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eatfishies · 6 months ago

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your touch sets me ablaze | 🔞

summary: Rafayel is determined to make all your worries go away.

Rafayel giving his "Miss Bodyguard" the time of her life.

word count: 3.5k words tags: NSFW, rafayel x reader (afab), porn without plot, oral sex (cunnilingus), clit play, swearing, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, public sex (or semi..? idk), pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: rafa fingers owo .. that’s it . i jus have an obsession w his pretty fingers ok . hehe hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

The long-awaited day of Rafayel’s exhibition is finally here. She smoothed out her dress, ensuring that there is no speck of dust or any creases. The dress hugged her curves like second skin, a dark blue shade that matches the ocean — she heard it faintly as she fixed herself on the mirror. The tidal waves swished around with fluidity as the birds chirped merrily, giving her a sense of peace despite the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside her. She sighed, biting her lip as she mulled over her thoughts when the door opened, revealing Rafayel.

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt, paired with a dark blue suit jacket and black tailored slacks. He looked mesmerizing as he always does whenever she sees him. Many people claim that Rafayel’s paintings are beautiful, each brushstroke has its own story and together, mixed with the soft colors is enough to draw someone in. It was easy to get lost in his artworks hence why his buyers are eager to get their hands on the latest pieces of his art. Every art dealer was entranced by the beauty of it. One could say, if you gaze at his painting, the sight of it could linger in your mind even as you slumber, dancing around and luring you into the depths of the ocean.

He smiled at her, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively, “Hey cutie, looking good there.” He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips, “Why the long face…? It’s my exhibition, not yours.” She knows he was just teasing, trying to quell her dwelling thoughts but she can only give him a faint smile.

“I know that… I just…” She sighed, unsure of how to properly form her sentence. Her mind is constantly racing, overlapping each fleeting thought. “I’ve just been… overthinking about all sorts of things, I suppose. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side.

The Lemurian hummed, studying his lover’s face with deep concentration, “Well, we still have some time left to kill. Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” His hands cupped her face gently, making her stare at his handsome face.

��Uh… I’m not sure.” She responded, still preoccupied with her troubles.

Rafayel’s hands fall to the side before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the bedroom and into the center of the studio. He gently pushed her down to the couch, “Stay here.” He said before stalking off to grab something from the desk. She could only watch with curiosity, wondering what Rafayel had planned to distract her.

When he came back, he was holding a box of Pile It Up. She couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a surge of competitive spirit bubbling inside her. “Oh, you’re so on!” She grinned at him.

And yet, after a few minutes of playing, she felt the same thoughts resurfacing. Rafayel didn’t need to be told twice to know that his partner is deep in her worries, he could see the frown etched on her features or the way she subtly tapped her fingers repeatedly against the block.

He sighed, standing up and taking a seat next to her, “I hate seeing you like this.” He paused, searching her face before caressing her cheek tenderly, “We don’t need to talk about it but I wished I could take all your troubles away. It makes me sad to see you look so blue.”

A small hint of guilt crept up, she forced herself to hold Rafayel’s gaze. “I’ll be fine, really. Just… stress, the usual.” She spoke tiredly, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

Suddenly, an idea popped up inside the painter’s head. “Then… let me put your mind at ease, yeah?” But before she could inquire, the Lemurian pulled her into a soft kiss, effectively drowning out any single thought she had previously. Their lips moved languidly in a passionate yet loving kiss. His hands slid down to feel her curves, swallowing her needy whimpers as his fingers hiked the hem of the dress up, exposing more of her skin.

He gently laid her down and pulled away, hovering above her, admiring the way her lips are now swollen and glistened with his saliva. No doubt that the lipstick has smeared onto his mouth as well but he couldn’t care less, slowly inching closer to her most intimate place. She bit her lip, growing impatient at his deliberate and sensual movements but the words of protest died in her throat when Rafayel finally touched her clit, feeling the wet patch growing as he kept stroking her.

“You’re already so wet for me… you sure are eager, aren’t you?” He smirked as she gripped his arms and bucked her hips. “Come on, let me hear your pretty sounds, cutie.” He purred, effortlessly pulling her panties to the side and rubbing her slick folds. A string of moans and whimpers fell from her lips as Rafayel continued to touch her, staring intently as her expressions contorted to one of pleasure. The worry lines on her face, the frown and the anxiousness emitting off of her earlier are all gone, replaced by fervent lust and desire.

With a swift motion, Rafayel plunged two fingers deep inside her wet pussy. Her velvet walls clamping down tightly as he curled his digits, “Ha…! F- fuck! Raf…” She moaned out, it was the sound that he could never get tired of hearing. Her body writhed beneath her lover’s skilful ministrations.

“That’s it… keep feeling good around my fingers. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He uttered sultry and low, pressing kisses on her neck before biting onto the flesh. He knew that once she was clear-headed, she would scold him for leaving a mark, especially when they were both due to attend his exhibition later. But Rafayel couldn’t care less, he was addicted to her scent, her taste, her sounds and everything about her makes him want to lose himself completely, surrendering himself to the woman he holds dear to.

The heat in her stomach coiled, the tell-tale signs of her climax approaching her as Rafayel fingers her faster and deeper, noticing the pitch of her moans getting louder. Her wet cunt squelched obscenely around his long digits as he worked to bring her close to her release. He licked her earlobe and nipped at it, “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers. Come on, you can do it, can’t you?”

Spurred by Rafayel’s encouragement, she squeezed her eyes shut as her pussy clenched tightly around his plunging fingers. “I’m… I’m close! I’m gonna come!” She cried out, her cunt clamping down on his digits as she came hard, pussy juice gushing out and all over his hand and wrist.

“Good girl. You did so great, my little conch.” He pulled his soaked fingers out and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Rafayel felt a swell of pride at seeing the state of his lover like this, she’s no longer concerned with troubling thoughts or anxieties. Only a look of pure bliss.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her. “You taste divine, my love.” A blush spread through her cheeks as she stared at the sight of Rafayel delightfully tasting her essence.

“But… I’m not done yet. Not even close.” His voice drops an octave lower as he spread her legs wide and tugged her damp panties off, tossing them on the floor. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, dripping with slick from her orgasm earlier. “I can’t wait to devour you.” And with that, he leaned in and lapped her pussy tentatively, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as her fingers tangled in his purple hair, gripping it.

Debauched cries and moans bounced off the walls along with the erotic sounds of Rafayel eating her cunt out with vigor, like a man starved. “F- feels so good!” She whimpered as the Lemurian held her thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to her sopping core.

Unable to resist, Rafayel delved in deeper, sealing his lips around her clit and suckling the sensitive nub. He flicked his tongue faster, determined to bring his dear bodyguard to her peak once more. The needy sounds spilling from her lips were like music to his ears, urging him on, to give her the pleasure that she so desperately sought.

“D- don’t stop, Raf! Please!” Her hips bucked wantonly as she ground her slick cunt against his mouth. Rafayel smirked in response, letting her tug on his hair fiercely as he thrust his tongue deep inside her clutching heat, fucking her with his mouth, feeling incredibly turned on and eager to watch her fall apart beneath him.

He could feel her juices flooding his mouth, could taste her arousal coating his tongue. Rafayel could go on for days burying his head in between her legs, couldn’t ever get enough of her sweet essence. “Come for me. Come on my tongue like the good girl that you are.” He spurred, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh.

The all-too familiar sensation coursed through her body as she moaned out, “I’m gonna come! Raf, I’m gonna come!” At that, Rafayel vigorously sucked hard on her clit, feeling her walls starting to flutter and clench around his plunging tongue. He could feel the heat of her core climbing, threatening to spill once more. The Lemurian easily slipped in two fingers, knuckle-deep into her dripping cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot that made his lover writhe in utter bliss.

It was too much, the stimulation was overbearing as her body tensed, her thighs clamped around his head as she teetered on the brink. Rafayel gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he ate them out with wild, desperate abandon.

“Rafayel!” She cried out, arching off of the couch as her orgasm crashed over her for the second time. The painter moaned as he felt the flood of arousal coating his tongue and chin, lapping it up greedily as she shuddered and quaked beneath him. He could feel the way her walls gripped his fingers, sucking in and reluctant to let go, milking his hand for all it was worth.

“P- please… too much…” She whined, riding out the intense wave of her climax. Rafayel gave her dripping wet pussy one last lick before pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “I could just drown in your taste for the rest of my life.” He spoke breathlessly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean, just like he did earlier.

Just as Rafayel was about to lean down and kiss her, the unmistakable sound of his ringtone snapped both of their attention. Rafayel stared down at her, a look of surprise on his face, “Let me get it.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, grabbing his phone. Frowning, he reads the message and pockets it away, looking back at her with a sigh. “It’s Thomas. Says we need to be at the exhibition in 20 minutes.”

A small part of her felt disappointed at the fact that they would need to go out soon but she wasn’t just the only one whos’ feeling it. Rafayel gazed at her with a slight pout, he had hoped to fuck her silly before they were called to the gallery. But alas, duties calls and if they stalled any longer, Thomas would suspect something was up, even though Rafayel is known for arriving late to his exhibitions or not even appearing at all.

“Should we just ditch this and not go?” He said exasperatedly, crossing his arms in annoyance. She smiled softly at him, sitting up straight and pulling her dress down, still panty-less underneath. She could feel her own slick running down her inner thighs, a faint blush spread through her cheeks as she briefly recalled the way Rafayel had brought her to climax twice.

However, her gaze lowered to the sight of Rafayel’s painfully hard and obvious bulge, straining against his pants. Biting her lips, she quickly squashed down any lewd thoughts, refraining from losing her focus by daydreaming about sinking her tight wet cavern onto Rafayel’s thick cock. No, she needs to get it together and actually drag her Lemurian lover to the gallery, lest they face the wrath of Thomas.

With a reluctant smile, she stood up and bent down to pick up her panties, slipping them on. “I guess it’s time to go. Come on, you pouty baby.” She pinched his cheek, earning a glare from her lover but it lacked no malice, instead filled with tenderness and love. Rafayel sighed dramatically, intertwining their fingers together, “Fine, fiiiiinee.”

As they began to walk towards the front door, she paused, “Ah wait, I need to grab something.” But Rafayel wouldn’t budge, clasping her hand tightly as he stared ahead. He leaned in and whispered hotly in her ears, “Just keep your panties on. Don’t think this is over just because we’re going somewhere.” Heat rises up to her cheeks at the suggestive implication, was Rafayel planning something? It was a risky move, she knew she should go and grab the short pants to wear beneath her dress but Rafayel only gripped his hold on her, sensing the slight confusion. “Trust me, cutie. I know a way to make the exhibition waaaay more entertaining.”

Alas, she gave in and nodded, “No funny stuff, alright!” She warned but Rafayel only smiled cheekily at her in response. “I’ll be a good boy and behave, dontcha’ worry, my darling.” He gave her a wink, a silent promise to be on his best behavior, yet there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‧───────────────‧

The gallery was filled and buzzing with prestigious art dealers and other VIP guests, mingling around and admiring the exquisite artworks that were displayed on the walls. She stood to the side, a glass of champagne in her hand as she glanced at Rafayel who is, no doubt, forced to converse with the guests by Thomas. She hummed, taking in the scene before her, it was clear that Rafayel has always been popular but to witness it entirely was a different feeling. It warms her heart knowing that Rafayel is loved and cherished by many people here – a respected artist in his own field, earning awe-struck stares and quiet excited cheers.

She took a sip of her drink, enjoying her solitude when Rafayel sauntered over to her. “How is my princess doing?” He smirked, standing next to her, his gaze briefly flickering down to the hem of her dress. She could tell a thing or two about what he’s thinking, all of the thoughts are most likely inappropriate. “I’m doing okay.” She replied casually, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your esteemed guests? Wouldn’t want Thomas to come hurling complaints again, hm?”

At the mention of Thomas’s complaints, Rafayel grimaced and looked away, “Puh-lease, I’m his boss here, not him. He can’t control me, no matter how much he wants to.” His hand found their way on her hips, pulling her close. “Besides, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?” Before she could voice out her objections, Rafayel immediately dragged her to the quieter, lonely

side of the gallery. There were no artworks framed on the walls nor are there any people here to disturb the couple. “Raf honey… are you sure we're allowed here? Isn’t this section of the gallery closed off?” Her voice tinged with uncertainty and maybe a little bit of unease at the blank and empty part of the gallery.

“It’s fine, no one ever comes home.” He reassured her, letting go of his hand and cupping her face, “Now, it’s just the two of us here.” Rafayel captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire from before into it. She could taste the remnants of her pussy juice, rendering her completely into a puddle of mess as Rafayel’s fingers trailed down and slipped underneath her dress with ease. She whimpered against his lips as Rafayel rubbed her clit through her damp panties, soaked from the pleasure she received back in the comfort of his home.

“R- raf… ah! Mhmm… we- we can’t” She murmured helplessly as Rafayel began to nip at her neck, licking the hickey he left there. It had bloomed beautifully, his mark on hers – a sign to everyone that she was his. Only his.

Of course, she hadn’t been a fool, she did try to cover up the hickey before they stepped into the exhibition but Rafayel wouldn’t stop pestering her and telling her to just leave it be. In the end, she caved in and proudly showed off the mark, albeit with much reluctance and embarrassment. Rafayel rasped, “Need you… need you here, right now.”

Swiftly, Rafayel tugged her panties aside and unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He pressed her against the wall, her back facing him, “N- now?!” She sputtered but Rafayel was already stroking his aching shaft on her sopping wet mound.

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. Rafayel wanted nothing more than to slam inside, to consume her entirely, his body blazing with need but he knew she was still sensitive from the overstimulation. “Keep quiet, okay?” He whispered hotly before thrusting deep inside her slick walls, burying himself to the hilt, feeling it tighten.

“You feel so fucking good.” He gripped her hips, staring intently at his lover, biting her lips to stifle the moans and cries of pleasure. Without wasting any time, Rafayel set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as he fucked into her dripping cunt with deep, powerful strokes. Anyone could walk in on them, going at it like rabbits in heat but all caution and care was thrown out of the window. Rafayel could only feel her wet, clasping heat, determined to bring her to the edge and make her feel good. There was no denying the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, if a guard were to catch them, they would no doubt be in trouble.

Then again, the risk is what makes it exciting. Rafayel groaned softly, nuzzling into her neck as she held back her cries of ecstasy, the familiar coppery tang of her blood sinking into her tongue from biting her lips too hard. Rafayel’s hands slid up to cup and knead her breasts through her dress as he pounded into her. The sensation was too much, her brain was all mushy as her pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in deeper, wanting more.

Her hands pathetically scrambled to hold onto the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she desperately tries to not let a single sound fall off of her lips. Rafayel’s voice was low, “You're clenching me so tightly baby. Ha… what a dirty girl, taking my cock like this out in the open. You love this, don’t you?”

A whimper escaped from her throat as Rafayel slammed his hips forward fast and deep into her dripping, clinging heat. He noticed the way her breath quickened, her face etched in a fucked-out expression, losing herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering wildly as he drove her closer to the edge.

Rafayel withdrew from fondling her breasts and gripped her face, turning her towards him as his lips met hers in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he fucked her towards her release. “Come for me, you can do it. Come one more time for me on my cock.” He murmured against her lips, feeling his orgasm nearing.

He felt her body stiffened, coming undone as he drowned out all her cries with a wet, sensual kiss. Rafayel grunted, his hips stuttering and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her soaked cunt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he pumped her full with his seed. Rafayel pulled away and panted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a sheen of sweat trickling down from their coupling. He gazed at her with adoring eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before he reluctantly pulled out of her cum-filled cunt. Rafayel tugged the panties to the center of her clit, covering her as she caught her breath.

Wordlessly, Rafayel scooped her into his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Her eyes shut closed, her mind dancing around cloud nine from the intensity of it all.

“Let’s go home, my love.” He said softly as he made his way towards the exit, ignoring the curious stares and ogles from the people in the exhibition. When Thomas tried to question him, Rafayel dismissed him and continued to walk to his car, gently putting her down onto the passenger seat.

Once they were home, Rafayel put on a bath and scrubbed her clean with much affection. Afterwards, he prepared dinner and cuddled her, staring down at her peaceful expression as she slumber.

“I love you, my treasure.” He spoke quietly, kissing her forehead before falling asleep with his lover in his arms.

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anonymous-dee · 5 months ago

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My Top 5 Scum Villain Ships

5.CumPlane

There’s just something so silly about them. I love the way they bicker and banter, and you can’t deny the obvious shitpost potential of them both coming from the real world.

