#His eye.. it's so.. captivating.../silly

[saturnstrays]

Look I just found out abut this character last night but OHH MAN

player i need to press my screen against your face for scientific reasons

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for. 

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving. 

He manages to steal himself. 

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you. 

Suppose you were still settling in. 

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you. 

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes. 

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused. 

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way. 

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it. 

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you. 

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place. 

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.” 

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…” 

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.” 

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his. 

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut. 

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here. 

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Captive Royalty !

genre: crack, royalty au, fantasy au, smut, fluff

pairing: sub prince ! beomgyu x dom afab poor reader ?

synopsis: desperate times call for desperate measures…so you kidnap the prince of the kingdom and he turns out to be more of a handful than you expected.

warnings: kidnapping !! sub beomgyu, dom reader, beomgyu gets drugged, slight knife play, bondage, ropes, degrading, choking, riding, creampie, hand job, kinda dollification, overstimulation, hair pulling, orgasm denial, finger sucking ? (this sounds really dark from the warnings but it’s kinda unserious and silly and consensual)

word count: 4.6k

Prince beomgyu lets out a long, theatrical sigh, wandering aimlessly and weaving through the bushes and trees of the mystic forest a few metres away from the castle, needing a break from his duties even for just a second of reprieve. The air smelled of damp earth and fragrant wildflowers. Butterflies flitted their pretty wings lazily around him as he stepped over a cluster of bluebell flowers on the mossy floor, where mushrooms were also scattered of all different shapes and colours.

As he ventured deeper into the forest, vines and ivy curled around the tall tree trunks, practically moving and alive, shaking loose pink petals off the branches and falling atop beomgyu’s long hair instead.

He stops when he comes across a small, crystalline pond tucked away, watching as purple dragonflies hover over the surface, lily pads and petals floating on top and, beneath the clear water, koi fishes whose colourful scales practically glowed, swimming and flicking their tails elegantly. Beomgyu stood there for a moment, captivated by the tranquility of the scene. For a small second, it was as if he could finally forget everything.

But then, he mutters to himself, scowling. “I swear to the gods, hate the court, hate those stupid advisors. I hate them all.” Prince beomgyu kicks a pebble rather aggressively into the pond in his frustration.

A tiny fairy emerges out of the water, angrily screaming, hovering and pointing, coming very close to his face high pitched in a language he cannot understand, then vanishes in a puff of glitter.

Beomgyu stares blankly, then merely shrugs.

Instead, he takes a look back at the ethereal scenery, the forest nothing short of enchanted. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back, basking in the golden sunrays peeking through the canopy, inhaling deeply.

But his moment of peace is abruptly interrupted when he feels a cold, sharp blade pressing against his throat.

Beomgyu’s breath catches, eyes snapping open to meet a much less aesthetic view: A dagger, pressed very intimately underneath his jaw and already practically digging into his adam’s apple, “What the fu-”

“Don’t move.” Came the voice behind him.

Oh my god. He’s going to die. This is where prince beomgyu begins to panic, immediately stripping himself of his jewellery and any valuables, tossing them onto the grass, hastily. “Here! Take it! Take all of it! Please! Just not my face! I’m too handsome to die!”

You stare at him, baffled beneath the mask you were wearing, almost forgetting to keep the dagger steadily pointed at him.

“I’m not robbing you.” You say flatly. “I’m taking taking something far more valuable...”

There was a moment of silence as he looks at you cluelessly.

Then he gasps. “You’re taking my hair?!”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Tightening your grip on the dagger, you roll your eyes, grabbing the cloth from your bag, shoving it over his nose and mouth, drugging him.

“Mmfph!” The prince protests, flailing but then his eyes roll back and his limbs go limp, simply falling unconscious.

You warily eyed up the prince who now sat unconsciously tied to a chair in your cottage, head lolling to one side.

Surprisingly, it was much easier kidnapping the prince of the kingdom than you had imagined. He didn’t put up much of a fight, nor were there any guards around him, or any witnesses at all. Quite underwhelming really.

But at least everything was going even smoother than planned, you’d even written the ransom letter and had already sent it off to the king. Now you just had to wait and soon it would all be yours.

You study the prince’s face. You’d never seen him before, too preoccupied and shut away in your cottage in solitude. You didn’t care for them. Besides, what have the royals done for you other than tax you and steal all your money? Why were they even praised anyway? They just sat around doing nothing really. It was practically their fault for your situation right now.

