles. “At least our funding worries are over, right?”

“Right,” you echo, managing to smile until Hoseok disappears.

Once he’s gone, you slump in your chair and stare at your laptop until the screen turns black. Reaching out for your phone, you turn it over in your palm.

A notification blinks, citing a new message from Jungkook.

You sit up so fast you bang your knee on the table. Wincing, you rub the bruise as you type out your password and read the large block of text.

Jungkook: Hey. I just wanted to say – again – you don’t have to accept the donation. I hope you do, because Clean Ocean is a great organization and I’d hate to see things pushed back, but I understand if you don’t. I know I messed things up between us. I’m not saying this to push you in any direction, but just to explain in case our past relationship stops you from signing. [3:24 PM]

Your stomach sinks, even as his words bring some relief. There’s no expectation attached to Jungkook’s donation, which is a good thing. The bubble inside your chest has popped though, by the clear lines he’s drawn.

You’re debating how to respond when your phone dings again and you glance down, surprised.

Jungkook: I’m sorry I’m telling you this over text [3:28 PM]

Jungkook: I meant to say it in person, but then I saw you…. yeah [3:28 PM]

Stomach flipping, your grip on your phone tightens. Jungkook’s ellipses slow, then disappear and you wait several moments until the next message comes through.

Jungkook: you can ignore these messages if they make you uncomfortable. You have Namjoon’s card, and can email him if the answer is no. Hope you’re doing well [3:29 PM]

Jungkook: not that you didn’t look well. You looked – well, that’s beside the point. Have a good day [3:29 PM]

Lips twitching, you respond before you can second-guess.

Y/N: you didn’t mess anything up [3:30 PM]

Y/N: and I don’t feel uncomfortable [3:30 PM]

Y/N: I think I owe you an apology [3:30 PM]

Jungkook answers immediately.

Jungkook: what for? [3:31 PM]

Y/N: I know I’ve said things to you about Jeon Energy. About the privilege you have, and assuming you didn’t care. I’m sorry I said that. Clearly, you care [3:32 PM]

His ellipses appear, then disappear before your phone chimes with a text.

Jungkook: It’s okay. I didn’t take the time to explain [3:33 PM]

Y/N: still. [3:33 PM]

Jungkook: Anyways. I don’t want to intrude – I know you’re busy. I just wanted to tell you [3:33 PM]

Y/N: I’m glad that you texted [3:34 PM]

Jungkook: are you? [3:34 PM]

Heart racing, you stare at his words on the screen. For a moment, it feels like before – when he’d flirt with you, you’d roll your eyes and then you’d dish it back. Except things aren’t the same.

They’re different, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Y/N: Let’s say we did decide to accept [3:35 PM]

Jungkook: oh? [3:35 PM]

It’s a single word, but you can hear his voice in your mind. Teasing, with a knowing glint in his eyes as Jungkook leans forward. The mere thought of it makes your breath hitch.

Y/N: If we did, our launch party is on Saturday. Would you – or Namjoon – be able to attend on short notice? [3:36 PM]

Jungkook takes his time to respond, leaving you on edge until his words fill the screen. Reading his words, you can’t help but smile.

Jungkook: wouldn’t miss it x [3:38 PM]

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) I do not have a tag list, so please do not ask to be added or ask about updates. My writing progress can be found in my updates schedule, linked in both my header and FAQ!

[Series Master List]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2022. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook series #bts series #jungkook fic #bts fic

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Creatures Of The Night (18+)

Vampire!Eddie x Werewolf!Steve X Reader

Summary:Not very much here in terms of plot if we're being brutally honest, just some very fun and sexy times involving some monster steddie!

Warnings:NSFW, 18+, Making Out, Teasing, Fingering, Size Kink (slightly), Praise Kink, Oral Sex (Brief F Receiving), Missionary Sex, Cuddles afterwards for good measure!

Word Count:2, 213

Authour's Note:Maybe i'm unhinged for writing this but i'm just here for a good time and to fuck monsters, if that's not your thing then maybe this isn't the fic for you.

Masterlist

It was only ever under the bright white light of the moon that their true forms revealed themselves to you. The pitch black midnight provided them the chance to present themselves as they truly are.