I fucking love the memes where they’re speaking in brainrot to each other and all the other peak lords are like 🤨❓

4. MoShang

They make me so mad fr. I stand with SQH as a child of divorce so yk, I can’t be too upset with him. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THEIR ABANDONMENT TRAUMAS LOVE TO CLASH CONSTANTLY AND IT’S SO DJFJDJF 🍽️ I hate it so much *desperately filling my plate with fics and fan art and headcanons and—*

3. JiuYuan / ScumCum

Another ship w the sillies. One of my favorite dynamics with JiuYuan is Shen Yuan being like “ugh” but then realizing how broken Shen Jiu is and then going “sigh, I can fix him…” and then he DOES fix him and it’s sweet and cute and perfect.

And yk, I think it’s so important for Shen Jiu to experience kindness and gentle touch and actual love, and it’s like YEAH I love the drama of QiJiu and LiuJiu, but with QiJiu it doesn’t hit the same because in order for it to work in a /gen way, Yue Qingyuan has to have his redemption arc and regain Shen Jiu’s broken trust.

I still do ship LiuJiu ans QiJiu, but ScumCum is just more wholesome in my eyes.

With Shen Yuan, there was no original betrayal, he just comes out of the transmigration oven with warm hands and healing vibes. For the most part.

I like that they are both also similar in a hater way too. If you think about it, they’re both 100% capable of going on the BEST RANTS and being a hater and I just KNOW they have the BEST debriefs after seeing the others do questionable things in public. Yk, they give each other the 👀 “are u seeing this shit” look knowing fully well they are both gonna have a 2 hour mutual ted talk about the absolute audacity.

You also gotta love the dynamic of Tsundere (soft) and Tsundere (will kill a bitch). Because on one hand Shen Yuan has to have his gay awakening so he’s in denial for a hot minute. And then you have Shen Jiu who’s ALSO in denial—probably also in the closet bc he has to overcome his mental block of fearing/despising all men before he can become open to the idea of allowing one man.

#not all men #actually yes, all men #just not that one in particular #yeah him, the fucking twink in the back

And then you can easily end up with a dynamic where both of them realize their feelings and it turns into

SJ: god shen yuan is so fucking annoying (wasn’t allowed to kill someone)

NPC: yeah I hate that guy

SJ: what the FUCK did you just fucking say

I love them thanks.

2. BingLiuShen

**CREDIT BOTH OF THESE BEAUTIFUL ART PIECES TO SAIRUSB AND CHECK OUT THEIR PAGE THEIR ART IS AMAZING**

Slot number 2 goes to BingLiuShen. Everyone repeat after me: SHEN QINGQIU HAS TWO HANDS!

I think the most interesting part about any Poly ship is the multitude of dynamics; it’s more than just SQQ x LQG x LBH. It’s also BingQiu. It’s also LiuShen. It’s also…uh, BingLiu(?) for the life of me I cannot remember if that’s their ship name, BUT ANYWAY.

Each of these individual dynamics has its own individual charm that gets explored once you start overlapping them together. You have the base with some delicious seasoning if you will.

Not gonna lie, it was a 100% tag team effort between SairusB and Celardor that initially sold me on BingLiuShen.

I love Luo Binghe being a menace, Shen Qingqiu being ‘:3’, and Liu Qingge being shy and not used to romance at all. Not that any of them really are, but I love how many ways you can play around with this specific concept, which I will elaborate on more in the next part of the post.

(Anyone who knows me, you know who I’m putting in the number 1 slot)

Everyone please read Sharing is Caring / Love in Another Shape by Celardor on ao3 that fic literaly altered by brain chemistry and it’s so fucking good please believe me PLEASE

1. LiuShen

**CREDIT THIS BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK TO VELINXI, THE ARTIST FOR THE ENGLISH VERSION OF SVSSS**

My beloveds. My silly little guys. My pretty scrimblos. My mipys. Ft. the art that got me to See The Vision™️ for the first time.

Love that we get LiuShen art in the official artstyle btw, I will never shut up about it bc Velinxi’s art is so gorgeous and I cherish everything she draws so so so dearly.

LiuShen is so special to me. I’ve talked about it several times before on my blog but I just love their dynamic so much. Somehow despite both being tsunderes (well, idk if I count SQQ as a FULL tsundere, but still) they end up being so soft with one another it’s so fucking wholesome.

As much as I do enjoy BingQiu, I say as it did not make the top 5 list LMFAO I absolutely love how many ways there are to write LiuShen. Given that SQQ is ship silly putty already, it really does provide the opportunity for endless fun.

There are fics where both of them are self aware of how they feel, there are fics where neither of them are. There are fics where one of them realzies they like the other and have no shame about it. And BOTH are equally as entertaining. I love ‘:3 Liu shidi is pretty I wanna touch him’ fics just as much as I love ‘>:( I’m gonna bring Shen Yuan courting gifts and challenge him to a fight to express my devotion’ ones.

And then you have the fics where one of them is oblivious and accidentally ends up married to the other—I’ve seen it go both ways and it’s perfect every time I swear to god.

Props to Celardor AGAIN because I think they perfectly balance the tsundere and soft vibes between the two. The fic “Sharing is Caring” goes beyond just the silly wife plot it starts out as. It deadass goes from “teehee silly wife plot” to “let’s actually explore the dynamic and the world and the plot beyond just this silly adventure”

Celardor said “I think I see potential here” and both parts of the fic series amount to 254,349 words AND COUNTING BC PART 2 ISN’T DONE YET.

Okay this isn’t a fic review this is a SHIP review so setting Celardor’s fic hesitantly aside, it’s sort of hard for me to explain how much they make me happy but I just love the blushy x blushy dynamic so much LET THEM BE SHY AND SOFT TO EACH OTHER AAAAH

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

What is your favorite SVSSS ship?

#mxtx #mxtx svsss #luo binghe #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #svsss #bingqiu #liu qingge #liushen #scumcum #jiuyuan #moshang #mobei jun #shang qinghua #cumplane #bingliushen #danmei

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syntheticsymp · 2 months ago

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Niktotine.

Babe you are so right. Never in my life has a single word ignited an idea so quick.

In my HCs, I think Nikto had been smoking since he was young (a teen in Russia thinking he's so cool) and was probably encouraged by his father. He likes the cheap cigarettes that hurt his lungs to smoke. And I like to believe that he swears up and down he isn't addicted, when he definitely is.

Tw: smoking, implied kidnapping, Nikto being Nikto. Unedited and mainly brain worms

Nikto had long since perfected the art of torture, he knew how stress presented itself in his victims. Sweating, twitching, a bouncing leg. Normal people weren't good at hiding those tells.

And neither were you.

When he finally arrived home from KorTac, he could practically taste your panic in the air. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything particularly upsetting today. You had been living with him long enough to get used to his behavior.

It didn’t take him long to track you down. Sitting on the couch, head in your hands.

What could possibly be stressing you out? Nikto had taken you away from all your problems. Had the freedom to go into town been too much for you?

The voices were questioning him, nitpicking his decisions, as always. He huffed as he attempted to block them out. They weren’t his priority. He had just gotten home, he had other things to focus on.

Nikto sat down next to you, not bothering to give you the space you needed. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, the hollow dip in your skin mimicking his own, deformed face.

He didn't want to ask, and to be honest, he really didn't care. But you were his pet, his питомица. He had a duty to you.

“Something is wrong.”

It wasn't a question.

You nodded slowly, turning to face him and hesitantly meeting his blue gaze. Your voice was pained when you responded. “Yes.”

You didn't offer more than that. And if you wanted to stay quiet, fine. Nikto wouldn't push. He hated it when people did that to him. If you wanted to tell him, you would. As long as you didn't lie or try to leave him, he wouldn't force you to speak.

So, instead, he acted. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap.

You kicked out. “Hey!”

His glare quickly silenced you. It didn't matter if you were in a bad mood, you weren't to fight him. He was attempting to be kind, giving you physical contact despite how he hated it. It was best if you didn't push your luck.

When he finally had you fully in his lap, he shoved a gloved hand in his pocket. You were tense, lips pressed into a hard line as you fought to keep quiet.

Eventually, he pulled out a small box of Parliment cigarettes and his smuggled lighter. Technically, the doctors said he shouldn't be allowed near either. The lighter was a danger in his hands and nicotine scraped his lungs.

But smoking worked better than his meds most days. Starting his day with his pretty thing handing him two orange pills and a cigarette in bed was just the right combination to keep the voices at bay. Just enough that they'd be content.

Who cared if the nicotine would rot his teeth when half of them had been pulled out by Mr. Z anyway. And if that man couldn't kill him, cancer didn't have a chance, either.

He handed you the lighter as he placed the cigarette between his cracked lips, balancing it between what remained of them. You took the lighter, just like always. It was a ritual for you to hold the flames to him. It was better than him doing it himself.

The white paper quickly caught fire and a thin trail of smoke wound its way to the ceiling, infecting the house that was supposedly a home. Parliaments left a scratchy taste in the back of his throat, a dull sort of ache he found just as addictive as the nicotine itself.

He blew smoke out of his scars as you started to melt into him. Resting your head against his chest, seeking comfort now that your stress had dissipated and morphed into weariness. You were seeking Nikto out, finally starting to give in to his broken version of love. That, or perhaps the smoke simply wore down your senses.

And, with ever watchful eyes, he noticed. It was hard not to.

The faint scent of cheap cigarettes followed Nikto like a ghost. You had grown used to the smell overtime, and even started to look for it whenever you were nervous, even if it wasn't intentional. You'd grow almost calm around him after he returned from smoking outside. And if he did inside, you would appear in the room in a matter of moments.

Even now, you were curled up against his chest, chin tilted upward so you could breathe in the nicotine as he exhaled.

A curious habit he had given you. Perhaps it was time to give you a taste of the real thing?

Nikto shifted you on his lap, forcing you to look up at him. You blinked a few times, still sleepy from whatever had caused you to stress earlier.

He held the cigarette out to you, tapping it against your lower lip, signaling for you to open.

Your eyes went wide. “Uhm, no thank you. I’m alright.”

“It helps us,” he reasoned, one of the first times he had attempted to do so. “It will help you.”

“What if I get addicted?” you asked, voice small.

Oh, питомица. You already are.

“We won't let you.”

He saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t a liar. He had said before that there was no point in it. His word was good, the only thing left you could trust.

You carefully took the cigarette in your mouth, holding it between your lips just as delicately as you had done to his cock the night before. You didn’t breathe in, simply resting it there as if that would trick him.

Nikto rolled his eyes and pinched your nose.

You sputtered, forced to breathe in. Your eyes quickly teared up.

He pulled the cigarette away just as quickly as he gave it to you. Your cheeks were puffy with smoke, so he poked one. A thin stream of smoke fell from your lips and contaminated the air, mixing with his own smoke.

“Better?”

You slumped against him, offering a tired nod.

The voices in his head offered positive feedback for once. He had helped you. He may not be capable of emotion, but he at least had his питомица. He could have you without hurting or killing you. It was only a matter of time until he did, but for now, you loved him enough to rest against his chest. And he’d make sure you still loved him even if he hurt you. He couldn't have you leaving him, now could he?

He let out a proud huff, flicking what remained of his cigarette to the coffee table. Normally, he’d put it out on his pants leg or you, but he supposed he could hold off.

He used the squishy flesh where his thumb fingernail used to be tilted your chin up.

He mushed his lips against yours, tasting the nicotine on your tongue. You responded with the same desperation, moving just as sloppily as him. You were too tired to squirm, instead leaning into him just like he wanted you to.

You were becoming just as addicted to him as he was to you. And oh, didn't Nikto love watching your fall.

#nikto trying and failing to help because he doesn't grasp human emotions is my favorite Nikto #I have a soft spot for characters who don’t understand love and think obsession/possessive behavior will make up for being empty #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty nikto #cod nikto #nikto fanfic #nikto x you #nikto x y/n #andre nikto #nikto imagine #nikto x reader #nikto call of duty #nikto #tw smoking #fem reader #tw kidnapping

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silkscream · 1 year ago

Text

pure smile snake venom

ੈ✩ suguru geto x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, dom!suguru, emotional manipulation, fingering, dubcon, blood, yandere behavior, edging, multiple orgasms, choking, loss of virginity, religious imagery

ੈ✩ wc: 5.1k

ੈ✩ a/n: oooo i am soo normal about cult leader suguru. art by @/wonowono__3 on twitter

He finds you unconscious.

He feels you before he sees you – your cursed energy permeates the air with dread. He can feel it in his throat, as if the hand of his past self materialized to strangle him, reminding him of desperation. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, not anymore.

It also felt like death.

When he finds you, your body would have easily been looked over, small as you were compared to the vastness of the forest around you. Insignificant, left to rot.

When he’d looked at your face, there was recognition in his chest despite not seeing you before. He hadn’t been drawn to anyone in a while. He barely had anyone that wasn’t at arm's length to him, even his closest devouts, yet something about the delicateness of your face enticed him. A predator finding lost prey.

He finds it mildly sacrilegious to touch you when you’re in this state, but your shirt was saturated with so much blood that it took him a bit to realize that the color of the fabric was supposed to be white and not merlot-red. He lifts your shirt, grimacing at its dampness, and finds a wound that looks fatal.

He looks at it and feels the residuals of a nasty curse. By the time he tracks it down, he tortures it with all of the energy inside of him.

You wake up on a futon you don’t recognize. You don’t remember a thing.

You wince as you attempt to rise, clutching your side. You’re topless, clothed only by gauze covering your chest and ribs.

You exhale, closing your eyes. In the darkness behind your eyelids, you see a face with a vacant smile. You are met with that very smile when you open your eyes again.

“Welcome back.”

You blink. He must be the stranger that saved you from — well, what did he save you from? You were used to spirits, took years to adjust to that fact, and have even killed a few yourself. But when you feel the pain in your side, nothing comes to mind.

“You… saved me?”

“I suppose so. It was pure luck that I happened to stumble upon you.”

“Where — where am I?”

He tells you it’s his temple, then he tells you his name. When he asks for yours, you’re reluctant. Eventually, you tell him. If he was luring you into his trap, you suppose you had fallen into it against your will by pure chance. It was probably better than bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you have anyone who will miss you?”

You don’t say anything. You think of the dingy studio apartment you’ve been subletting for a few months. You try to conjure up a narrative of belonging in your head that would give you any reason for you to leave. Nothing comes.

You shake your head.

Geto Suguru is the first person to tell you that you’re magic.

You knew that, in some way, ever since you were a child. Your intuition made you a strange child, always slightly cryptic with a sense of maturity that made you seem like a vessel for a sad ghost. Your visions would only get stronger – small bursts of light whiplashing through your mind into images, rapid like a supercut. The things you saw would come true.

This is what makes you a good weapon. Ironically, you had always thought of yourself as weak.

He was captivating the way a cult leader should be, and you had fallen under his spell. It was his robes and the regal way he carried himself, maybe. You don’t think he’s bad — he’s made you important, and you’ve never felt wanted before. You were a recluse before Suguru found you. Barely the shape of anything, so he found it appropriate to mold you into something to call his.

Suguru doesn’t tell you much. You know that he probably lies to you.

He holds too much power for you to question it. His cursed technique is daunting and his grace is enviable, but he’s mostly kind. You help him when he finds curses, usually the more powerful ones that could threaten him. Able to see into the near future, you can sense their next move each time. It makes it easy to subdue them to Suguru’s advantage.

You also find that he is regarded as something of a saint to non-sorcerers. Something twists in your gut when you watch his exorcisms, seeing the immediate relief in the faces of his followers. They look at him with so much adoration that it makes you self-conscious that you share the same disposition.

He tells you you’re his favorite and the feeling dissipates.

You like how ritualistic living in the temple is. Breakfast at the same time each day. Tea in the garden. Rolling in the gross with bruised knuckles.

You take a liking to his girls. They remind you of yourself, but they lack the meekness you had as a teenager. The twins adore you almost as much as they adore Suguru. They are endlessly fickle, as most teenage girls are, but their devotion is worn candidly in the way they carry themselves. You wonder how they can be so obedient, but you realize that they have known nothing else.

It’s a quiet luxury. You like to pretend that you’re some sort of priestess, sometimes. You had never been as reverent as your mother, but you think that there is peace in serving a God. If not Suguru, then some higher power must’ve granted you another chance at life, even if your new life meant mundane piety.

You liked routine – it fit you. You did your part in the temple and Suguru would reward you with gentle praises. You were only one of few sorcerers in his current entourage, so you felt special.

Despite this, something felt messing. You often wish Suguru could cast out the malaise inside of you, but you’ve carried it in the pit of yourself for as long as you could remember. Even in your pious bliss, you start wondering if the curse that nearly killed you left a part of itself within you. Each day is the same until you wear thin.