Other than that, the prince was almost achingly pretty. He had quite handsome features, long, thick eyelashes that practically kissed his naturally flushed cheeks, perfectly round, plump lips, messy bangs falling effortlessly over his brows. His regal attire, though a little dirtied from the abduction, still extravagant, embroidered with gold thread and intricate patterns. He looked dainty and fragile all tied up. The prince reminded you of a doll.

A quiet groan breaks the silence and your staring. The prince stirs, lashes fluttering before his pretty eyes slowly blink open, dazed. He takes in his surroundings, strangely without much alarm, gaze sweeping across the decrepit interior of your cottage before landing blankly on your black cat perched menacingly on the window sill. They have a tense, silent stare off before his eyes make their way to you, looking you up and down since he hadn’t seen your face properly before, eyes raking over your figure with a brow raised. He looked almost…amused?

You supposed you didn’t cut the most terrifying figure. No scary scars, no missing eye or other limbs. Just plain clothes, a dagger at your hip, and an unimpressed expression.

The prince speaks up. “Are you part of a rebellion? Do you want to overthrow the monarchy?”

“No.”

He lazily grins, eyes trailing down to the ropes binding him. “Hmm. Then this is… a little provocative, don’t you think?”

“The hell.” You furrow your brows at a loss of words. “No! Ransom. This is for ransom! ”

“Ah.”

“You’re the prince. Your face is probably worth more than my entire life. When your daddy finds out his beloved son has been captured, I’m sure he’ll give me all the money I ask and you’ll go back to your fancy castle.” You lean back, sighing, just imagining how much gold you’ll accumulate soon, “Don’t worry, your kingdom will pay good money to have you back.”

The prince snorts. “Will they?”

You frown. “…Yes?”

He gives you a pitiful look, “I hate to say it but I think they’ll be more relieved than horrified I’m gone, to be completely honest.”

You cross your arms in confusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He says, shifting in his restraints, “that my father finds me to be an insufferable disappointment. If you think he’s going to shell out a fortune to get me back, you’re sorely mistaken. No one in that castle can stand me, too much of a ‘troublemaker’ or something apparently.”

You stare at him. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was.” The prince replies cheerfully. “You should have kidnapped my brother Prince Huening Kai instead. They would have had a heart attack. If you’d taken him, they’d probably have sent an entire army after you by now.”

“I wasn’t even aware there were two of you.”

“Five actually.” He adds, “Maybe you should have done some research before kidnapping royalty.”

You roll your eyes, “Well, which one are you then?”

“Prince Beomgyu!” He beams, grinning widely, looking proud and smug, his expression entirely too relaxed for someone tied to a chair in a stranger’s cottage.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as you were beginning to think.

It had been days.

And absolutely nothing.

No guards barging down your door, no royal army marching through the forest, no frantic messenger bird clawing at your window with a desperate letter from the king, promising to give you all the money in the land for his poor son back.

Just pure silence.

You were starting to think either something happened to your messenger bird on the way or gods forbid, they really, truly didn’t want him back.

“I told you.” Beomgyu’s voice was maddeningly smug from where he was still bound to the chair. “Face it. They don’t want me back.”

You put a hand to your hip. “You’re lucky I haven’t gagged you.”

“Oh?” The prince raises a brow, smirking.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Gods. You’re disturbed.” You turn away to check the kettle heating by the fire. You were going to need tea. Lots of it.

You take a tea cup in your hand, pouring the earthy, floral brew that you had foraged from the forest, steam rising in swirls and you bring it to your mouth to drink. The warmth seeping through your fingers and into your chest, making you slightly more calmed about this whole maddening situation. Beomgyu’s eyes are on you the entire time. You supposed you could give him some too. “Here. Have some tea.”

“Can’t exactly help myself, can I?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, walking over to him, bringing a cup to his soft lips for him to sip and he looks up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes almost like he’s heavily enjoying that you’re doing this for him.

He swallows, furrowing his brows and smacking his lips together, savouring the taste. “Ooh Peasant tea. I like this. It’s very different to how all of my many chefs have made it for me.”

You cross your arms, nodding in approval, “It’s the best. Practically survive on it.”

He seems amused by your love for tea, nodding, sipping some more until he’s finished and you place the cup back on your counter.