Eddie with his pale skin, red-rimmed dark eyes, and spread of imposing bat-like wings. His wicked smile proudly shows off his two prominent sharp, pearly teeth. A few of his long dark curls had fallen loose from the bun tied at the nape of his neck, framing his pale face. He’d long been drawn to you, the scent of your blood called out to him, a rich, cherry-sweet scent unlike anything he’d ever come across before. His nose would brush against your neck, as his tongue licked over the pulsing veins in your neck, and despite it all, he could never bring himself to sink his teeth in, never wanting you to come to any harm, especially not at his cost.

And Steve, who’s broad shouldered frame is covered in thick coats of soft brown hair, his usual hazel brown eyes now glowed a honeyed golden sparkle in the moonlit dark of the bedroom. Even in his shaggy, wolf-like form there was still something incredibly human about him. The glint in his eyes that lets you know that underneath it all, he was still just your Stevie, and nothing could ever change that.

Maybe the way that you three came together each night wasn’t the conventional thing that was expected of three young adults living together in a small and quiet town like Hawkins but somehow you managed to make your rather unconventional situation work.

Most people wouldn't look twice at your boys in the harsh light of day. Steve in his usual look of light wash denim and striped polo shirts, a normal everyday outfit for the common man in Hawkins. And Eddie clad in his typical garb of some metal band's tour t-shirt, black leather jacket and black ripped jeans leading down to an old pair of tattered dark DMs was a look that most people turned their nose up at with a scoff. 

So yeah, mostly the residents of Hawkins, Indiana paid no mind to the two polar opposite boys who roamed their streets.

No. It wasn't until the sun dawned down each evening that your boys came out to play.

Being pinned between their two monstrous bodies was something that you welcomed. The touch of the supernatural was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

It started out as a typical night, with you in bed relaxingly cuddled against the warm, soft hairs of Steve’s chest, fingers absentmindedly playing with his soft brown coat. Your head resting against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, his chest rising and falling with every breath.

In stark contrast to the warmth you feel lying next to Steve, you feel Eddie’s presence sidling up beside you. The ice cold touch of his hand coasting up your arm as he leans in to press kisses along your collarbones, you feel his smirking smile against your skin as you shiver under his affections.

Eddie’s button-tipped nose is buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you with a deep breath, before pressing one more cold kiss just underneath your ear. 

Steve wasn’t blind to what Eddie was trying to do, in fact he all but encouraged the vampire’s quest to arouse you. Steve quietly chuckled to himself as he felt you slyly trying to grind yourself naked body into his hairy thigh where your legs were tangled with his under the bed covers.

"Well would you look at that.." Steve's deep voice rumbles out "..it would seem as though our mate is getting a little squirmy from all those kisses your giving her, Munson" 

"Indeed it would, Harrington. How about we do something about that, huh pretty girl?" Eddie asks you, his voice a low raspy whisper beside your ear.

You lift yourself from the soft comfort of Steve's chest to nod your head. 

"I'm gonna need you to use your words, Sweet Thing." Eddie purrs out, ever the tease.

You nod your head once more

"Yes please.." you breathed.

"Always so polite.." Eddie smiles. He looks over to Steve and gives him a subtle nod of his head, which Steve understands right away, as his massive hands gently man-handle you into a position where you’re sat on the bed, with your body relaxing back against his soft furry chest, your head leaning against his shoulder.

Steve’s large hands are pawing at your exposed chest, squishing the soft flesh of your boobs under his rough touch. His fingers eagerly toying with your nipples, rolling each one between the calloused tips of his fingers. His lips hungrily sucks dark marks against your skin, trailing his kisses up the side of your neck.

“Hold her open, Wolfie.” Eddie commands Steve teasingly, knowing how much Steve hated Eddie’s affectionate nick-name for him. 

Steve’s hands immediately skate down the sides of your body, his nails leaving light scratch marks as he does. His big hands settle themselves on the soft skin of the inside of your thighs before spreading them and holding them open.

Eddie stands up and makes his way over to where you're so tantalisingly spread out for him. Stalking the room, his dark eyes never leaving your exposed frame.

You watch his movements with anticipation. There’s a delicious heat that warms through you as you watch how he lewdly spits in his palm before dropping his hand down and teasing his cock in slow strokes, his thumb swiping over the mess of pooling pre-cum gathering at the tip as his fist strokes upwards making sure to glide over the prominent vein that runs the underside of his length.