When the string finally breaks, you find him with blood on his hands in the temple’s omoya.

It’s not the blood of a curse, either. It’s dark crimson, such as the same blood that is inside of you, and on the tatami mat lies the lifeless body of a servant.

Shin, his name was. He wasn’t much younger than you, but he had the spirit of a boy, always able to make you laugh before he served you breakfast. He had arrived only a few months after you had, citing suicidal ideation as a catalyst to seeking Suguru’s services. Once treated, he had felt larger than life.

And now, his face is frozen in time – the look of sheer fear.

“Useless monkey,” Suguru tuts, wiping the blood off his face. You’ve seen that look on his face before — when he’s cruel and callous in battle. When he snaps the neck of a special grade curse before he eats it.

You run to the bathroom to vomit.

When you emerge, one of the twins looks at you curiously. Mimiko. She smiles at you serenely, her eyes flickering with taunt.

“Is everything alright, Y/N-san?”

“Y-yes,” you nod. “Just a bit under the weather.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Her eyes light up for a second. “Oh, could you be pregnant? Nanako and I really wish there was another kid around—“

“No, no, I’m not pregnant,” you cut her off, shocked. Did she think you and Suguru were… together? Did she think you were his concubine?

“Ah. I can get the servants to prepare some ginger tea for you.”

“No need, Mimiko,” you shake your head, smiling sheepishly. “I just… need to get some air.”

She leaves you alone as you walk towards the pagoda. You feel another wave of nausea when you remember Shin’s lifeless eyes. The blood on his throat.

You stare at the sunset. It’s been a long time since you’ve left the temple of your own volition. Suguru keeps a tight leash on you nowadays, blaming the unpredictability of your power. Bitterly, you realize that you’re only ever in town alongside him.

Sometimes, you miss being a stray.

His presence is immediate. When you turn, his long hair sways in the breeze as he flashes you a cat-like smile.

“Thought you were trying to run away from me,” he murmurs, walking towards you. “But you’d never do that, would you?”

“Just… enjoying the view.”

He looks at you, amused. It feels belittling.

“I apologize. I thought Nanako had locked the door.”

Your blood stills. He saw you.

“I thought you only killed curses,” you stammer. For the first time, his presence makes you feel unsafe.

“I never said that, sweet girl,” he chuckles. He plays with a loose strand of your hair. “Humans are beneath us, you know that. Humans are the reason curses are created. Curses just like the one that nearly killed you.”

You don’t have it in you to protest. He’s gotten closer to you now. A hand on your waist. His lips kissing your hairline in a way that makes you feel like a child again.

“I— I liked him,” you stutter.

“Mm,” he hums. “He liked you, too. A bit too much if you ask me.”

You stay silent. Only the sound of cicadas fill the air.

“It’s not your fault,” he grins. “You charm anyone you meet by default, you know. But sometimes, these followers… they want to threaten our mission. Sometimes, they’re paid off by sorcerers who are targeting me to gather intel. And darling, when there’s a target on my back, there’s a target on yours.”

You pull away from him with wide eyes. His face is neutral. So naive, you are. He was only doing you a favor, but a sheltered girl like you trusts too easily.

“Just remember. I will be the only one to protect you.”

He finds you in the garden.

You’re surrounded by wildflowers, your yukata loose enough on you that it falls off your shoulder when you sit up to greet him. The sight of your bare skin tokes the fire in his stomach. He’s dressed more casually tonight, in a plain kimono as opposed to his usual gojo-gesa.

“Enjoying the fireflies?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He notices the dark circles under your eyes. Your smile is tired now. You stare blankly as if you’re in a trance.

“You’ve been a bit off lately,” he muses. “Something on your mind?”

You blink at him in surprise, almost regretting it once you make eye contact. The hint of a lazy smile is there while his eyes scrutinize you. It always feels like he can see right through you, observing you just before he eats you whole.

“No, Geto-sama,” you shake your head.

He laughs, rubbing your shoulder. “So formal with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” you knit your brows. You had been at the temple for less than a year. You weren’t intimate with him enough to warrant that. You weren’t intimate with him in the way your heart longed for.

“Not with me. Never with me.”

“Suguru.” You mull over the taste of his name on your tongue. The shape of it in your mouth. “I’m okay, Suguru.”

You feel pathetic under his gaze. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something, sensing the apprehension in your voice. The slight quiver of your bottom lip as you avoid his face.

“I’m just… recovering. From my technique, that’s all,” you say hoarsely.

It’s not a complete lie — the intensive training with Suguru led you to discover that you could bend time and space to your will in small aspects. Teleporting short distances became a new tool for your arsenal. It was still difficult to manage and exhausting to exert. The other day, your nose had bled so much that you almost thought your membranes would burst completely.

“You’re exhausting yourself,” he says gently, rubbing a hand to the small of your back. “But you’re improving rapidly. I’m proud of you.”

Warmth floods your body at his praise. It was too easy for him to wrap you around his finger, and you were starting to hate it.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“Do you feel powerful?”

You take a moment of reprieve when he asks this. Powerful? Despite being a sorcerer and wielding the ability to exorcise the monstrous manifestations of human suffering, you did not feel powerful at all. You never have. If anything, you only felt useful.

“Not really.”

“You should,” he smiles. “You’re getting stronger. We’re untouchable together, you and me.”

You and me echoes loud in your brain. Stitches itself into every crevice unwittingly.

“Ge– Suguru,” you swallow thickly. “Is that why you saved me? Because you wanted me to get strong?”

“Yes,” he nods without hesitation. “I saw potential in you.”

“Is that all I am? Potential? I’m just– just a vehicle for you?”

He leans over to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His own hair is down, for once, and you can smell his white tea shampoo as his shoulder touches yours. It almost soothes you.

“You aren’t just a tool to me, you know that,” he sighs, looking at you with intent. “I like taking care of you.”

You nod slowly as you look towards the sky. His words aren’t enough to fill the emptiness inside you. His proximity to you makes your chest constrict in the slightest bit, creaking the floorboards of your ribs inside a haunted house body.

You shiver when he pulls down your yukata and presses a chaste kiss to your collarbone. It must feel the same as when humans get their curses exorcised by him. Lightness in their being instead of dead weight. Blessed by a god.

“Come inside,” he purrs. “You’re getting cold, yeah? I can see your goosebumps.”

No. His hands were just colder than you expected.

He gathers his hair into a half-up bun before he brings you to his room for the first time. It’s rather bare, save for the kotatsu across from his futon and the talismans that are hanging above it. The calligraphy is messy, unintelligible, as if the text was written manically.

He sits you down at the kotatsu and pours you bergamot tea. You cough nervously in anticipation.

“Suguru.”

“Yes?”

“Um.. how long do you intend on keeping me here?”

He raises a brow. Looks at you like you’ve asked something stupid.

“You have somewhere else to go?” he asks sarcastically.

You triple-blink at his bluntness. He isn’t taking you seriously.

“Well, I have a friend or two in my hometown. I was thinking about—”

Your breath hitches when he grabs your chin. His gaze bores into your face, his lips in a hard line.

“You’re unhappy,” he says plainly.

“No, I’m just not sure if I can completely fulfill the purpose that you—”

“Do you think anyone else will take you in?” he spits. “You told me yourself. You have no family. You were barely scraping by when you lived alone. With the amount of cursed energy you possess, you think you’ll be able to protect your friends from all the curses you’ll attract?”

You sink into yourself. As if a switch is flipped, his expression changes completely. There’s that familiar softness in his eyes again. God, the tea was making you feel so warm, too. One look from him and you find yourself melting. Even the Devil would swoon.

“Don’t you think fate brought us together?” he whispers. “Don’t you know how valuable you are to me?”

He almost sounds like he means it. Your rabbit heart speeds up when he strokes your collarbone with his thumb. A heady feeling consumes you and you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

“Look at me,” he demands, grabbing your chin again. He crowds your space, not leaving you any room to breathe. Your gut aches from sudden heat.

“God made you for me. Don’t you know that?”

Your mind goes blank as you nod slowly. He looks at you like he’s starved. No one’s ever looked at you like that before. No one has ever really looked at you before him.

“I’m— I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper.

He caresses your cheek, his breath tickling your jaw as he leans in.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand what it’s like to feel a little stir-crazy. I’ll take you out more often, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

He grins and it comes off as sardonic.

“Such a spoiled girl. Only the very best for my girl, hm? I clothe her, feed her, make her stronger. And what do I get in return?” he scolds, thumb swiping over your quivering bottom lip. “She tries to run away from me.”

“I’m not,” you pout.

“You’re not?” he scoffs.

You don’t know what to do other than apologize. You were weak like that.

“You’re so good,” he sighs. “And you want to keep being good, is that right?”

“Yes,” you mumble.

You shiver again when he runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand undoing the ties of your yukata. You sharply inhale at the cool air hitting in your nipples, the rest of you trembling at the prospect of being so bare in front of him. God or prophet, you didn’t know. All that you know now is that there was no coming back from this.

“My good girl,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “My best girl.”

You whimper when you feel his tongue on your jaw. His kisses are tantalizingly slow. Teasing. He marvels at the flutter of your lashes in response to his touch.

He had tried to deny those feelings in the beginning, but he couldn’t help it anymore. He feels as though he’s created you. He liked you delicate, lace winged. A butterfly caught in a jar.

Suguru thinks this is fair. He has always believed in fairness, and although one might argue that his philosophy is a direct contradiction to that, he could beg to differ. Different people had different values, that was all. You just happened to have an advantage in the hierarchy he holds in his head. A precious thing, his treasure.

When he turned his back on Jujutsu society by becoming a curse user, he would avenge the suffering of the sorcerers around him. Years of adapting to the taste of shit and vomit would eventually earn him something that made it all worth it. He’s convinced that something was you.

He was your savior, therefore you were his blessing. It was only fair that he could take you the way he wanted. You were meant to be found by him. You were meant to be kept.

You barely put up a fight.

You whimper when he parts your legs with his hands and finds you embarrassingly wet. Every stroke of his hands on your inner thigh has you twitching involuntarily.

“Oh,” he coos. “Look at that.”

You look away in shame, trying to close your legs, but he forces them open with a bruising grip. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“What’s wrong, baby? You want to be good for me, right?”

You nod without a word, trying to control your breathing. Your brain is telling you that you want this — you’d wanted to be his from the moment you saw him. Your body tells you the same, but dread creeps up your spine.

You gasp when he grazes your clit with his fingers. He plays with it, stares at your cunt through your underwear like it’s a prize.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid. I’m the only person in this world you can trust.”

He slips your panties off easily and you wince at the sound of your wetness sticking to the fabric. He applies more pressure to your bud, distracting you with his mouth on yours. You mewl into his mouth without realizing and he grins against your lips, slipping his tongue inside.

When you feel a finger push into your walls, you convulse in surprise, though you don’t pull away like he expects. You merely clutch him harder, your hands wrinkling the sleeve of his haori.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he rasps. “No one’s been here before, is that right? Just me?”

He groans when you look at him with innocent eyes and nod meekly. Of course he would be your first. You were nothing but a wounded dog when he found you, barely had a life of your own before he took you. You were pure and the world was keeping you for him. It was meant to be.

“S-Suguru…” you breathe. He’s pulled you into his lap now, your cunt getting his kimono wet. The slick of your cunt around his finger is enough to make blood rush to his cock.

“So pretty,” he mumbles. In one fell swoop, he takes you in his arms and carries you to the futon. You squeak in surprise at being lifted off the floor so quickly and so easily.

He takes the pause in his actions to undress himself, slipping off his robes, and when you see the thickness of his length prodding against his toned stomach, your mouth goes dry.

“C’mere,” he beckons. You obey.

He kisses you sweetly on your mouth and then down your jaw, squeezing your breasts. Your breath hitches as he takes the time to rub his thumb over your nipples. Suddenly, his teeth graze your chest. Biting, tasting. Forbidden fruit.

You let out a quiet moan and he chuckles. “So sensitive.”

Without a warning, he plunges two fingers into your cunt and you nearly cry out. There’s a choked noise, something in between pleasure and resignation. It’s all too much. When he adds a third finger and feels much less resistance, he laughs.

“Taking me so well. You’re doing so good,” he encourages before lapping at your chest again. When his fingers curl at just the right angle, your vision starts to get fuzzy. His thumb on your clit only intensifies the feeling.

“I c-can’t—”

“Hm? Use your words.”

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

His movements still and you nearly scream. He pulls back to see tears brimming your eyes and he kisses them away gently despite his cruel smirk.

“Nonono, please—”

“Please what?” He feigns innocence.

You bite your lip, your face too hot to feel comfortable expressing what you want. You feel the ghost of your curse wrap around your throat again. Once again, you find that the ticket to salvation has silky black hair and snake eyes. The artillery of a fallen angel disguised as something pure.

He can tell you’re frustrated but too afraid to voice it. You’re as pliable as he knew you would be. Endlessly easy to coax a reaction from.

“Do you expect everything to be handed to you? Just because you’re mine?” he taunts.

His. His. His.

You shake your head, whimpering.

“Then ask nicely, baby.”

Your cunt is on fire even though he isn’t touching you. When he strokes your lip and pushes his thumb into your mouth, you let him. Your tongue tickles his fingertip.

“Ah, so you still have a tongue. You can still speak.”

He laughs when you pout.

“Please touch me,” you say, your voice as quiet as a breeze.

“What was that?” He grins even wider.

“Pleasetouchme,” you whimper, your voice light as air.“Please… please make me cum.”

“Good girl,” he chuckles, licking into your mouth. His fingers fuck you in earnest now. You feel so full that your eyes roll back. It’s cute.

Poor thing. Suguru is a patient man, but he’s not sure if he has it in him to wait. He could make you cum three more times so that you’re truly ready for him, but he doesn’t want to. He supposes that if he breaks you, you’ll thank him anyway. No one else wants you more than him, you had to understand that.

His cock throbs at the sight of you coming undone. It’s nearly animalistic, like provoking violence from weak prey. Cataclysmic like a falling star. He’s consumed with it, with the fact that he can do this to you and no one else can.

He fingers you through the aftershocks, too, until you sob loud enough that his other hand has to cover your mouth. You squirm underneath him, shaking your head in desperation.

He admires the slick of sweat on your chest, your glowing figure. When he releases you, he thinks briefly that you’re on the verge of passing out. But you tremble, rapidly breathing, eyes unfocused as your lashes flutter.

Suguru licks you off of his fingers and you stare in horror, returning to yourself. It makes him giddy, how even your spirit is infinitesimal.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs. He kisses you roughly, tongue prying your mouth open and making you moan. “See? Sweet. You’re perfect.”

He likes seeing you all flushed. Glaze on your cheekbones. He thinks he should make you his wife, memorialize your fucked out form with a commissioned painting and hang it above his bed. A good luck charm among the talismans. You look too good to ruin with his cock, but he knows he’d already taken all of you anyway.

He’ll put you back together after. Pamper you with yuzu slices in a hot bath. Play the part of a boyfriend instead of a master.

He pins you down even though he doesn’t need to. You let him settle in between your thighs, his aching cock slapping against your stomach.

“So cute when you’re scared,” he chuckles at the look on your face.

“It’s… big,” you say meekly.

“It’ll fit. It won’t be so bad, yeah? I changed my mind about punishing you for trying to run away.”

Panic paints your features.

“I wasn’t trying to run away! I promise.” Your lip quivers again. Maybe he should make you beg.

“Is that right?” He leans in, precum spreading on the skin above your cunt, tip grazing your clit just slightly. You bite your tongue so you don’t moan from the sensitivity.

“Yes. I want to stay.”

“And why’s that?” he jeers.

“Because— because you’ve given me everything.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Because I’m yours. I’m… your good girl,” you slur through tears, voice above a whisper.

“Poor baby,” he hums. “Of course you are. Always will be.” Whether you like it or not.

You moan at the same time he prods his tip inside. When he sinks in even further, right to the hilt, he becomes delirious with need. It takes everything in him to not pound into you recklessly.

“Pretty fucking cunt,” he groans. “So warm.”

More hot tears, but your dread is replaced with rapture. He fills you up, already poking at the most sensitive spot inside of you. Your body ripples with pleasure as he moves and digs into your guts, an ocean of tender heat.

It’s a branding. You don’t exist if it isn’t for him.

“Suguru,” you moan.

He kisses your neck, teeth hard on your flesh. Pulling it taut while his tongue rolls in it and leaves mouth-shaped blessings.

His hips drive into you with more force, cock reaching places that your fingers could never reach. You shut your eyes and phosphenes float through the static of blackness. They linger when you open them again, Suguru’s face illuminating in grainy color.