You study him intently, intrigued. “So, why were you sulking around so much by the pond, kicking rocks at fairies before I—well, pointed a dagger at your throat.” There’s no easy way to describe the situation.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to! How was I supposed to know there was a fairy there?” Beomgyu protests, finding it humorous. “But, they’re forcing me to marry some princess from some other kingdom. I don’t even know her. I don’t want to get married at all.” He grimaces, staring at the ground with furrowed brows. “I hate being a prince. I have no freedom or say in anything. It’s so suffocating. I must act in a certain way, all these duties, now marriage. I don’t want any of it.” Beomgyu looks uncharacteristically and genuinely upset about it, the most sad you’ve seen him, and that’s you holding him captive.

You blink, then almost laugh. “Wow. Poor you. You really have the worst life. Must be so hard having all your meals cooked and servants at your beck and call, sleeping in a massive bed with silk sheets. In a castle. Truly.”

The prince furrows his brows at your mocking tone. “You don’t get it. It’s not all that great, you know.”

Your scoff, crossing your arms. “No, I get it. you’re incredibly privileged for those to be your only problems.”

He sulks at you, shrugging. “I guess so. I’d still rather have your life though, a peaceful, mundane, peasant life.”

You give him a flat look, nearly amused at his comical, out of touch words. “It’s far from peaceful. I’m incredibly in debt at the moment and owe money to lots of people, scary people I can’t even begin to repay. I’m doing this because I need the ransom money. You wouldn’t last a day in the real world.”

“I would!” He heavily pouts at you, taking offence. It’s almost endearing. “Anyway honestly, being held hostage has been much better than any day at the castle.”

You shake your head at the prince, sighing.

Beomgyu talked. A lot. About the castle gossip, about the ridiculous scandals of the court, all their carefully polished lies sold to the commoners, about all his other brothers, Prince Yeonjun’s scandalous new affair.

You were very entertained, the tea you make, since it seems to be one of the only things he likes, and these conversations weirdly happening regularly.

“I swear to every god in existence.” Beomgyu had said, with all the endearing dramatic flair of someone telling ghost stories with a candle, “Prince Yeonjun was caught HALF NAKED, sneaking out of the royal astrologer’s tower.”

“No way.” You gaped, sipping on your tea.

He grins, victorious, revelling in your shocked expression. “Swear on my crown. I don’t even know why I’m the one they call troublesome.”

Somewhere along the way, you’d begun to like having beomgyu around, in a way that both irritated and intrigued you.

He was for sure a bratty prince, complaining endlessly about almost everything, the chair, food, the ropes digging into his skin (you had tied them more gently), dramatically whining about a small splinter he got because of the chair (you actually took it out for him and gave him a bandage).

But…for all his whining, very strange comments, and being a royal pain in the ass, (and though you wouldn’t admit it aloud), the strange companionship he offered, despite the messed up predicament, was starting to feel…maybe comforting? when you’d had nothing in the past but your cat, living alone in your cottage.

He’d become company. Real company. It had been so long since you’d had that.

You had one thing in common, you both hated your realities and wanted to get away. And you could, if this damn king would send you the ransom money and come collect his son. You’re honestly astonished. Would they even come for him? What were you supposed to do with him if they never come?

“Ughh.” Beomgyu groans dramatically, wiggling his tied hands pathetically. “I’m suffering.” He says with such an exaggerated pout it was almost impressive.

You turn around to look at him, wondering what it was now.

“My bangs are all in my eyes. I can’t see anything and I can’t move them away.” He blinks at you. Then, very deliberately, batts his lashes, those ridiculously long, doll-like lashes. “You kidnapped me.” Beomgyu says pointedly, deadpan. “The least you could do is brush my hair out of my eyes. Basic courtesy.”

You raise a brow. The audacity. But with a long sigh and contemplation, you wandered over, standing before him. He blinks up at you, the brown strands of his hair over his eye, genuinely a little pathetic and silly looking.

You brush your fingers through his messy strands gently, absentmindedly. His hair was so soft. His pretty brown eyes locked with yours, eyes following your face, unblinking, unusually quiet for once. Close.

And gods, was he pretty.

Your touch lingered longer than probably necessary, tucking the last of his bangs behind his ear, fingertips brushing against his warm skin. You swear the tips of his ears were pinker than usual too.

You finally step back, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest, you could only scowl at him.

Your kidnapping had been, by all accounts, a complete and utter failure. It had not been the most fearsome hostage situation either, your intimidation tactics quite lacklustre, no violence, no torturing, and no damn money.

Even your cat had gotten used to him by now, seemingly liking him, curling up often in his lap, purring contently and napping. And worst of all, You were getting used to him too.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm orange glow in your small cottage. The evening had settled in, quiet and still, except for the rhythmic, repetitive sound of your knife chopping into carrots on the cutting board for a stew.