"Don’t worry Pretty Girl, I'm going to make you feel real good, real soon" Eddie promised. "Just gonna let Harrington have his moment with you first, you know he's gotta stretch you out to get you ready for me"

You feel the insistent press of Steve's cock at your back and all too quickly you're reminded of why he has to stretch you out. In his human form Steve was not small by any shred of the imagination, but with enough prep and slow, gentle movements from both parties you could take him.

However, in his humanoid-wolf hybrid form it was a different story. Everything about him was bigger, in every sense of the word. Of course you’d tried to take him, so desperate to feel the stretch of him inside you, but it would be a while before you could accommodate the press of his thick length in your tight wet heat. For now you had settled on a happy medium of being opened up by the rough and calloused touch of Steve’s fingers.

Starting with only one of his fingers, carefully teasing his way around your pussy, gathering the wetness on the pads of his fingertips before drawing it up and rubbing on your clit in tight circles. His thick finger slips back down and slowly inches inside you, just letting you adjust to the feeling of his finger for a moment before he begins to thrust in and out of you.

Your head falls back against his chest whimpering quiet little moans into the crook of his neck.

“Aw, is Stevie making you feel good, Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice taunts, a slight tone of condescension as he watches Steve slip another one of his fingers inside you, working them in and out of your wet cunt.

Steve noses into your hair, deeply inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo, little gruff whines of approval falling from his lips as he feels you tighten around his fingers.

"That's it…There's my good girl, gonna come from me, aren’t you, Sweet Thing?" Steve growls against your skin, his sharp teeth nipping little marks against your neck.

You whine and babble incoherently as Steve continues to thrust his fingers and rub your clit in quick circles, holding you close to his body. 

Your orgasm rushes over you, clenching and pulsing against Steve’s thick fingers with a wet gush.

Steve gently rubs over your clit as tenderly as he can with his big pawing hands, helping you to come down from the high of your orgasm.

“There she is, my good girl…So sweet and pretty..” Steve breathes against your neck in-between placing tender to your skin.

“Think you mean our girl, Harrington. Thought you wolves were all about sharing with the rest of your pack, huh.” Eddie teases from where he’s sat on the edge of the bed, his dark brown almost black eyes scarcely tearing away from your steadily breathing frame. His long fingers are still slowly stroking over the length of his cock, keeping himself hard and ready just for you.

“You ready for me, Angel?” he asks, all too cocksure of the fact that you were never going to give him an answer short of a shy nod of your head and a breathy whine of ‘please’. 

“I’m ready please, Eddie..I just want to feel you..” you plead desperately, which earns you a rumbling chuckle from the vampire above you.

"Well since you asked so nicely, who am I to deny such a request?" Eddie smiles broadly, bearing his pearly fangs to you.

He leans his head between your spread legs, where Steve’s big strong hands hold you open, and places one soft, solitary kiss against your clit before sweeping his tongue the length of your pussy, slurping up glistening wetness.

"You know I can never resist getting a taste of your sweet cunt, my Darling" he purrs “..but it’s only fair that Wolfie here gets to have a taste too..” before leaning over your shoulder and bringing Steve close with a cold hand snaked around the back of his neck, his long fingers tugging into the soft strands of Steve's scruffy hair. Eddie presses his lips against Steve’s, his tongue slipping between his fangs to allow Steve to taste the sweetness of your juices in a heated and passionate kiss.

An appreciative growling hum resonates from the wolf as he licks his lips when Eddie pulls away from him.

“Always so sweet for us, Pretty girl..” Steve praises, making you beam under his affections.

“Oh! Does our pretty girl like being praised for being a good girl?” Eddie notes as he takes in the way you shy away into the crook of Steve’s neck.

Eddie hooks his finger under your chin, gently tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

You shyly nod your head, your words failing you as you’re pinned between these two supernatural beings.

“Well since you’re being such a good girl for us, then I guess it’s only fair that Eddie gets to feel you come for him the way I did.” Steve tells you, his fingers running back up your body to toy with your nipples.

With one more breathy whimper of ‘Please’ falling from your lips Eddie takes his cock in his hand and begins to sink himself into you inch by inch.

Eddie rolls his hips into you, filling you so completely every time he thrusts into you. The cold touch of his fingertips make you shiver as they sink into the warm, soft flesh of your thighs.

Steve takes his opportunity to snake one of his hands down your body to rub circles over your sensitive clit.