It takes you a bit to realize his mutters, the way he’s babbling through moans.

Good fucking girl. All mine forever. I’ll die with you.

You let out a pitched moan as Suguru wraps his fingers around your throat. Every part of your body feels like it’s bursting. You cum like that, your walls outstretched by his thickness carving you out in the shape of him.

“Take it,” he grunts. “Take my cock. Fuck, I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

He’ll probably obsess over your cunt for ages. The face you make when you’re being used. Your ragdoll body.

His bun had come undone. Even if his cock wasn’t in you, your stomach would ache from how beautiful he looked. Eyes focused on you, nearly deranged at the way he was blistering you raw. The cascade of tears down your cheeks. It made him impossibly hard.

He pulls out quickly to flip you onto your stomach so he can rut into you from behind. The angle makes it so that his cock is even deeper.

“Oh, Suguru—”

“Yeah, baby? Gonna cum again?”

You whine, all high-pitched and girlish.

“Tell me you’re mine. That you’ll never leave me,” he grunts.

“I’m yours,” you hiccup. “I’ll n-never leave you.”

Your cunt was starting to burn, even with how wet you were. Suguru cums with a rough thrust at your words, nose buried in between the lovebirds littering your shoulder. You’re full of him. He doesn’t stop, his dick still hard inside you.

“Shit,” he hisses, looking down to see his cum oozing out of your pussy, all mixed up in your arousal. “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He grits his teeth when he feels you squeeze around him. You can barely form words now, crying as you can feel yourself about to cum again.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Cum for me, princess. Cum on that cock for me.”

You’re twitchier this time. Your moan tapers off into squeals as you bury your tear-stained face into the pillow. He follows after you with a gasp, his large body covering you like a cocoon.

He kisses the nape of your neck. Between your shoulder blades. His cock stills inside you, but he doesn’t pull out until he softens completely. When you stop shaking, he turns you over.

“There’s my angel,” he says fondly. “Thought you passed out on me.”

You shake your head. He smiles lazily, leaning to kiss you all over your face.

Your bones feel like jelly, but you still switch your positions with intent, and to your surprise, he lets you. Naked and breathing heavily above him, you examine him with his hair spread out on the pillow, cheeks flushed and cherubic. He almost looks innocent.

He groans at the way your leaking cunt grinds on his crotch, prompting him to get half-hard already. He grabs your hips at the same time you grab the base of his throat. He laughs.

“Do you feel powerful?”

You blink twice and your eyes glaze over.

In your vision, you see Suguru’s face flashing you his usual grin, this time showing all his teeth as blood drips from his chin. When you look down at your hands, they’re saturated in the same red. He kisses you despite it all and you understand.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I do.”

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru smut #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #ree.writing

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quarterlifekitty · 8 months ago

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Out of the frying pan, into the flames

cw: dark themes, kidnapping, conditioning, implied sex slavery

Lately I’ve been thinking about Price finding you during a covert op. Deep in the interior rooms of a compound once belonging to a man deemed an enemy by whoever is currently signing the 141’s paychecks.

Killing the hawk, only to find the chick in its nest. Something left behind that will die if abandoned.

You’ve been conditioned well, curtesy of the man who laid on the pavement outside with one of Price’s bullets between his eyes. Perfectly well behaved, hadn’t made a single sound even when he’d burst into the room.

There’s a collar on your neck. A loose fitting dress. A small, but cozy enough room, though it has no windows and locks from the outside.

In the records of the man’s office, evidence suggests that you’ve been in the game a long time. Enough to have disappeared as far as anyone who might’ve known you is concerned.

And Price was just thinking— there’s an elegant solution to all of this. He’s a quietly selfish man. He tries to suffocate that painful, roiling tempest inside that tells him he’s owed something. That he’s sacrificed too much for one lifetime and gotten too little in return.

Pawning you off onto some government officials, trying to find a place for you to be awkwardly shoved into society— that wouldn’t be good for you, John tells himself.

It would be better for everyone if he did what he always did. If he took care of things.

He lets you hold his hand while his other delicately rends the microchip from under the skin at the base of your skull with a knife. Removes the chafing nylon collar. He has something much nicer in mind for you.

John’s always thought that if he were home more, he’d have a damned good garden. That’s just how he is— nurturing. Bringing things to their best.

You know how to be good. You know how to be seen and not heard. You know how to suck cock so well it could bring a man to tears. And for lesser men, that might’ve been enough. But to Price, you’re still a block of unchiseled marble. There is a beautiful thing in you, and he will free it.

You haven’t heard a lick of praise in years. Why be praised for what you should be doing? For serving your purpose? You tense in a way that’s— quite frankly— adorable the first time he calls you a good girl. He’ll soften you to it in time.

He tells you how much it hurt to see you the way he found you…. Being wasted. Pearls before swine. No such thing as bad dogs, only bad owners. When you smile, the pit inside him grows. Deeper, hungrier.

He needs to be your sun, moon, and stars. To have a beautiful creature that would wither and die without his touch. A doll needs someone to dress it.

Your new collar is fine, beautiful leather. Embossed with a winding filigree, art noveau motifs. The little metal tag has his name. He likes the bell on it— so he can hear it grow louder so quickly whenever he comes through the door.

Your wide eyes when he comes home with a gift… they kill him every time. How you keen when he starts to fuss over you. How you’re hanging on his every word. How he hears the bell following him as he takes care of every little mundane task around the country home.

In a perverse irony, it calms him when he has to go away. Knowing that if he was killed, if he never came home— your life would end too. You’d be shattered beyond repair. He had fixed you once, and no one would ever be able to go over his work. The threads of your fate had become tangled to his in a way that couldn’t be undone. You shed no tears for the man before him. But there would be no man after him.

You’re damned lucky he happens to be good at his job.

#writing #cod fanfic #john price x reader #john price #cw kidnapping #cw chipping #cw conditioning #cw collar #cw dark content #cw implied slavery

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ozzgin · 2 years ago

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Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp."

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up.

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum.

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one.

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it.

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary.

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way.

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only.

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage."

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later.

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people.

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile.

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable."

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation.

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe.

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best."

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly.

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it.

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense."

"Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved.

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you.

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter.

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin.

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out.

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair.

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always.

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities.

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up.

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave.

Not until it had its fun with you.

#alien #alien covenant #prometheus #xenomorph #neomorph #neomorph x reader #xenomorph x reader #alien x reader #monster x reader #android x reader #robot x reader #yandere #yandere alien #yandere x reader #monster smut

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cheriewoo · 8 months ago

Text

Gut Feelings Got Me Here (pt.1) | Song Mingi ☆

◂◂ Part one of Little Miss Strategist series ▸▸

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List | Little Miss Strategist series (coming soon...)

☆ Day 28 : Impact Play

↬ [ Synopsis ] : As a princess, you were not accustomed to hearing “NO” from anyone in the kingdom. That changed when you had your first encounter with Mingi, the royal sculptor, whose silent, mysterious, and dark personality drew you in like a curious kitten. Will curiosity kill this kitten, or will a love so powerful emerge from all the painfully pleasurable and torturous intimacy that even death itself would step aside?

☆Word Count : 11.6k (yup, i went fucking overboard..sry ;P) ☆Genre : Smut with alot of plot, Angst, Royal Au, Historical Au. ☆Pairing : Royal Sculptor! Mingi x Youngest Princess! F.Reader

☆☆☆ WARNINGS : mdni!, Historical setting, Pure Smut(18+), some royal-ish plot, impact play, Reader is masochist while Mingi is sadistic, pain play, angsty atmosphere, knife usage (mild), mentions of blood, Mingi is holding a secret , bondage, use of bondage gear, oral (ffem recieving), Mingi is tough nut to crack, reader is a menace but quite intelligent (when the situation demands), praise, pet names ( darling, little princess, honey) mentions of traumatic past, deadly royal punishments, self submission, pain play, nipple play, something secret plans are being carried out against the royal family.

NOTE : Yes… I’m going to continue and complete Kinktober, even though we’re way past the 31st. I really want to finish this challenge and not leave it incomplete, so I hope ma chéries will enjoy this royal love between a princess and the royal sculptor.

p.s: I was gonna post this on 15th nov but then my brain went "no no no...add more stuff!" so i-uhh well..fucking did that and now its kinda super duper long.

↬ Also, turning this into a mini series cuz I cannot for the sake of my freaking life write a plot heavy one shot..so hope you will become a part of this mini series. Enjoy ma chéries.

The grand hall glowed under the soft light of lanterns wrapped in red and gold silk, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Ornate wooden screens, carved with intricate dragons and phoenixes lined the walls, while tall pillars adorned with lotus flowers and mythical creatures stretched up toward the ceiling. The faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine lingered in the air, carried by the smoke of incense burning in bronze holders.

Members of the court gathered quietly, their rich robes were a sea of deep greens, dark blues, and royal reds, each shimmering with golden and silver embroidery.

All eyes were fixed on the man in the center of the room, the royal sculptor, Song Mingi. The fifth-generation sculptor of the Song lineage knelt on a woven mat, working carefully on a block of marble. With each tap of his chisel, he carved a likeness of your mother, the Empress. His movements were slow and deliberate, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

Seated near the front, you tried to maintain a composed expression, though your patience was starting to wear thin. Art could be beautiful, yes, but this endless tapping and chiseling ? It felt tedious, even unnecessary. You had far more interest in the kingdom’s politics and the strategies behind running the empire. The court’s art was all well and good, but it wasn’t what you spent your time studying.

You glanced at your father, the Emperor, dressed in indigo royal robe embroidered with golden dragons. His expression was one of complete absorption, as if he had no other thought in the world.

“What an exquisite talent,” he murmured, his deep voice carrying through the hall.

Beside him, your eldest brother, Chan, nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on Mingi. “Indeed, Father. Each stroke reveals more than just an image. It’s as if he’s capturing mother’s essence.”

Your mother, the Empress, wore a faint smile, her hair pinned with golden lotus-shaped pins that shimmered in the warm light. Her expression softened as she gazed upon the developing sculpture. “To see beyond the stone… It takes more than just talent,” she remarked. “It’s rare to find an artist who can capture not just a face, but the spirit within.”

Another tap of the chisel. You fought the urge to sigh. It’s just a statue, you thought. Why does it need all this reverence or this much silence?

The Emperor leaned forward, his voice both commanding and gentle. “Mingi,” he called, drawing the sculptor’s attention. “You capture the likeness with great skill. But tell me, what is it that inspires you ?”

There was a slight pause before Mingi looked up from his work, meeting the Emperor’s gaze. His expression was unreadable, the lines of his face set in a stoic mask. His deep voice was low, but steady. “Your Majesty,” he replied, “the Empress’s strength and loyalty to the kingdom… these are what guide my hand. Only by capturing the heart behind the face can the sculpture come to life.”

Another long pause, and Mingi returned to his chisel, not showing the slightest sign of being affected by the royal presence. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Strength, loyalty, heart… How dramatic, you thought, tapping your fingers restlessly against the chair.

If I had that much time on my hands, I could come up with something more exciting to focus on, like the political affairs in the council.

Your father’s voice cut through the stillness again, his tone suddenly darker, though you paid little attention to the words. “Mingi,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, “you have until the end of the month to finish. I trust you understand the importance of the deadline.”

You didn’t hear the slight tightening of Mingi’s jaw, nor did you notice the brief flicker in his gaze. You were far too absorbed in your own thoughts, eyes glazing over as you glanced around the room, your patience stretching thin.

Another chisel tap. Another pause. You sighed, tapping your fingers lightly against the armrest of your chair.

How much longer could this go on ?

Mingi’s voice, calm and composed, replied in a steady rhythm, “Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier with the exchange, a subtle shift that you couldn't quite place, but you remained too disinterested to care.

Your gaze wandered over the court members, the lavish tapestries, and the flickering lanterns, anything to distract you from the monotony of this sculpting demonstration. Your mother, beside you, seemed content enough, her gaze soft as she watched the work take shape. Your father, too, was absorbed, his eyes locked on the sculptor.

Why can’t they just see it for what it is ? you thought. A statue. A simple statue. What’s all the fuss about ?

You shifted in your seat, supressing a yawn as you leaned back. The tension in the room was palpable, but it had no effect on you. Whatever hidden meaning there was in your father’s words didn’t matter,not when the only thing you could focus on was the mind-numbing repetition of Mingi’s chisel.

The Emperor’s next words were softer, quieter, and you almost didn’t hear them. “Make sure you do not fail,” he said, his gaze lingering on Mingi, the weight of the statement settling into the silence.

Mingi responded with another brief, “I will not fail.”

The room returned to its tense stillness, but you were still lost in your own boredom, oblivious to the gravity of the exchange. It was a moment that would have been heavy with meaning for anyone paying attention, but to you, it was just another moment in an endless sea of dull ones.

Chan noticed, a quiet chuckle slipping from him. Leaning toward you, he whispered, “Finding this all a bit dull, little sister?”

You shot him a wry smile, grateful for the distraction. “Is it that obvious ? I mean, I don’t see how you and Father find all this so thrilling.”

Chan raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Art is more than just entertainment. Discipline, focus… there’s beauty in it.”

You tried to look thoughtful but knew you probably just looked bored. “Maybe. But why does he have to be so serious ? It’s just a statue.”

Your mother’s soft voice caught you off guard. “One day, my dear, you may find that focus and patience are beautiful in their own right. There is a quiet power in restraint.”

You gave her a polite nod, but inside, you couldn’t help but disagree. Your gaze returned to Mingi, who was still working with that infuriatingly stoic expression, seemingly oblivious to the admiration around him. It was as though he existed on another plane, one where he didn’t feel the need to acknowledge anyone watching him. He was as much a part of the stone as he was its sculptor. Hard, unmoved, and silent.

You slumped back in your seat, determined to endure this as best you could. But for all your efforts to ignore him, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity.

Who was this man, this royal sculptor, who could stand so unmoved before the royal family ?

As soon as the sculpting session concluded, you leapt from your seat, eager for a more exciting ways to spend your time. A group of maids hurried after you, struggling to keep up as you moved from room to room, as each maid follow behind you. They whispered gentle protests as you made your rounds, but they knew better than to try stopping you. Even when they did, you always managed to slip past them with a playful grin on your face which was both charming and unstoppable.

Being the youngest of the three royal children, you were treated with an abundance of care, and no request that left your lips was ever refused. As the Emperor’s darling little princess, you were never burdened with any royal duties. You were your mother’s most precious child, especially since you had been born premature and required constant attention from the very beginning. This made your parents cherish you even more.

Though all this love and attention spoiled you, it also motivated to gain knowledge in various fields. Growing up, you observed your eldest brothers, Chan and Minho, as they became powerful figures. Chan, the Crown Prince, was groomed to rule, while Minho served as the Kingdom’s general, leading the army at the northern borders of your vast kingdom.

As their baby sister, you were showered with love and affection, and they never hesitated to help you with your studies.

Breezing from one room to room, nothing seemed to peak your interest until you reached the royal kitchen, where two of your favorite chefs , Wooyoung and Yunho were engrossed in preparing the dessert for the royal banquet.

The smell of sweet pastries and savory stews filled the air while Yunho and Wooyoung were absorbed in their work, carefully arranging fruit tarts and custard buns on silver trays. As you tiptoed up behind them, your maids tried to hold you back, whispering, “Princess, please, the chefs are busy preparing for the banquet…”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you said brightly, startling Wooyoung so much that he almost sent the whipped cream flying.

“Princess!” he gasped, clutching his chest. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“Oh, Wooyoung, you’re too jumpy,” you laughed, sneaking a finger into a bowl of honeyed custard. “And who could resist all these treats ?”

Yunho gave you a playful glare. “And there goes the custard,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You’ll spoil your appetite before dinner, princess.”

“Not if I keep it a secret from everyone,” you replied slyly, reaching for a spoonful of candied fruit.

With mock horror, Wooyoung moved to block the tray of ingredients. “No, no, no! You’ve already sabotaged half our desserts!”

You leaned in close, smirking. “Not my fault, its just that my favorite chefs make the best deserts in the world that I can’t contain myself.”

Yunho chuckled and shook his head. “Remind me never to let you in here while we’re working.” He tried to shoo you out, but you swiped one last piece of fruit, grinning triumphantly as you left the kitchen, their playful grumbles reaching your ears as you walked to the banquet with your maids trailing behind as they sighed at your antics.

The royal banquet in evening was a grand success, with the chefs’ culinary creations earning well-deserved praise. You swarmed through the crowd, exchanging warm greetings with friends and royal guests from neighboring kingdoms. All the while, you felt Chan’s watchful gaze on you, ensuring you wouldn't try any mischief in the midst of the gathering.