“Well,” Beomgyu drawls from his usual spot, arms bound behind his back and chair, voice cutting through through the ambience. “you know. You’re not exactly what I expected.”

“Why, disappointed?” Your eyes don’t leave the cutting board, still chopping and unfazed.

His lips quirk into a lazy grin. “Hardly.”

That makes you pause mid-slicing the vegetables, turning around with an incredulous look, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Perhaps. You’re easy on the eyes.” The fire flickers and reflects in beomgyu’s deep brown as you as you stare at him and you catch mischievous glint in them too.

“I’ve quite literally kidnapped you.” You fold your arms.

He shrugs in his restraints, “I know you won’t hurt me. You haven’t tortured me once. Not even a little.”

A slow smile makes its way across your lips, brow raising at what you hear, amused. Instead, you reach for your dagger, making your way towards beomgyu and his gaze follows your every movement.

“Oh?” You slowly flick some of the locks of his soft hair out his face with the sharp tip of the dagger, his breath catching in his throat at that, eyes slightly widening. Then you trace the blade leisurely along his cheek, the prince shivering at the feeling of the steel on his skin. “How are you so sure?” Beomgyu swallows, breath hitching almost looking scared for a second, but then he smirks, thrilled, eyes never leaving yours and yours never leaving his. The two of you locked in a stare now, the eye contact, quite intense.

“You like me.” Beomgyu simply grins impossibly wider.

“Like you?” You echo, sceptically, scoffing at his words. With deliberate slowness, you trace the dagger across his jawline, advancing down his pretty neck, pressing the sharp edge down a little hard—not enough to cut but enough for him to feel it and dip into his soft flesh, his skin prickling up and chest rising and falling, all tensed in anticipation. “Are you sure you don’t like me?”

You point at the now growing tent in his pants that was too hard to ignore. A violent red flush creeps over his cheeks, embarrassed as you cast a deliberate, judging glance downwards with an arched brow. How incredibly absurd. You’re pointing a knife at him and he’s getting turned on.

He purses his lips together for a second, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows but then he runs his mouth again, voice a little breathless, but he grins regardless, “What are you going to do about it?”

Where on earth does he gain this confidence from?

“Leave you. That’s disgusting.” You say, pulling your dagger away in theatrical repulse and moving away from him.

Beomgyu instantly splutters in panic, thrashing helplessly against his bonds, pathetically pleading, eyes wide. “B-but! Wait! Please. It hurts!”

You smile, satisfied, stepping closer to him once again. That’s more like it. “Why should I?”

He just looks up at you so severely desperate, so pitiful. Your eyes flicker down to his slightly wobbly lips and then back up at his panicked eyes. And as if drawn by some invisible force, definitely not of your own doing, you grab and tug at one of the ropes, impulsively leaning down to kiss him, he kisses back instantly, fervently, surging forward and leaning into the kiss as much as his bindings would allow, lips crashing together, all heated and messy, needy and sloppy, beomgyu whines softly into your mouth and gods help you, it does things to you. You bite down on his plump lower lip until he gasps, shoving your tongue down his, dominating the kiss and he just lets you.

You then pull away, he still tries to chase your mouth back even when you pull away but you move to his throat, trailing your lips down his neck, ghosting over, he tilts his head back obediently, warm breath sending him shivering before you bite and suck harshly.

“Please.” He pants, delirious, so worked up already, eyes squeezed shut. “Touch me. Please.”

How could you refute? He squirms in his chair when you begin to palm him through his pants, already embarrassingly hard, gasping so loudly, jaw going slack just from that. Beomgyu bucks helplessly into your touch as you continue to teasingly grind your palm, kissing and sucking on his neck again, he’s all just needy whines and whimpers, pleas falling from his lips for a little more.

You love his reactions and the pathetic noises he makes, so worked up from a little friction on his clothed dick. You want more of it, you want to break the pretty little prince. You sit in his lap, unzipping his pants before him, cock just as pretty as every other part of him, leaky, wet and red, you brush your thumb over his cute tip, spreading the precum teasingly slow, watching his face.

“Oh…” Beomgyu looks down himself, brows knitting together, shuddering and groaning softly.

The sound when you wrap your hand around his cock and glide your hand up and down is impossibly loud over the crackling of the fire in your cottage, sticky and squelchy and the prince already seems far gone from the slow pumping, unraveling at the first stroke, pupils blown wide, glossy lips parted. How dirty.