“Keep that up Harrington, she’s squeezing me so tight, she feels like a fuckin’ dream” Eddie praises as he continues to rut his hips into you, hitting against that spot inside you that has a flaring heat building in your stomach.

The lewd sounds of Steve’s growled kisses against your neck, Eddie’s sloppy thrusts as he chased his orgasm, and your own whining whimpers resound in the otherwise quiet bedroom.

It didn’t take much more than a few sharp thrusts from Eddie hitting so deeply inside you and Steve’s pawing hands rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pleasure that you were coming around Eddie’s cock. Your orgasm shuddering through your body.

With the way your walls were squeezing him so tightly Eddie buried himself deep inside you once more before he was filling you with the hot spurts of his release.

Taking a moment to gather yourselves, Eddie slowly pulls himself out of your tight wet heat with a hiss of sensitivity.

Steve pulls your body back to his, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, and placing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

“Did so well for us sweetheart.” Steve praises once more.

“I love you, you know that, right? Both of you?” you say, looking between the two creatures.

“Yeah we know you do, sweetheart, we love you too.” Steve smiles “Now, you get your blood-sucking ass over here, Munson. I’ve got two arms for a reason.” he smirks, gesturing to the other empty space in the large bed.

Eddie slinks over to the bed, sidling up to Steve, and for the rest of the night that’s how you two spend your time together. You and Eddie snuggled into the soft warmth of Steve’s chest, falling into a relaxed and easy sleep.

@sunflowerdaydreamer @munsonology @xxhellfiregirlxx

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #vampire eddie munson #Steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington x female reader smut #Steve Harrington x female reader #werewolf steve harrington #steddie #steddie x reader #steddie x reader smut #monster bf #monster fucker

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

beautiful (nsfw)

jan stevens/f!reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tags: lesbian sex, body image issues, rosacea, relationship study, oviposition

written for @alexusonfire

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

beautiful

Jan knows how to love you.

She peppers sweet kisses all over your flushed face, your rosacea rendered more prominent by the blush born out of desire as she rubs gentle circles over your underwear, the fabric growing damper by the second. She laughs when you thank her.

“What exactly are you thanking me for, darling?” she chuckles into the soft, flushed skin of your cheek as she pulls the soaked underwear aside and gently, slowly slides a single finger inside of you. 

Besides the hot, aching want, there is confusion. Does she not see you?

“I know I’m not, ah,” you breathe out, “the prettiest girl, and yet you make me feel…”

You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to find the right words, because Jan curls her finger and presses into that rough, sweet spot that makes your mind go blank. “Ah, Jan!” you cry.

“How?” she murmurs in-between soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, chin. “How do I make you feel? Tell me.”

She pumps her finger faster, applying just the right amount of pressure — she knows your body well by now, never fails to pay attention to what makes your thighs tremble and your breathing grow laboured, what makes you moan louder. 

“Wanted,” you whine as pressure deep in your belly starts to build. “Ah! You make me feel… wanted.”

“My beautiful girl,” she coos at you when you come undone around her finger. She's always warm and gentle, but still somehow overwhelming. The only thing you are aware of is Jan. Her lips on your burning cheek, her warm breath on your flushed skin, her body that radiates heat, looming over you, trapping you against the bed, her finger still inside of you. Jan, Jan, Jan, everywhere. 

“Beautiful,” she continues to whisper into your skin. She kisses your cheeks that are speckled red and that you hate so much, but she seems to love. 

She sounds so genuine that you don’t dare argue with her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She never closes her eyes when she kisses you. It’s somewhat unnerving — or it would be if it were anyone else but Jan.

“Why do you never close your eyes when we kiss?” you ask one day as you sit in the garden under the apple tree that barely started blooming, admiring blackbirds chirping.

She cups your face and pulls you close. Her bright blue eyes lined with perpetually smudged black eyeliner and that signature messy eyeshadow shine with adoration. 

“Because you are art,” she says. “And it is a crime not to admire art when it stands right in front of you.”

You laugh in disbelief, and she shuts you up by crushing her mouth into yours, making your head spin with her wet, hot kisses. 

She doesn’t close her eyes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You kiss in the drawing room, sprawled on the sofa. “Jan,” you say, pulling away, “shouldn’t we go upstairs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait to touch you,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “I want to have you right on this sofa.” 

“But it’s — ah! — only five minutes to get upstairs!” you breathe as she bites your neck. 