As you savored the delicious food, your eyes landed on Mingi, the royal sculptor who was standing a corner, but he was not alone. He was deep in conversation with an elderly man who looked to be a high-ranking official. The discomfort on Mingi’s face was unmistakable, and there was a hint of fear in his eyes as he listened to the older man. His hands fidgeted nervously, confirming your suspicions.

What is wrong with him ? Who is that official ? Why does he look so scared ?

Your thoughts were interrupted and your feet lifted off the ground, when your second brother, Minho, swooped you up into his arms. You gasped, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

“Brother!” you gasped, squirming in his grip. “When did you get back ? And put me down, would you ? What kind of behavior is this ?”

Minho only laughed, ignoring your protests as he carried you effortlessly through the crowd. “What, no warm welcome for your favorite brother ?”

“You’re the general, for heaven’s sake!” you huffed, still trying to wriggle free.

But your attempts were futile as Minho simply laughed and carried you through the crowd, drawing amused glances from nearby guests who were well-accustomed to his playful antics. He winked at you before delivering you directly to your mother, where the two of you were swept into the flow of conversation with family and friends.

The concerning thoughts about Mingi faded to the back of your mind as night settled around you.

—

The next day you embarked on another one of your side quest. On your way you passed Mingi’s sculpting chamber, he was carefully chipping and giving a shape to yet another statue. His face as usual was stoic, giving away no emotion as he engrossed in his work.

As you were about to leave for the training grounds, a small scar on his hand caught your eye, it was definitely from working on the sculptor. Suddenly his scared face from the yesterday’s banquet flashed infront of your face as you slip into deep thoughts.

Why be soo serious and engrossed in a work of this sort where you don’t even have time to take care of yourself ? You thought before making your way to the training grounds.

Carefully skipping the Apothecary in the way, where the royal doctor Yeosang, who also happens to be your master who taught you medicine was busy working with some herbs. Quietly, you slipped out to the training grounds, where San and Jongho, your brother Minho’s right-hand men, were practicing their sword skills.

Their movements sharp and focused, their wooden practice swords clacking as they clashed. As you approached,your maids came running to you, whispering, “Princess, it’s dangerous…” You thought you had sneakily escaped their watchful eyes.

“Go easy on him, Jongho! He’s not used to winning!” you cheered from the sidelines.

San’s face twisted in a mixture of shock and slight annoyance as he looked over his shoulder. “Princess! Are you here to distract us or give encouragement?”

“Oh, I’m here to keep things interesting,” you replied, grinning.

Jongho chuckled and gestured for you to join. “How about you, Princess ? Want to show us your swordsmanship ?”

You raised your hands, laughing. “I wouldn’t want to kingdom in your safe hands”

You clapped your hands, watching as the two resumed their practice, but you couldn’t help tossing out little comments to keep them on their toes. “Jongho, don’t let San get the better of you! And San, maybe try not falling for the same move twice?”

San sighed in mock defeat. “I’d be doing so much better if I didn’t have a certain royal running commentary,” he muttered, though the glint in his eyes said he didn’t mind one bit.

As they resumed their sparring, the faint smile did not leave their lips despite their best efforts to focus. The maids behind you exchanged worried looks, but they knew better than to interrupt. They could only sigh as you moved on to go back to your chambers in order to do your daily studies.

On the way to your chambers, you noticed the royal apothecary doors were open, and with Yeosang nowhere in sight, you welcomed yourself inside despite your maids’ protests urging you to go back to your room.

After about thirty minutes, you emerged from the apothecary, casually wiping your hands clean. Just then, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Princess,” Yeosang’s calm yet stern tone stopped you in your tracks. You turned, attempting an innocent smile as he raised an eyebrow at you. “And where were you today instead of attending our teaching session ?”

“Oh… umm… I was just studying in the library,” you replied, attempting to sound convincing. “Librarian Seonghwa gave me a few books about political alliances and strategies… so…” You tried to keep a straight face, concealing the fact that you had actually been at the training grounds with San and Jongho.

Your maid sighed behind you, which caught Yeosang’s attention, but he let it go this time.

Yeosang’s gaze narrowed as he looked at the apothecary, then back at you. “And what exactly were you doing inside the apothecary?”

“Oh… well, I was just… um… looking for some rare herbs…umm.. for tea! Yes, I wanted to surprise my mother with a new blend,” you replied, hoping it sounded convincing.

Yeosang’s expression softened slightly. “Alright. That’s good. But try not to skip the class again,” he said, his tone both kind and unwavering.

With a sheepish nod, you promised to be there next time before making a quick escape.

Meanwhile, far from the apothecary, Mingi sat in his sculpting chamber. A small jar of ointment had arrived, sealed with the royal doctor’s distinctive stamp. Attached was a short note, instructing him on how to apply it to reduce scarring.

Mingi turned the jar in his hands, his brow furrowing as he wondered who could have sent it, especially with such precise instructions. Deciding not to question the gesture, he applied the ointment to his scarred hand, feeling a faint relief as the cool medicine soothed his skin. Setting the jar aside, he resumed his work, his usual stoic focus slowly returning.

—

Next morning, the palace courtyard bustled with the lively early morning activity, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting long shadows on the stone path. You were just moments away from the library for your morning session with Seonghwa, the royal librarian and your master who taught you royal etiquettes, when a familiar voice cut through the air.

You stopped in your tracks and turned to see a frowning Minister Hongjoong and your brother Minho who was lounging in a chair with a smug grin on his face. A finished chess game board rested between them.

“Well, if it isn’t our little strategist,” Hongjoong greeted, his tone light but laced with frustration. His brow was furrowed in a mix of annoyance and amusement, clearly because Minho had bested him again.

You greeted them both, and Hongjoong glanced at the chessboard between them, shaking his head. “That’s eight matches, and eight losses. I’m beginning to think your brother is impossible to beat.”

Minho smirked, leaning back in his chair with a confident grin. “Impossible ? Not at all, Minister. Maybe you just need someone who won’t make it so difficult for you.” He glanced at you with a teasing gleam in his eye. “My sister, perhaps ?”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your sister ? Do you really think she'd be an easier challenge?"

Minho laughed softly, clearly enjoying the banter. “I’m pretty sure she’ll be just as much of a handful as me, but who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky."

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with challenge as he turned to you. “Oooooh ? Is that so ? Well then, Princess, how about a match?”

“I’m so sorry, Minister Hongjoong, but I have to be in the library. Master Seonghwa will be very angry if I skip the lesson,” you tried to excuse yourself.

But Hongjoong pressed, “I’ll speak with Seonghwa, don’t worry, Princess Y/n. Defeat me, and I’ll grant you three wishes of your choosing.”

“Three wishes ?” you repeated, lifting an eyebrow as you exchanged a glance with Minho, whose smirk widened at the challenge.

Minho chuckled softly, thoroughly entertained. “Oh, don’t worry, Minister. It’ll be over in minutes. Today your luck seems extra bad with chess.”

Hongjoong’s pride flared at Minho’s words, and his smile sharpened. “Perhaps you are too confident in your sister’s abilities. I won’t make it easy.”

Minho leaned in, his voice thick with playful mockery. “Don’t go easy on her, Hongjoong. It’ll make it all the more fun when she beats you.”

The gauntlet was thrown, and there was no turning back now. You took a steady breath and nodded, accepting the challenge.

“Alright, three wishes if I win,” you agreed as your pulse quickened. The game began with the pieces set on the board.

As the game unfolded, Hongjoong’s moves were calculated, each one sharp and deliberate, his gaze never wavering. You matched his intensity, your mind working at its full speed, weighing every possibility.

But as you considered your next move, something caught your attention.

Across the courtyard, Mingi stood in quiet conversation with the same high-ranking official you had seen at the banquet. His posture was tense, his usually stoic expression strained, and the exchange between them seemed uneasy like something was off. Mingi’s hands fidgeted, and the official leaned in close, his words low and firm. Mingi’s eyes flicked away, his jaw clenched before he nodded reluctantly.

Your heart skipped a beat. Why does he look so unsettled ? The uneasy feeling you’d dismissed at the banquet two nights ago resurfaced, gnawing at you as you watched him, unaware of Minho’s watchful gaze on you, as your eyes lingered on the royal sculptor.

“Princess ?” Hongjoong’s voice cut through, drawing you back to the game. His brow was furrowed, waiting for your move.

You focused back on the board, shaking off the unease that had distracted you, and locked into the game again. The moves began to fall into place, and soon Hongjoong’s defenses started to crack. His confidence wavered as the pieces shifted in your favor.

It was clear that Hongjoong had no chance of winning now. His gaze hardened while Minho chuckled beside you. With swift precision, you moved your bishop into place, trapping his king in the corner, making it impossible for him to escape.

“Checkmate,” you said softly, meeting the Minister’s gaze, victory twinkling in your eyes.

Hongjoong stared at the board, disbelief flashing across his face. Minho burst into laughter, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, completely unfazed.

“See, Minister ? I told you it’d be over in minutes,” he teased, his grin wide. “Looks like my little sister knows a thing or two after all.” He reached over to gently ruffle your hair as he admired your game.

Hongjoong managed a faint chuckle, though the blow to his pride was clear. “Well played, Princess. I seem to have underestimated you,” he said.

Minho didn’t miss a beat. “Better luck next time, Hongjoong,” he teased. “Perhaps you should find a gentler opponent next time.”

Hongjoong gave a rueful smile. “I’ll remember that, General.” he muttered. “And as promised, Princess, three wishes are yours to command. Use them wisely.”

As Hongjoong walked away, Minho leaned in with a grin, his voice low but amused. “Impressive work,” he murmured. “Just don’t ask for anything too easy. Okay?”

You smiled slyly in return. “I’ll make of that.”

But as Hongjoong disappeared into the distance, your gaze drifted back to where Mingi had stood. The unease that had been creeping up on you during the game returned, stronger now. There was something more to his conversation with the official, something you didn’t fully understand.

What was going on? And why did Mingi seem so unsettled? More importantly, why am I so concerned about him anyways ?

In the evening, after finishing your studies and wrapping up the day's tasks, you decided to take a stroll through the garden. The evening sky had begun to change, painted with soft oranges and purples as you savored the peacefulness that came with the beautiful sunset, with no maids trailing behind you. It was just you and the cool evening breeze, uninterrupted.

As you wandered, your gaze fell upon Mingi’s sculpting chamber, tucked away in a quiet corner of the palace. You had often wondered what went on behind its stone walls, curious about the man who worked in such isolation. Mingi rarely spoke to anyone, kept to himself, and seemed detached from the world around him.

You’d seen him pass by occasionally, his usually calm expression betraying nothing of the thoughts that lay beneath.

What was it that made him so distant ?

You had heard nothing concrete, but sometimes, when you caught him in a rare moment of vulnerability, there was an almost visible tension around him. It was as if there was a weight on his shoulders, as if something inevitable that he couldn’t escape was waiting for him. He was always buried in his work, meticulously carving away at his sculptures for the royal family and higher-ups.

But tonight, something felt different. A strange impulse stirred within you to check up on him, to see how he was doing. You knew he had been working tirelessly for days, never leaving the chamber except to eat or sleep, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the toll was starting to show.

Was his hand okay ? Has he eaten yet ? Why am I even concerned about him ? He never interested me in the first place, nor is sculpting any of my passions, so… why am I concerning myself with such trivial matters ? You brushed the thoughts off, thinking it was your doctor instincts kicking in.

With a steady breath, you approached the chamber door and pushed it open.

The air in Mingi’s workshop was thick with the scent of freshly carved stone and the faint scent of sweat from hours of labor. The light was dim, casting long shadows that stretched across the cold floor, making the room feel both alive and suffocating at the same time.

He stood at his workbench, eyes focused on the figure he was sculpting, the chisel in his hand moving with the kind of precision that only comes from years of practice.

But as always, he was alone.

You watched him for a moment, standing quietly in the doorway. There was something about him. Something so mysterious, withdrawn, that made you wonder why he kept so much to himself. The rumors swirled, of course, but none gave you a concrete reason for his strange demeanor.

You couldn’t stand it anymore.

And your curiosity got the better of you.

“Are you always this quiet ?” you asked, your voice breaking the silence as you stepped into the room. You didn’t wait for an invitation as there was something about him that made you want to push, to question, even if it irritated him.

Mingi didn’t flinch. His chisel paused mid-stroke, but his eyes didn’t shift toward you. The only acknowledgment was the briefest tightening of his jaw, a hint of irritation that quickly disappeared.

“I don’t need company nor do I like talking.” he said flatly, not looking up. His voice was deep and rough, the words blunt, as though he had said them a thousand times before. There was a coldness in them that sent a chill through you, but it only piqued your curiosity more.

“But why ? You’re always alone. Always working.” You moved closer, your voice soft but insistent. “Why do you keep to yourself like this ?”

There was a flicker in his eyes before he turned to face you fully. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and intense. The room seemed to shrink, the weight of his stare pressing down on you, almost suffocating.

“Because it’s none of your business,” he said, his voice sharp, as though he’d spoken those words many times to keep others at bay.

You weren’t satisfied. Something in you itched to know more, to unravel the mystery behind his detached behavior. “I don’t buy that,” you said, your voice rising ever so slightly. “Everyone has a reason. What’s yours ? Why do you act like this ?”

“I just hate people.” Another one of his dry and sassy replies.

“How’s your hand ?” you asked, a slight concern in your tone as as your eyes flickered to his hand.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he replied slightly taken about by how you know about it but soon his voice went flat again. He rubbed the scared spot which seemed fine now but nervousness was evident in his body language as you mentioned his hands.

You caught it, the way his hand had trembled ever so slightly. His composure slipped, just for a moment, and that was enough to make you press harder.

“You don’t look fine,” you said, stepping closer, eyes narrowing at the sight of the cloth wrapped around his hand, a different spot from the scar though. “What’s going on with your hands, Mingi ?”

His jaw clenched tightly at your question, and for a split second, the room seemed to hold its breath. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, and then he stepped closer, blocking your view of his hand entirely.

“Please leave, Princess.” he warned, his voice low, dangerous.

But you didn’t listen. You stepped forward, your curiosity ignoring the obvious warning. “You’ve been hiding it, haven’t you? Your hands, what’s wrong with them ? I am studying medicine, maybe I can help.”

His eyes darkened, the usual calm of his demeanor replaced with a cold, calculating glare as his tone went a notch up. “I told you to leave. No one can help. So let me do my work.”

Hmm…what does he mean by “No one can help” ?

His words hit like a slap, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you watched as the muscles in his neck tightened, his posture stiffening. You couldn’t quite place it, but something was eating at him, something far deeper than just the isolation he had wrapped around himself.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on ? Maybe I can help, you know I can talk to my father if someone is bothering you.” you said, your voice steady now, defying the uneasy feeling that crept through you as you refered to the higher up you had seen him with in the mroning.

The tension in the room grew unbearable, and with a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him. His grip was so tight it nearly crushed you as you both stood chest to chest, pressing as your heart skipped a beat. His eyes were wild now, filled with a fury you hadn’t expected.

“You should’ve left when I told you,” he growled, his voice low, deep, and raspy. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the heat of his anger, but you weren’t afraid. No, something darker stirred within you, something drawn to the rawness in his eyes, the power in his grip. It was a strange, almost magnetic force, something you hadn’t felt before.

You barely had time to register the position you both were in when something cold touched your skin, a knife against your throat, the cold steel barely grazing your skin.

“Don’t test me, Princess,” Mingi said, his voice almost a whisper, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I won’t hesitate.”

The shock of the moment hit you harder than you expected as you stood there frozen, eyes locked onto his, the world around you fading, and it wasn’t just fear that kept you in place,it was something else.

Something thrilling. A craving, maybe. To be handled like this, with power, with rawness….with anger which was a stark contrast to how you were oh so gently taken care of by everyone around you.

“You’re playing with fire,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stared at the knife. “Do it. I’m not afraid.”You challenged him wanting to see how far he is going to go.

But for a long, tense moment, Mingi didn’t move. His gaze never left yours, the silence in the room suffocating.

Giving him a smirk, you moved your neck slightly as the knife gave a small slit on your neck and blood spurted out, nothing dangerous enough to kill you but enough to make Mingi pull the knife away as his eyes widened at the crazy act you just pulled, his grip loosening on your wrist though the soft and concerning flicker of emotion that was in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you but he soon composed himself into the stoic and cold god he is.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold again as he recovered from slight shock you just gave him.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t argue. You turned and walked out of the workshop, your heart racing in your chest, your mind swirling with the intensity of the moment. You had pushed him too far, and yet, you hadn’t felt more alive than you did right now. You fingers ran on your neck smearing the blood off. If your maids or anyone else see it, chaos would unfold which you not hoping to cause.