“Did you seriously get hard from your captor threatening you with a dagger? You’re fucking sick, beomgyu.” You ridicule him in a faux saccharine tone, hand pumping his dick faster, twisting around the tip that he’s panting now, his head dropping forward, resting and falling on your shoulder, you bring your other hand to stroke at his hair. You can tell he’s close, moaning out prettily.

He still manages to bite back though like the brat he is so clearly he’s not that much of a mess you like you want him to be, he lifts his head back to look at you. “You’re the one who kidnapped me. You’re sick.”

“Fine then. If I’m so sick, I’ll stop.” You still your movements on his dick, pulling your hand away. He wails, loudly crying at that, trying so hard to move, pulling uselessly at the ropes to chase your hand but he can’t.

“No! Please. I’ll die.” There he goes being so dramatic again, tears brimming in his panicked doe brown eyes, hyperventilating. The fact that this is the most distressed he’s gotten being kidnapped is honestly concerning. “Please,” He rasps, wrecked, dazed “fuck me.”

You cruelly laugh at the sight, tutting. “Such crude words coming from a prince...”

He just whines frustratedly in response, exasperatedly frowning like he’s having a tantrum.

“Aw. What a poor little prince.” You mockingly coo at him, stroking his cheek but he leans into it anyway, yearning for more, wanting any sort of touch from you now, you drag your teeth against the lobe of his cute pink ear licking, goading him. He shivers at that, sucking in his breath.

“You’re torturing me!” Beomgyu comically pouts.

“I thought you said I wasn’t torturing you at all.”

“Well now you are. You’re killing me. I’m going to die.”

“This is what you call torturing?” You chuckle incredulously.

“Yeah. Fuck me now.” Beomgyu looks like he might combust if you so much as deny him another second, his cock twitching in the open air, painfully red and glistening. You haven’t touched him in what? Seconds? But it feels like an eternity to him. “Just…please—”

You don’t even wait to hear more of his insufferable begging, you lift your skirt and hips up, pushing your panties to the side and sinking down on his dick unceremoniously, it nearly knocks the wind out of him, gasping sharply, mouth hanging open.

“Holy shit.” He groans. “You’re, oh my god—”

Beomgyu throws his head back, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm tight pussy around him. You start to bounce on his cock continuously, riding him and holding onto his shoulders roughly to stabilise yourself., beomgyu moaning shamelessly loud, high pitched and strangled like a girl, dumb and dazed, drooling onto you at the feeling of your pussy.

You bring your hand to his cheek, kissing beomgyu hard, hands tangling in his long hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he sinfully and filthily moans into your mouth. Then he pulls away.

“Choke me.” Beomgyu licks his swollen lips, looking at you sexily, eyes half lidded.

“You’re perverted.” But your hands wrap around the column of his delicate, pretty neck, now marked and mauled. Beomgyu exhales a shaky breath like it was all he wanted.

“Ah…harder.” Beomgyu gulps, pretty Adam’s apple moving as he does so.

You squeeze harder around his neck and he hisses, furrowing his brows, face scrunching up gorgeously, a pretty vein in his neck popping out. His eyes roll to the back of his head, gasping for air, letting out breathy noises, face and neck flushed, you press down just a little more, still bouncing on his cock, deliberately clenching around him. You feel him twitching inside you and then he cums, whole body convulsing, spilling his load inside your pussy.

But you don’t stop, bringing your hand to his shoulders roughly again, digging your nails into him, fucking him through it. He whimpers painfully, straining against the ropes, but he can only helplessly take whatever you give him.

“stop!—ah! too much, too sensitive…” Beomgyu sniffles and sobs, gasping at the overstimulation, babbling incoherently.

“No it’s not. You were begging to be fucked, now it’s too much for you?” You tighten your grip on his shoulders.

He’s about to whine and complain but you take two of your fingers, stuffing them in his mouth to shut him up, he sorrowfully sucks on them like a slut instead, moaning around them whorishly, gazing up at you with teary watery eyes and his pretty wet swollen lips. Gods. Just looking at the state of him, pretty, writhing, helplessly tied up, it’s making you go insane. He still looks like a doll, face red and rosy, dolly lashes thick fluttering and clumped together with tears, soft hair now all messy, bangs damp and all sweaty. A wrecked, cracked porcelain doll, your doll, yours to ruin and play with. He looks divine. What a whore of a prince.