“Too long,” Jan chuckles into your skin and pins you down onto the sofa, straddling you. You have no further argument to offer. 

She kisses the flushing skin of your cheeks as you grind against each other. The small sofa creaks under your weight, mirrors the rhythm of your hips. Laboured breathing and quiet moans echo throughout the empty, dark drawing room. Jan watches you with love and reverence in her eyes as she reaches her peak and coats your thigh in her wetness. The mere sight makes you come undone as well. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She has a lot of love to give — too much, everyone always says — she’s too much. Too tall, too imposing, too prone to meddling into everyone’s affairs, too preoccupied with her job. She is too eager, wears too much makeup, has too extravagant tastes, likes young, pretty artists that come to the Institute just a little bit too much. 

They don’t see her the way you do. Love swirls inside of her, begging to be released, to be given. If anything, she is too loving, too generous, too kind. They say she’s too much, but perhaps everyone else isn’t enough. 

“I’m fat,” you say one evening as you’re getting ready for the afternoon mixer — an informal press conference of sorts, to announce your new album. You look at yourself in the mirror, pinching your thighs, your belly, tugging at your underwear that digs into your soft skin. 

Jan, now out of her bunny pyjamas she lounged in all day and already half-dressed, puts her hands over yours and presses her front into your back. She towers over you, and you lean your head onto her breasts. You watch her reflection in the mirror, relieved to tear your gaze away from your own image. Her eye makeup is somehow even darker than usual (if that sort of thing is even possible), her hair styled in intricate finger curls. She looks enchanting and just a bit unsettling — like an oversized doll.

She squeezes the soft flesh of your belly. “You are perfect,” she says.

“I’m fat,” you repeat.

She comes in front of you and kneels. “I never said you weren’t. I said you are beautiful.”

You sometimes wonder if Jan simply doesn't see what you see, you worry that you somehow tricked her into thinking you're beautiful — but it seems that she sees exactly what you see, and yet something completely different at the same time. 

You rest your hands on her hair as she kisses your belly, your hips, your thighs, leaving plum lipstick marks all over your skin. Her hair is hard and clumped from hairspray. You caress it fondly. 

“My beautiful girl,” she whispers, planting a kiss right onto the band of your underwear. Her fake eyelashes flutter like butterflies as she blinks up at you, watching you like you truly are a piece of art — something exquisite, something special, something to be admired. "You're simply gorgeous."

For the first time ever, you don’t argue with her. “Thank you,” you say.

She kisses your belly button and gets up. When you dress, she compliments you again, and she seems to be unable to refrain from touching you. 

She doesn’t stop showering you with compliments all throughout the evening. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You gasp when she inserts the gelatine eggs inside of you. They stretch and fill you deliciously. She discards the neon dildo once all three eggs are inside of you. 

“If only you knew how pretty you look like this,” she murmurs into your thigh as she kisses it, all while eyeing your filled pussy with lust in her eyes. Pink gelatine drips out of pink folds as the eggs slowly melt inside of you. She licks it. 

She never breaks eye contact with you as she eats you out. Your muscles convulse with pleasure, and one egg slips out of you. She catches it with her mouth, spits it out in her hand, and then shoves it back inside of you, making you groan as you’re stretched once again. 

“No one else would let me do this. No one ever let me love them like this,” she says, wiping gelatine from her lips — a futile gesture, for moments later her mouth is back on your aching pussy. She watches you as she sucks at the pink flesh and licks the pink gelatine.

“No one else would ever love me like this,” you say, unable to peel your eyes away from the odd, beautiful, fantastic, absolutely mad woman between your legs. 

She stops pleasuring you for a moment, huffing in disbelief. You feel the gust of cool air on your wet, hot cunt. “You say it as if it were a chore,” she says before continuing to devour you with gusto.

“I love you,” you breathe out after a mere couple of minutes, when an intense orgasm washes over you and eggs slide our of your pussy and onto the silken sheets. 

“I love you, Jan,” you cry as she continues to suck on your clit that aches with overstimulation, making your thighs close around her head. You close your eyes. Hot tears stream down your red, splotchy cheeks. After a couple of moments you feel her wet and slick lips on your cheeks, kissing the tears away. 

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” she says.

You believe her. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#jan stevens #flux gourmet #jan stevens x reader #i will produce my garbage and also consume it