Walking towards your chambers, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Mingi’s silence than you had realized, a secret you were fully sure he was hiding the after witnessing the softness in his eyes, even for a brief moment, it was enough to pull you into his dark world.

What was he hiding ? Is anyone bothering him ? And why did the knife on my throat make my heart race… with thrill ? Did I like it, his anger, his rawness…why am I suddenly admiring such negative traits ?

—

After that night in Mingi’s chamber, you found yourself avoiding him. It wasn’t intentional, but your feelings were too tangled to face him. His dark aura, intense and commanding, had a magnetic pull. The way he handled you, in such raw and unflinching way was a stark contrast to the gentleness you were used to, leaving an impression you couldn’t shake.

Yeosang and Seonghwa tightened your schedule, leaving no room for wandering thoughts. Still, you noticed Mingi’s absence.

When you asked, Minister Hongjoong mentioned he’d gone home for urgent family matters. The news left an unexpected ache in your chest, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself it didn’t matter.

Yet, no matter how busy you kept yourself, thoughts of Mingi lingered. His raw presence had stirred something deep within you, something real but unsettling. It made you question everything you knew about your desires, even though you didn’t fully understand why.

So, you buried your feelings and focused on your studies, too afraid to confront them.

After a long day full of tasks, you found yourself in the library, hoping to find some peace among the books. Going near Mingi’s sculpting chamber would only make you think about him, and you weren’t ready for that yet. As you wandered through the shelves, trying to distract yourself, Hongjoong appeared, his footsteps soft but noticeable. He greeted you warmly, but his sharp eyes quickly caught the sadness in your expression.

"Is something troubling you Princess ?" he asked, his voice was gentle.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to share. Your thoughts were tangled, and you weren’t sure if it was wise to speak about what had been bothering you. You hadn’t fully understood it yourself, let alone said it aloud. Finally, you spoke carefully, leaving out the incident with the knife, unsure how to explain the confusion inside your head.

"It’s... Mingi," you said softly. "There’s something about him, the way he keeps his distance, his coldness... It’s not just how he acts. It feels like there’s more to it. I can’t shake the feeling that something happened to him, and I’m curious. What’s his story ?"

Hongjoong paused, thinking before speaking. "Mingi’s... been through a lot," he said carefully. "His family’s past is not something people talk about. But it’s shaped him. It’s a heavy burden he doesn’t show."

You nodded, trying to take it in. Hongjoong’s gaze softened, but he didn’t say more. You understood—he wasn’t going to share everything, at least not yet. Some things were better left unsaid until the right time.

Then, Seonghwa entered quietly, sensing the mood. He smiled softly, his eyes full of understanding as he spoke. "I see you’ve been thinking about Mingi a lot," he said. "What’s got you so curious ? You’ve never seemed interested before."

You faltered, not sure how to explain. Why had you suddenly been so affected by him ? You didn’t even understand it yourself. The more you thought about Mingi, the more unsettled you felt.

"I... don’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just feel like there’s something beneath all that coldness. Something that makes sense, but I can’t figure it out. I... I just want to understand him better. Just out of curiosity. You know how I am with that, Master Seonghwa.”

As you spoke, you felt a strange warmth in your chest, something you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you was becoming more drawn to him, even though you weren’t sure why.

Was it pity ? Curiosity ? Or something deeper you weren’t ready to face ?

Seonghwa simply nodded as he was fully aware of how engrossed you become when you get curious about something but his gaze stayed on you, full of quiet understanding, and Hongjoong didn’t press further.

For now, they accepted your answer.

But as the conversation ended, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mingi wasn’t just a distant figure anymore. He had somehow crept under your skin, leaving you more curious and maybe more invested than you wanted to admit.

—

Next morning, after breakfast, you went to find your brother, Minho, who was busy sorting through a stack of papers in the royal study. He glanced up when you entered, his brow furrowing slightly. Even before you spoke, you could tell he wasn’t going to like what you were about to ask.

“Minho,” you started, trying to sound casual, “I was hoping I could get your permission to visit Mingi’s sculpting chamber today.”

He looked up fully, his expression wary. “Mingi?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “What for?”

You hesitated briefly, then gave your prepared excuse. “There’s a figurine Mother received from Mingi’s father. It’s cracked, and it’s very delicate. I was hoping he could repair it. His skills are unmatched—I don’t think anyone else could do it properly.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’re asking to go alone, to Mingi, of all people?” His tone was light, but there was something sharp underneath it.

You smiled, trying to appear unfazed. “Yes, it’s nothing to worry about. I just need to handle this. I’ll be careful.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine. But if anything happens—”

“I’ll be fine,” you said quickly. “Besides, you’re in charge of the kingdom right now with Chan and Father away. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

Minho paused, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he nodded reluctantly. “Alright, I’ll allow it. But be careful. Mingi is... unpredictable.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t push the issue.

With his reluctant permission, you left the room, a knot of anticipation tightening in your stomach.

The royal carriage rolled to a stop in front of Mingi's home, its wheels grinding against the gravel with a soft crunch. You stepped out, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. The air around you was still, and the quiet seemed too loud, almost deafening in its silence.

"Wait here for me at the corner of the road," you told the carriage driver, your voice was more serious than usual. "It might take a while."

The driver nodded, his face unreadable, and the carriage slowly rolled away, leaving you standing infront of of Mingi's property. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and made your way towards the door.

The door creaked open, revealing Mingi, his tall, broad frame filling the doorway. His dark eyes locked on you, their gaze sharp and assessing, but he said nothing at first. Behind him, the room was a befitting image of organisational chaos with sculpting tools scattered across a workbench, shards of marble dusted over the floor, and half-finished sculptures looming in various stages of creation.

“You came about the figurine,” Mingi said at last, his deep voice steady and calm.

Before visiting, you had sent him a letter, letting him know of your arrival. You waited for a few hours, expecting a refusal, but no reply ever came. That silence was all the answer you needed, and so you set out for his home.

“Yes,” you replied, holding out the small sculpture. It was a fragile piece, an intricate bird with its wings outstretched. “It’s my mother’s favorite. She would be heartbroken if it couldn’t be restored.”

Mingi stepped aside to let you in, his expression softening just slightly as he took the figurine from your hands. He turned it over carefully, his long fingers brushing along the cracked base and the damaged wing.

“It can be fixed,” he murmured, setting it down on the workbench. “The damage isn’t beyond repair, but it’ll take precision.”

You watched as he began gathering tools, his movements were methodical while his focus was intense. For the first time, he wasn’t keeping you at arm’s length. His quiet acknowledgment of your presence, of your request felt like a crack in the wall he had carefully built around himself.

“You’re truly gifted,” you said, your voice was barely above a whisper.

Mingi paused for a second, his fingers hovering over the delicate tools. “It’s not a gift,” he replied, his tone was thoughtful and gentle. “Just years of practice. Anyone could do it.”

“I doubt that,” you countered softly, catching a flicker of something in his expression — pride, perhaps, or even gratitude.

The moment was short-lived though.

Mingi’s shoulders tensed as his gaze snapped to the window. Following his line of sight, you spotted a figure striding toward the house with purpose. The official.The same one you had seen Mingi with in the banquet and during your chess match with Minister Hongjoong.

Mingi cursed under his breath, turning back to you with urgency in his eyes. “Hide. Now.”

“What ? Why ?”

“No time for questions.” His tone left no room for argument as he grabbed your arm and pulled you toward a door at the far end of the room. He opened it quickly, shoving you inside before shutting it firmly behind you.

You stumbled slightly, steadying yourself on the wall, and froze as you looked around.

The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering over walls lined with tools. Whips hung neatly alongside polished canes, their leather and wood gleaming faintly. Paddles of various shapes rested in perfect order, while chains with cuffs dangled from iron hooks. A dark wooden cross stood against one wall, its straps and buckles leaving no doubt about its use. Nearby, a leather bench with worn restraints sat waiting. The air was thick with the scent of leather, and the space exuded power and intimacy, every detail carefully curated for impact. A shiver ran down your spine as you took it all in.

Is this what he is really into ? Your cheeks flustered at the thought of those stuff used upon you by him. You shook your head as the sound of raised voices outside the door pulled you back.

“Mingi,” the official’s sharp tone cut through the air, “you’ve had more than enough time to reconsider.”

“I’ve already told you,” Mingi growled, his voice low and hard, “I won’t do it.”

“You’re being reckless,” the official shot back, his words cold and deliberate. “This isn’t just about you. Do you really think you can defy the royal court without consequences?”

“I won’t harm them!” Mingi’s voice rose, frustration and anger breaking through. “Whatever you’re planning, leave me out of it.”

“You don’t get it,” the official said, his tone dark. “Your creations aren’t just art—they’re tools. Tools that can change the balance of power. Think carefully, Mingi. The clock is ticking, and this choice is yours.”

A loud crash broke the tense silence as something heavy hit the floor.

“Get out,” Mingi snarled. “Now.”

“Very well,” the official said, his tone icy. “But don’t think your refusal absolves you. You’ll regret this defiance.”

The door slammed, and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the path.

Inside the room, your heart raced as you tried to make sense of what you had overheard. The tension outside had disappeared, replaced by an eerie silence. Slowly, you reached for the door, ready to face whatever awaited on the other side.

You didn’t have to open it. The door swung open abruptly, and Mingi stood there, his tall frame blocking the light behind him. He slammed the door shut after stepping in, the sound reverberating through the room. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just run a great distance, and his hand gripped the door handle tightly, knuckles white.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes swept across the room, and then it hit him as he realized where he’d pushed you in his rush to hide you.

His face twisted, half-apology, half-irritation. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, the sharp edge of anger not fully gone from his voice.

Your eyes wandered over the assortment of tools neatly arranged on the walls, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“This… this is where you work?” you stammered, though it was clear the room held more than just the tools of his craft.

Mingi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he brushed past you, grabbing a whip from the wall. The action was quick, and a slash went across his body, startling you. He maintained a safe distance from you as another lash traveled across his skin, pushing the delicate figurines in the room as the whip met them.

Was he punishing himself with the whip...why ?

“I’ll send the figurine back so you can leave now, Princess Y/n,” he muttered, his tone cold. He turned to face you, his eyes blazing with frustration. “I’ve had enough people meddling in my life today.”

His words stung, but you stood your ground. “I couldn’t just leave… not after hearing what he said,” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “What’s really going on, Mingi? What does he want from you?”

Mingi let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and mirthless. He lashed the whip against a nearby wooden block, the crack echoing through the room. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said bitterly, his back still turned to you. “None of you royal types ever do. You think I’m just your sculptor, a tool for your games.”

His words hit harder than the whip’s crack, but you refused to let them shake you. “That’s not true,” you said firmly. “I’m here because I care, Mingi. I overheard enough to know that whatever that official is plotting is dangerous. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Mingi turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. “Care ?” he scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. Care doesn’t mean anything when you’re part of the system that’s made me this way.”

Your throat tightened, but you refused to look away. “You’re right. I don’t understand everything,” you admitted, taking a cautious step closer. “But I want to. If there’s even the slightest chance I can help, I’ll take it. Let me prove I’m not like him.”

Mingi stayed silent for a while, trying to say something but holding back. Only his grip on the whip tightened, and you took that as a chance to press on further.

“Instead of breaking those delicate figures and hurting yourself…” you paused, gently placing his hand, which held the whip, onto your shoulder. “Use it on me. Let my unbreaking resolve be the proof to you that I am here to help and not take advantage of you.” You took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the words that had just left your mouth. You were literally asking him to use you.

Why had you offered yourself? You had no idea.

One thing was clear in your mind: you wanted to help him, and maybe… a small part of your heart wanted to experience the rush again—the same feeling you’d had that night when Mingi had a knife at your throat.

But this scavenger hunt was going to be more painful. A hell of a lot more painful.

Mingi’s hand tensed, his grip on the whip faltering as his eyes locked onto yours. His anger, once fiery, flickered with confusion. "You don’t know what you’re saying," he muttered, his voice rough and shaky. "This isn’t something you can just offer. It’s not a game."

"I know it’s not," you replied firmly, heart pounding as you met his gaze. "I heard what that man said. Whatever this is, I can see it’s tearing you apart. If I can help—"

"Help?" he interrupted, a dry, bitter laugh escaping him. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "You think letting me take it out on you will help? It won’t fix anything. You don’t understand the weight of this, Y/N."

"Then help me understand," you said, stepping closer, refusing to back down. "You’re not just hurting yourself—you’re drowning. If you can’t trust me yet, fine. But don’t shut me out."

His fingers tightened around the whip, his jaw clenched as he fought the turmoil inside. The battle in his eyes was clear—anger, pride, and something softer, more vulnerable, that he was trying to bury.

He studied you for a long moment, searching your face. "You don’t know what you’re asking," he said, voice strained, the whip falling limp in his hand.

"Then show me," you whispered, voice trembling but determined. "Let me carry some of this with you."

Mingi exhaled sharply, his hand running through his hair. "You’ll regret this," he muttered, but his grip on the whip tightened, as if he’d already made his decision. "This isn’t something you can just endure."

"I’m not here to prove a point," you said, steady despite the storm inside you. "I’m here because I believe you’re worth helping, no matter what."

He opened his mouth to argue but stopped. Instead, he walked to the wall, setting down the whip and picking up a leather strap. He turned it over in his hands, his shoulders stiff with hesitation. "This is different," he warned. "You’ll stop if it’s too much. Tell me if you can’t take it."

"I will," you nodded, meeting his gaze.

He motioned for you to step forward. "Place your hands on the table. And remember... you can always say no."

The first strike hit your back, sharp and stinging. A gasp escaped your lips as the pain jolted through you, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was different, almost… inviting. Your grip tightened on the table, but you didn’t move. The sting was real, but there was something else, a rush that followed it, spreading heat through your body.

Mingi stopped, watching you with eyes that seemed to search for something. “Still willing?” he asked, his voice softer now, like the anger inside him was starting to fade.

You met his gaze and nodded. “I’m still here.”

He swallowed, conflicted. He raised the strap again, this time hitting harder. The pain cut deeper, but with it came a strange warmth that spread across your skin. The sting lingered, but instead of pulling away, you leaned into it. You could feel your body reacting, the mix of pain and heat building something inside you that you couldn’t ignore.

With each strike, Mingi’s face softened. The anger was slowly replaced with something else—something that made the pain feel like a release, both for him and for you. Every blow became more than just pain; it became a way to let go, to release tension in a way that felt almost necessary.

The strikes kept coming, steady and rhythmic. The sharp sting gave way to a deeper warmth that filled your back, spreading through your body. Each blow was a wave, washing over you, making the pain and pleasure mix in a way that left you breathless.

Your breaths became uneven, not from pain but from the pull of the pleasure that followed it. You were no longer just feeling the sting; you were feeling something deeper, something that made you crave the next strike. Mingi was no longer just focused on releasing his own anger; he was reading you, feeling you, paying attention to how your body responded.

After one particularly intense blow, his hand brushed your shoulder, lingering for a moment. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly, his voice soft.

“Not from fear,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the trembling inside. The pain was still there, but it didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your body.

Finally, the strikes slowed, then stopped. The flogger slipped from his hands as he stepped closer. His touch hovered over your back for a moment before settling there, gentle and warm, a stark contrast to the heat still flooding your skin.

You closed your eyes and let yourself feel that softness, letting the pleasure linger in your body even as the pain began to fade.

"Why would you do this?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, his touch soft, almost apologetic. "Why let me hurt you ?"

"Because you needed it," you answered, standing up to face him. "And maybe... maybe I needed it too. To show you that you’re not alone, even if you think you are."

For a moment, his jaw tightened, and you saw the struggle in his eyes, like he was ready to pull away again. But instead, he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed your cheek as he looked at you, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he could find.

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, like he didn’t want to let go. The kiss that followed was slow, soft, a very short kiss but full of emotions. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was quiet as he said, "You’re maddening. You make me want to trust again, even when I don’t feel like I deserve it."

You smiled softly, your hands over his. "Then trust me. One step at a time."

In that moment, you could feel his walls starting to break down, just a little.

The air between you was heavy with tension, each heartbeat feeling like time slowed. Something inside him was changing. Maybe he was starting to trust again after all these years of being alone. Maybe it was care or....love.

His fingers shook slightly as they touched your bruises, slow and careful, like he wasn’t sure you’d pull away. But you didn’t. When his fingers grazed the welts on your skin, you didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the pain you felt—it was something deeper, something real. His touch was gentle, and it made you feel like maybe everything was going to be okay.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, like the words were difficult to say but necessary all the same.

You swallowed, your body humming from the aftermath of what had just happened. It wasn’t pain anymore, it was something else. You couldn’t find the words, but your body knew what it was, a quiet yearning, a need to be close, to lean into the warmth of his touch. His hands moved slowly, tracing the scars along your back, each movement light but filled with purpose.

"Does it hurt ?" he asked quietly, his voice full of concern. There was no judgment in his words, only care.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head. "It’s... it’s different. It’s not just pain. It’s…” You couldn’t quite explain, but somehow, in that moment, you didn’t need to.

His hands lowered, skimming over your sides, exploring with a kind of passion that made every nerve in your body come alive. Slowly, he began to undress you, his touch deliberate and slow, as if he was savoring each moment. He wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t rushing to get to the end. His hands were soft, his movements careful, like he was afraid of breaking you.

When your gown finally slipped from your shoulders, his gaze dropped immediately to your back, to the marks still visible. The look in his eyes softened, and for a second, you wanted to hide, to cover the scars. But you didn’t. You let him see every part of you raw, vulnerable, but still here.

His hands moved to your arms, slowly trailing up, each touch deliberate, each movement meaningful. When his thumbs brushed over your collarbone, you gasped, feeling the tender sensation of his touch against your skin.

“Are you sure, darling?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with care. It wasn’t doubt, but a need to be sure, to make sure you were okay with what was happening.

You answered by, reaching for him and pulling him closer.

Words weren’t needed anymore as a silent permission to go ahead was exchanged between the both of you.

His lips met yours again, kiss started slow as he now with your approval was ready to savour every bit, every taste of your slowly. It wasn’t just passion, it was something deeper. A connection that couldn’t be put into words. His hands moved back to your back, feeling the rise of each scar, each mark. He touched you like you were something fragile, but also something he couldn’t help but want to hold.

As his lips trailed down your neck, you couldn’t help but gasp at the feel of his teeth grazing your skin. His breath was warm against you, his body pressing closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. His hands slid lower, gently caressing your body, every touch reminding you of his carefulness, his tenderness.

His hands slid under your waistband, pulling the fabric of your royal attire down with slow, deliberate movements, each tug filled with a quiet anticipation and care. It was a slow burn, building gradually, with no rush, no force.

When your clothes were finally gone, he stood before you, his eyes soft but heavy with a quiet hunger. His gaze moved over every inch of you, tracing the lines of your body with an intensity that left you breathless. There was no judgment, no shame in his eyes. Only reverence. Your naked form ignited a deep, smoldering passion within him, and he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were tangled together, hearts racing in sync.

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, urgent, like he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands roamed over your chest, fingers brushing against the soft curve of your breasts. He touched you with a mixture of gentleness and need, his palms warm against your skin as he cupped the fullness of your chest. His thumbs grazed over your nipples, a soft pressure that made you gasp, your body responding instinctively to his touch. His hands moved in slow circles, caressing, exploring, as if he was memorizing every part of you.

The sensation was overwhelming, a tender yet electrifying connection that made you feel both grounded and entirely lost in the moment.The warmth between you grew, but it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, tender, an intimacy that seeped into your very bones.

His lips trailed down to the marks on your torso, each kiss placed with reverence, each one like a silent promise. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation, your body responding to him in ways that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t possessive, but something deeper, more intimate. A declaration that felt like both a claim and an offering.

You replied, your voice steady but filled with warmth, “Mhmm...I’ll protect you, in every way possible. Always.”

The air felt alive between you, charged with something deep and unspoken. His hands slid down your sides, steadying you as he lifted you onto the edge of the workbench. The cool wood beneath you was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between your bodies, and your breath hitched as his dark eyes locked with yours. They held something raw, something that made your pulse quicken with a mix of longing and love, as if you were the only thing that mattered.

Slowly, Mingi knelt before you, his hands firm on your thighs. The way you looked at him made his heart ache, as though you saw every part of him, the good and the broken, and still wanted more. His lips pressed soft, lingering kisses to your inner thighs, each touch sending a shiver through your body. He took his time, savoring the moment, letting the tension build until it was nearly unbearable.

His hands firmly gripped your thighs, pulling you open with the kind of deliberate care that sent a shiver up your spine. His eyes were locked on yours for a moment, dark and intense, before trailing down, his breath teasing your sensitive clit. It was almost unbearable, his warm exhale brushing against your slick heat, the tension coiling tightly inside you as he took his time, savoring every second of your vulnerability.

When his tongue finally flicked against your clit, your breath hitched sharply, a gasp spilling from your lips. The sensation was electric, sending a bolt of pleasure straight through you. He didn’t rush, he began with slow, teasing strokes, dragging his tongue over your most sensitive spot in lazy, deliberate circles. Each movement built on the last, the steady rhythm making your hips buck forward instinctively, craving more of his touch.

A low hum rumbled from his chest as he tightened his grip on your thighs, holding you firmly in place. The vibration of his voice against your clit made you moan, your head falling back as the tension in your core tightened further. He alternated between swirling his tongue around your clit and sucking it gently into his mouth, his pace maddeningly slow yet so precise it left you trembling. You tried to pull away for a moment, the sensation almost too much, but he wouldn’t let you.

Your thighs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, his mouth shifted, his tongue dipping lower, plunging deep into your core with a deliberate stroke that made your whole body jolt.

A broken cry tore from your throat as he fucked you with his tongue, slow and deep, each thrust of it drawing you closer to the breaking point. His nose brushed against your clit with every movement, adding another layer of stimulation that sent your nerves into overdrive.

Your body twisted under his touch, every nerve on fire, every gasp and moan spilling from your lips raw and unrestrained. He worked you with relentless precision, dragging you to the edge of release again and again, only to pull back just enough to let the tension simmer, teasing you mercilessly.

Each time you begged for more, your voice shaky and desperate, he only smirked against you, his tongue plunging back into your core, twisting and curling as if he were determined to make you fall apart completely.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard as your thighs clamped around his head. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core and sending you spiraling. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the intensity built beyond what you thought you could handle, your body trembling violently as he pushed you closer to the brink.

But he didn’t stop there. His tongue moved faster now, his lips latching onto your clit once more, sucking harder in a way that made your vision blur. The overstimulation was dizzying, every touch too much and not enough all at once. You were utterly at his mercy, your body completely his to command.

When your release finally came, it was devastating. A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking and gasping for air. Your thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop, his tongue and lips coaxing every last drop from you until tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity.This was the first time someone has touched and handled your body this way.

“Breathe,little princess.” he murmured against you, his voice rough, and it took you a moment to realize you were still trembling, your body barely able to handle the aftershocks. He slowed his movements, soothing you with soft kisses against your clit and inner thighs, grounding you as you came back down from the high.

Weakly, you reached for him, pulling his hands to yours. You kissed his knuckles softly, your lips brushing over the roughness of his skin as your chest heaved. It was a quiet, desperate act, a thank-you and a plea all at once.

Mingi sat up slowly, his eyes locking with yours as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The look in his eyes was intense, filled with a quiet sadness that made your chest tighten. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but heavy with emotion.

“I need to tell you something.”

His words, raw and hesitant, pulled you out of the lingering haze of warmth, dragging you into a harsh reality.

You met his gaze, worry flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening like the words hurt too much to say. But he forced them out anyway, his voice cracking slightly. “When this is done... the royal family—they’re going to take my hands.”

It felt like the air was knocked out of you. His confession hit you like a blow, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You stared at him, trying to process what he had just said, your heart racing in disbelief.

“Your... hands?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his gaze falling to where your hands rested on his, your fingers entwined as if trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. “They said it’s the price I have to pay. Once I finish the sculpture of the empress and meet the emperor’s deadline... my hands will be cut off.”

Your heart ached for him, for the burden he carried. The weight of the looming deadline, knowing that the very thing he was creating—the sculpture of your mother—would lead to his punishment. His reward? The loss of his hands. Why did your kingdom have such a rule? And on top of that, there were officials within your own kingdom using his art to harm the royal family. Mingi, caught in the middle of a storm he couldn’t escape, made you pull him into your arms.

Tears welled in your eyes as the full weight of his words sank in. He was so calm, so resigned, yet beneath his stoic exterior, you could feel the raging storm. The man who had just held you with such care, worshipped you with tenderness, was willing to give up the very hands that had brought you to life only moments ago.

With everything you knew now, there was no going back. You were about to plunge into the heart of your kingdom’s darkest secrets, fully aware of the cost. But one thing was certain — you would either save him, or burn everything to the ground in the process.

And that is how our princess Y/n fell of the royal sculptor Song Mingi.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

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whereserpentswalk · 11 months ago

Text

Somewhere out there within the dark woods of somewhere or another, in days some time past, there was a town. And that town worshipped one god, and that god was a hole.

Yes, a massive hole, at the center of their town. Deep and dark, perhaps leading all the way down to oblivion. Some people said the god lived at the bottom of the hole, others said that the god was the hole itself, or even the shadows that lay within. They had no temples, no alters, only the hole. And the hole of the hole demanded things of them. It was hungry, strangely hungry. It did not have sacfices, it demanded tribute. Taxes in a way. People would scrounge up what little money they had for the hole, and the hole promised back that it would give them good things in return.

There were those who warned them of the hole. The cryptids of the dark forest, and the occultists and demon hunters, and even the deep ones that lay in the dark ocean and the scaled men of the forgotten ruins. But the townsfolk didn't listen, the hole made them feel good. It felt good to give it money. And even though they never exactly saw how the hole must have been helping them. How could it not be helping them if they had given it so much. And soon the hole banished all supernatural things but itself, and the people said the hole was making them safe.

And soon the hole was bigger. What was once the size of a well had grown to being big enough to consume a house. And soon the town changed, the hole began to be its center, the entire town shifted so that all public life was around the hole. And soon those who didn't like the hole, or who questioned it, where seen as evil or strange people, greedy for not wanting to give the hole their money, they were seen as selfish and entitled, entitled to all the hole's benefits without paying their share. It was a tragedy when someone grew up to move out of the town and not follow the hole.

And soon the hole had more and more demands. And everyone listened as it grew larger and larger. Soon it didn't want money, it wanted things too, televisions, automobiles, books, family relics, grandma's ashes, works of art, perhaps even beloved pets. And it became taboo not just to question it, but to feel sad when you lost something to the hole. You couldn't say you missed it, or replace it too soon, the hole wanted you to not have it, you were so obviously wrong to miss it. You didn't just have to give to the hole, you had to understand that it was improving your life.

There was a movement of young people, who wanted to get rid of the hole. But it was too late by then, they had no other gods, no other spirits or creatures, and the hole was as large as a city block. And either way, the town police belonged to the hole now, and they would kill for it, and they would die for it. Some young rebels moved away. But most found themselves not being able to give up their family, their freinds, and their safety to fight the hole. So for a time they pretended to like it, and when you do something, and say something for long enough it can become your truth, and soon enough those who pretended to live the hole truly did love it.

And soon there was no music or movies that the hole didn't approve of. Everyone followed the hole's rules. And everyone loved the hole so dearly and so brightly. They couldn't imagine a town without a hole. When they thought of other towns they imagined that they must have had holes too, and every idea of a place without it was sad and depressing. And as the hole was then a quarter of the size of the town, it was hungry, and demanded not just things but flesh. And people happily gave, it would be weird to not want to give. They gave eyes, ears, teeth, testicles, tounges, fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs. And they didn't miss their body parts at all. And when one day the hole demanded people jump in, and give their lives to it, they didn't mind or question at all, it didn't feel like death, and nobody missed that they weren't there.

And now, in the dark woods, there is a hole where a town used to be. It has eaten the entire the thing, every last inch and citizen of it. It is not satisfied. But it has grown all that it could. And one must wonder if the hole is lonely now, or if it knows that it has done all it ever hoped to.

249 notes · View notes

moethh · 1 year ago

Text

dashboard simulator but with saints

⚔ knight--lover Follow

I ASKED FOR ROMANCE BOOKS AND THIS IS WHAT THEY GAVE ME???!?!??? WHAT AM I LOOKING AT????? 💀💀💀

♻️ ⚔ knight--lover Follow

nvm this stuffs good 💀

#like actually??? #gonna keep reading these while my leg is still healing #recovery update

15 notes

🌹 littlefl0wer Follow

cosplay!

♻️ ⚜ born-to-do-this Follow

Oh this is incredible! I love it!

♻️ 🌹 littlefl0wer Follow

oh my goodness?! thank you so much!! ❤️❤️❤️

#wow! i didn't know you would actually see this! #i'm so happy you like it!! #<3 #edit: we're mutuals now!!!

442 notes

🌟 host-prince Follow

EVERYONE‼ Below is a list of users who are ACTUAL DEMONS. PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH THEM. Just block and report. Stay safe everyone.

Keep reading

#I am not going to add trigger or content warnings to this post as I want people to see it. #However #you are obviously free to add them to your own reblogs if you wish to do so.

15,837 notes

🔨 just-a-carpenter Follow

🤔

♻️ 💧 locustman Follow

???? Uncle???????? What is this????? What does this Mean????????

♻️ 🔨 just-a-carpenter Follow

👍

♻️ 💧 locustman Follow

???????????????????????????????????? @'mom? Can you explain? Please????

♻️ 👑 mom Follow

Idk

♻️ 🔨 just-a-carpenter Follow

👍

1,118 notes

⚔ knight--lover Follow

PH M

OH MY GOSH. Ok. Rant incoming.

So there's this guy I'm traveling with and GET THIS: HE DOESN'T BELIEVE IN @/mom's PERPETUAL VIRGINITY?!?!??!?!

I'm thinking of killing him. Like. Actually. I'm not even kidding. I genuinely can't decide whether or not I should kill him.

So you guys should decide:

#rant #my polls #tw antidicomarian #cw antidicomarian #please vote or else i'll just let my horse decide for goodness' sake

216 notes

👑 mom Follow

Alright, someone tagged me on @knight--lover's poll so this is my response to it:

♻️ ⚔ knight--lover Follow

Hm. I'll think about it.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

♻️ 👑 mom Follow

YOUNG MAN.

#Ignatius. Come on.

523 notes

🐭 martin-n-mice Follow

Wow! I've just found a ton of these little guys in a part of the monastery I've never been in before!

♻️ 👤 purrtrude

seems like your monastery needs one of these

♻️ 🐭 martin-n-mice Follow

NO!!

♻️ 👤 purrtrude

what? don't like cats?

♻️ 🐭 martin-n-mice Follow

I LIKE THE MICE!!

♻️ 👤 purrtrude

if you could save all the mice in the world, would you if all the cats starved to death?

♻️ 🐭 martin-n-mice Follow

??? What?????? I am so confused.

Are you implying that cats only eat mice, and if they couldn't, then they would just. Die? What is happening.

♻️ 🕯 claaaaaare Follow

Hey, @fraaaaaancis. Just curious how you would solve this.

♻️ 🐺 fraaaaaancis Follow

Hm. Well, it seems that St. Gertrude's situation is implying that you could only save either all cats or all mice with no survivors on the other side. To me, she is just asking which animal you like more.

There is really nothing to solve? This whole situation is very strange.

♻️ 🐱 gertie-the-kitty Follow

THATS NOT EVEN ME??? WHO IS THAT THAT IS NOT ME

@host-prince @host-prince @host-prince??????

♻️ 🌟 host-prince Follow

purrtrude is definitely Not You.

♻️ 📜 more-of-thomas Follow

OP is this your post?

♻️ 🐭 martin-n-mice Follow

#wghhhhghghhh #i just wanted to show off the mice...... #they're living happily by the way! i bring them food!

374 notes

🎨 luke-the-artpostle Follow

#my art #artists on christblr

1,852,658 notes

🐲 marthamartha Follow

look at this Thing. with that look you would probably think that the man just so happened to crawl in its mouth. what a Creature.

anyways does anyone have a sword

♻️ 🐲 marthamartha Follow

WILL PEOPLE IN THE NOTES STOP TELLING ME TO KEEP IT??? AS IF IT HASN'T KILLED PEOPLE?????

in case anyone forgot, this is a literal DRAGON

♻️ 🐲 marthamartha Follow

@turn-me-over-im-done-on-this-side???????????? what??????????

♻️ 🍳 turn-me-over-im-done-on-this-side Follow

I fail to see what needs explaining. Where did it live?

♻️ 🐲 marthamartha Follow

I-

Ok. It lived in the water.

♻️ 🍳 turn-me-over-im-done-on-this-side Follow

hm. Maybe it would taste like fish?

♻️ 🐲 marthamartha Follow

Maybe. I honestly don't know what the townspeople did with the body. They just asked me for help 🤷‍♀️

♻️ 📜 more-of-thomas Follow

#??????????????? #I am somewhat concerned for you two #(for all of my mutuals actually but as of seeing this post right now I am very concerned for Lawrence especially) #But I shan't say that I'm surprised considering that Lawrence told jokes while he was burning alive #and now that's his username for some reason #As a fellow joke-maker I suppose I admire that? #But as a human being I am concerned

563 notes

#catholic #unreality #dashboard simulator #fake dashboard #i spent way too long on this #it was fun tho

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charaznablescanontoyota · 1 year ago

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"marn i missed sgdq 2024 what should i watch"

hi i decided i'm doing another one of these. it's been a minute. this past week was summer games done quick, an annual speedrunning marathon raising money for doctors without borders and also a great way to get into watching speedrunning. a lot of their content is tailored towards being both clearly explained and fun to watch for an audience outside the speedrun community, so you can jump in with basically no knowledge besides “this person is gonna play a game really fast”.

gdq has the full week's worth of vods up as a playlist on their channel, but here are some runs that i personally think you should check out:

ken griffy jr presents mlb by peanut butter the dog: look it's a dog playing baseball. i don't know what else to tell you.

the entire silly block: speedrunners get up way too early in the morning/late at night to play games that feel like a fever dream. some of the commentators are going on 24 hours of no sleep. it's brilliant. my personal highlights of what i've seen so far are stuart little 2, mad panic coaster, city bus simulator race, and the golf it wrong hole only race that the players dressed up as golfers for

alan wake 2 alan%: alan wake clips through walls and generally has a bad time while a bunch of gamers call him a sopping wet catboy. the runner for this one is really charismatic and it's very funny to see staff rushing to open up the pit as soon as we sing starts (yes they do the dance of course they do the dance). i just love joyful runs of horror games man

super mario 64 blindfolded randomizer: what if you played mario 64 blindfolded and also the stars were in completely random locations. and also you had to do it very very fast.

kingdom hearts 2 critical any%: every kh2 speedrun i've ever seen is a work of art and this one is no different. some of the boss fights go down so fast you will literally miss them if you look away for a minute. and also two of my favorite runners are on couch commentary!

balatro showcase: genuinely made me rethink how i'm playing some of the balatro decks. also great commentary and just fun all around despite (or perhaps partially because of) the absolute struggle session going on with plasma deck in the beginning

super mario world kaizo relay: kaizo is a shorthand term for a game hacked to its absolute limits of difficulty that often requires strict precision of movement and can punish the player for thinking they're smarter than it. in this segment, two teams of 4 very very good mario runners race to complete 8 kaizo levels they've never seen before in their lives

mario maker 2 troll level race: i always like the mario maker races for the same reason i like the kaizo relays. i love watching two speedrunners thrown blindly into the shit have to make up strategies on the fly via trial and error (and error, and error, and error, and...)

kirby air ride race: two high level kirby air ride speedrunners race for an actual physical title belt. the trash talk game happening here is of the insane variety that only two very skilled people who truly respect each others' talents at their game of choice can provide

kaizo mario galaxy: what if mario galaxy hated you even more than usual and would stop at nothing to kill you. also most of the commentators are only familiar with the vanilla game and their reactions to the added-in bullshit are hysterical

tony hawk pro skater 1, 2, 3, and 4: i fell asleep watching this and woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bunch of people singing superman by goldfinger. good run

super mario rpg remake: this was the finale block and it's just great to see a bunch of people who really really love the original mario rpg get to hang out and talk about how good it is and also watch a world record level player absolutely stunt on the game

halo 3 four-player co-op legendary: dudes rock

#sgdq #speedrunning

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goodlucktai · 2 months ago

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hold the world to its best (7/?)

rottmnt word count: 2k pairing: raph & OC title borrowed from light by sleeping at last part of the archer au

with art by @soldrawss !

(prev) (next)

Raph wakes up early the next morning to the feeling of something going missing. A tiny weight beside him that isn’t there anymore.

The only reason it isn’t immediately alarming is because he can hear Leo talking quietly, the only cue his subconscious needs not to panic. He still cracks one eye open in time to see a familiar silhouette disappearing out his bedroom door.

Since the storm, Gio has been a little clingier and a lot quieter. It seemed to have stirred up anxiety that hasn’t settled yet, like sediment in water that’s taking its time drifting back to where it usually rests. When he isn’t actively being distracted from it, it sits with him, casting him in shadow.

He has enough shadows as it is. At four years old, they’re so much bigger than him.

I wonder if he had a nightmare, Raph thinks, and with that thought the grogginess still clinging to him vanishes instantly. With the sigh of someone who knows he won’t get back to sleep until he checks in, Raph hauls himself up out of bed.

There’s a light spilling out of the living room doorway, a block of warm yellow stamped across the hall. More than that, it’s the sound of his brothers’ voices that Raph’s following, that he’d be able to follow clear across the world. It probably wouldn’t even be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“—couldn’t get back to sleep either,” Leo is saying as Raph draws nearer. His tone is low and friendly, an automatic balm to frayed nerves. “I appreciate the company, Jorgito.”

It slaps Raph upside the head that he managed to forget about his little brother’s years-long losing battle with insomnia. In part, he thinks guiltily, because ever since Gio moved in, it’s been something they all worried less about.

Those first weeks after the invasion were rough for everyone, but it was especially hard to watch Leo wake up from a night terror and have absolutely no idea where he was. No idea if he was safe. Shuddering away when they reached out to him, eyes darting around the room with an expression of raw fear—as if he was an animal being hunted by some unimaginable monster, and not a teenage boy surrounded by the people who would kill for him with their teeth and bare hands if they had to.

All of them got a lot of practice at talking him down, at remembering to keep a light on for him. But Gio had a built-in fast-pass. Gio only had to put himself in Leo’s line of sight and take his hands, this brother of theirs who found Leo in the dark and carried him home in the first place, and all of the electrified, lock-jawed terror would seep from Leo like water down a leaky drain. If Gio was here, it meant he’d already been saved. It was a touchstone that never failed.

Even after Leo recovered and moved out of the medbay and left those night terrors behind, Gio continued to make it his business to keep the younger turtle company on sleepless nights.

The odds are very good that no one has thought to check in with Leonardo since Giorgio was cursed. Raph tries to think of when he last saw Leo without his mask and can’t pin it down.

“Guess you’ve always been an early bird,” Leo goes on, “even back when you were just a little baby bird. Mikey’s the same way—up with the sun for every second of the day till it goes down again. The circadian rhythm of a bumblebee, and just as busy as one, too. Ninety-percent of papa’s gray fur is that maniac’s fault, don’t believe anything anyone else tells you.”

Whatever Gio says in reply is too quiet for Raph to hear from the hall. He moves forward, enough to look through the doorway, and his heart melts into putty at the sight of Leo curled up in dad’s armchair with Gio nestled cozily on his plastron, the two of them nearly nose to nose and tucked under the cover of the family-favorite quilt.

If Leo’s tired, it doesn’t show. It’s hard to tell with him even on a good day. But his smile is one of the crooked, sincere ones.

“It’s nice of you to give me the chance to turn the tables.” Leo pokes one of the spots on Gio’s face. “I get to be the one that helps you out for a change.”

Gio asks something with his hands. Raph can’t see clearly enough from this angle to make out more than just the little question mark wiggle at the end. It makes Leo laugh, warm and golden, spilling light as easily as the glow from the lamp pours into the hallway.

“Are you kidding? My big brother Georgie is a professional monster-slayer. I learned all my moves from the best.”

Gio doesn’t say or sign anything else—he just considers that statement with a gravity ten times his current age, visibly working it around in his head the way he’d work a jawbreaker around in his mouth. Then he carefully tucks himself under Leo’s chin, one small hand clinging to the long tails of Leo’s mask.

He doesn’t look like he’s going to fall asleep again, even when Leo starts to hum a song by The Cranberries. He looks more like he’s prepared to soldier awake through the next hundred hours in a row if it means more time to absorb a hug and a song from someone happy to hold him and sing to him. Gio’s big dark eyes stay stubbornly open, even when Leo scritches along the scutes of his tiny spotted carapace, a tried and true tactic to put baby bothers to sleep.

A riot of tenderness in his chest that only smaller turtles can put there, Raph turns on his heel and takes himself into the kitchen. It’s hot chocolate o’clock. He wonders for a split-second if he should be concerned about Gio’s sugar intake, and then immediately decides that that sweet kid deserves all the spoiling they can manage to pack into however many days they get to have him.

When Raphael pushes past the noren-style curtains into the kitchen, he’s surprised to find Mikey there already, wide-awake—staunchly proving Leo right about being up with the sun like the bumblebees.

Only Raph’s little sunshine isn’t very bright this early morning. Mikey is staring hard at his hands, brushing softened butter over rolled-out dough and rubbing a mix of cinnamon and brown sugar on top of that. He must see Raphael in his periphery—or at the very least sense him with the not-unremarkable perception of someone who is all at once a living weapon, trained ninja, and student of mystic arts—but he doesn’t look up or offer a cheerful, cheeky greeting. There is a distinct downward tuck to the corners of his mouth, firmly unsmiling.

“Hey, kid,” Raph says, watching him as he collects mugs from the cabinet, “everything okay?”

“Uh, no,” Mikey replies sardonically, as if it’s an obvious answer. He battles with himself for all of two seconds before blurting, “I’m not stupid, Raph.”

Raph has no idea what he’s just walked into, but it doesn’t feel like he’s dealing with a grumpy turtle who woke up on the wrong side of the hammock. There’s a level of real hurt in Mikey’s voice that has all of Raph’s protective instincts rearing their collective head.

“Nobody said you were stupid,” he says immediately. “You’re everyone’s favorite person. Wars have been waged for less. What’s going on?”

Mikey’s frown deepens, pure upset in his bright red eyes. He moves onto rolling the dough into a tube and continues to pointedly not look at Raph.

“I keep thinking about the other day. The scars on Gio’s hands that upset you and Leo so much. I didn’t piece it together right away, but I’m not stupid. If Donnie’s tracker that he put on Gio when he was nineteen disappeared, Gio’s scars from then would have gone, too. But they’re still there, because they were there when he was a baby. Someone hurt him. Over and over, until it left a mark.”

He stops, brow furrowing, face screwing up the way it only does when he’s trying to act older than his age—usually when he’s trying not to cry.

“And he’s so thin. What the hell. We need more food than humans our age do, we burn through calories like crazy, and I bet—he was probably always hungry, he probably never got to feel full, and that’s not fair. And it’s just another thing that he carries around with him. And none of us ever noticed, because it was already a part of him when we first met.”

The tears finally burn their way out of Mikey’s eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He glares hard at the dough as he portions it into rolls, the set of his jaw daring Raph to comment.

Raph circles around the island to put a hand on Mikey’s carapace, unable to bear the space of the counter between them for a second longer. When it doesn’t cause the smaller turtle to snap, Raph rubs those sunny patterned scutes the way he can remember doing from as far back as five years old.

“It’s not fair,” Mikey says again in a voice that wobbles. “He doesn’t tell us stuff. And it wouldn’t matter even if he did ‘cause we couldn’t fix it anyway.”

“We are fixing it,” Raph says, knowing it’s true in his blood and his bones. “You’re fixing it, by doing exactly what you do every day. By doing this,” he adds, tapping the corner of the baking pan that the dough rolls are being nestled into, a just-because little kindness that comes to Michelangelo as easy as breathing. “It means the world to him, Mike. You know it does.”

Mikey rubs his face dry on the inside of the collar of his hoodie, takes a deep breath while he’s still hidden, then pops out and declares, “He deserves it!”

“Hell yeah he does,” Raph rumbles back.

The rolls are covered and left to rise and the counter is wiped down, utensils and dishes moved to the sink. Then Mikey squares his shoulders and summons a smile. It’s a good one, huge and toothy and dimpled. He’s dredging up that familiar force-of-nature optimism—less naivety and more plain willingness to wrestle the world into the shape he wants it to take one impossible hurdle at a time.

He spares a moment to shove himself forward into Raph’s arms for a squeeze, and then swings around the island to shoot for the living room at full speed, shouting, “Are we turtle piling?”

“‘Morning, bumblebee,” Raph hears Leo say affectionately. “Hey, Gigi, you think there’s room for Mikey in here?”

“Always room for Mikey,” Gio’s little voice answers clearly. From the way he starts to giggle at the same time Leo lets out a theatrical oof, it must have been all the encouragement Mikey needed to dive right in.

Their overlapping chatter keeps Raphael company as he heats enough milk to fill four mugs. He isn’t going to go crazy and make the from-scratch stuff on the stove the way Mikey finds any reason to, but he’ll add a dash of cinnamon and vanilla extract to the instant mix the way dad always did when they were kids. And he puts an ice cube in Gio’s, knowing the little gremlin is going to go in for a scalding gulp at the first whiff of chocolate. It’s the work of less than ten minutes, and most of that time is spent waiting on the microwave.

Raph’s fingers are too big for the mug handles, but big enough to comfortably carry all four at once into the living room. He doesn’t so much distribute them as he does hold out his hands and wait for smaller ones to reach out and extract their color-coded drink.

“Ooh, thanks Raphie!” Mikey says.

“We’re gonna have to eat raw carrots for lunch at this rate,” Leo says, wrapping both hands around his mug to better absorb the warmth. “Don’t think I didn’t clock the butter and sugar on your sleeve, Michael.”

“Aw, what?” Mikey says, leaning out of the turtle pile enough to check the sleeve in question. He puffs out his cheeks when he finds the stain near his elbow. “Whatever! It’s all for the cause! I’m making cinnamon rolls for my favorite cinnamon roll,” he goes on, nudging his shoulder into Gio’s tiny one.

“Me?” says Gio.

“Of course you,” Leo scoffs playfully. “You see any other cinnamon rolls around here?”

Gio’s eyes are huge and deep and watchful. His mug looks laughably big in his hands. He says, “Your favorite?”

“My favorite ever of all time,” Mikey says, utterly serious. He even means it—all of his siblings are his absolute favorite sibling.

“Really?” Gio checks in a quiet voice. He ducks a little bit, shoulders curling, as if he’s waiting for them to lose their tempers over all the repeated questions, every inch a little turtle weighing the pros and cons of hiding inside his shell.

“Really really,” Raph answers right away.

“Even though I’m a brat?” Gio asks.

Leo goes so still in Raphael’s periphery that he might as well be carved from stone. Mikey is more obvious about his upset, sucking in a sharp breath that hisses through his teeth. Raph’s last drink of hot cocoa feels blistering as it makes his way down his throat, the rest of him abruptly and absurdly cold.

“You are not a brat,” Leo says with as much feeling as when he said I missed on purpose.

“Who said that to you?” Raph asks carefully.

“Everybody,” Gio says. It would sound matter-of-fact coming from anyone else. It still hurts like a knife to the chest. Especially because Gio’s mouth turns down, and his eyes fall to land in the lukewarm chocolate he isn’t drinking anymore, and he says, “I want to be your favorite Gio instead.”

“You are!” Mikey chokes out, practically a shout, and he doesn’t need the warning look Leo gives him over the top of Gio’s head to know better. He bites the inside of his lip until he’s certain he can control his volume and says, “Don’t you listen to anybody else! You’re our big brother and you’re brave and cool and kind and smart, and we love you so much!”

Gio doesn’t immediately break into a smile at that, which should have been the first red flag.

It should have been one of several clues that Raph has been too slow to put together into the obvious picture. Giorgio isn’t a secretive child—he isn’t even really a secretive person at twenty, as mysterious as a plain brick wall—but he speaks so sparingly that it’s hard to gauge when he doesn’t have anything to say, and when he’s doing his best to talk around something that will hurt him.

Later, Raph will kick himself for not catching it. Gio has been asking over and over what the other Gio is like—the big Gio. The better Gio. He’s been absorbing everything they’ve had to say with a serious little face and a downturned mouth, assimilating the information into his understanding of his place in their family.

Of course all of that would lead to the place that it does.

Donatello had felt a type of way about finding out he had incidentally been excluded from impromptu early-morning turtle piles and seized custody of their baby brother for the rest of the day in comeuppance. So Gio should have been tucked away in the genius’ bedroom for an afternoon nap, but instead he was wide awake and peeking through Raph’s door.

Gio hugs a teddy bear as big as he is to his stomach, looking up at the much larger turtle with careful, worried eyes, and asks, “When I’m the brother you like again, will Raphie still hug me?”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #hamato raphael #hamato giorgio #my writing #the archer au #tmnt fic #sol wants me DEAD with that art btw #i didnt edit or proofread this pray for me !!!

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