You bounce on his dick mercilessly, riding him faster and faster and faster to get yourself to reach your high too, bringing your finger to your clit, rubbing. One final look at beomgyu’s face, pitiful doe eyes and sucking on your fingers and that does it, cumming around his twitching dick. With a muffled scream and sob, beomgyu’s cumming again, looking like he’s going to pass out, spurting and shooting more of his warm and sticky white ropes of cum into you, cumming so much, it’s all creamy, completely milking him dry, his whole body shaking beneath you and his chest is heaving like a drowning man, gasping for air.

Only then do you reach for your dagger again, slicing the rope, slithering to the ground. Beomgyu falls forwards instantly, collapsing into your arms, gripping and clinging to you, trembling like a leaf, hands roaming all over you and hugging you tight, the first time he could actually touch you. And beomgyu kisses you so desperately over and over, like he’s starved, hands shaking, clutching your clothes, you keeping his cheeks feeling equally starved.

But your kissing is interrupted by a messenger bird throwing a scroll with an unmistakable royal crest through your window. You get up to read it:

An armed procession will arrive by nightfall to collect our Prince Beomgyu in exchange for the agreed ransom.

— His Majesty, the King.

“Are you…going to return me back then?” Beomgyu says quietly, like he already knows the answer and is fearing it, his shoulders are slumped, already looking miserable and like a devastated puppy, thinking about having to return back to living in the castle.

You think for a moment. You fold the scroll neatly, setting in on the table. “No.”

Beomgyu blinks, “No?”

You smirk. “I’m taking something far more valuable.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, and then stars. His eyes practically lighting up, sparkling, you could practically see his tail wagging if he had one.

You both start giggling like idiots.

By the time the army reaches your cottage that evening, it is already abandoned.

And somewhere, gods only knows where, you’re running hand in hand through the forest, longe gone, cat tucked under one arm, and just enough tea packed to last the journey.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: do not ask what this is 😭 I know it makes zero sense but thats kinda the point it was just supposed to be unhinged unserious crack smut 😍🫶

[sttoru]

sukuna never understood humans. they always say and do things that annoy him in a way. though after meeting you—his favorite little concubine—that annoyance has slowly started to turn into fondness, something he isn’t ready to accept or even acknowledge.

“come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of curses groans, sighing for the nth time. his four arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. he’s exasperated by your silly antics once more.

it’s raining—pouring—yet you’re outside in the courtyard. you’re smiling from ear to ear as you hop from puddle to puddle, enjoying the cold droplets that continuously fall and wet your skin. “oh, come on! it’s fun,” you giggle, urging sukuna to join you.

the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.

sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.

if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.

but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.

“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown. he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.

sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.

however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear. his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.

you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.

you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly. you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.

those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.

sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”

you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.

his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.

sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.

the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.

you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.

sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.

but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.

sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside. “alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”

you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.

it makes you even giddier thinking about it.

you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”

“no.”

well, it was worth a try.

[darkmatilda]

𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your boyfriend decides he’s going to start calling you a cute pet name, but the problem is, none of them seem to suit you perfectly

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x baumember!female reader, so sweet you'll puke, case in the background, unsub is abducting elderly people, text messages, reader is kinda clingy, use of y/n because i had to

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling <33 sorry if it ended up a bit too long again, but im starting to suspect that im physically incapable of writing a drabble lmao

"I'm tired. When will this week be over?"

"It's 9:13 on Monday."

With a groan, you leaned back against the seat in the corner of the jet, feeling the caffeine craving slowly take control of your body. 

"Just the thought of going to sleep sends intense shivers through me, caused by a heart-wrenching longing, and heavy tears slowly start gathering in my eyes," you complained, resting your head to the side.

Slightly turned, so you could look at Spencer sitting right next to you. His eyes, behind his glasses, also seemed a little tired, though he didn't manifest it as loudly. When you sat down next to him, he partially closed the book he was reading and rested it against the edge of the table in front of him.

"When you're sleep-deprived, you tend to get a bit dramatic," he pointed out in an analyzing tone, though you could catch a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

"It's not drama, silly. It's the personification of pure exhaustion speaking through my lips."

"I love it when you try to argue with me and end up agreeing with me."

"You just love being right, don't you, smarty?" you huffed. "You love me too, but that's just a side note."

"Oh, now you're teasing. That's good. Means the sleepiness is wearing off," he diagnosed.

Sometimes you were genuinely amazed by how well he knew you, despite being together for such a short time—though maybe you shouldn’t have been. He was a profiler, just like you. Both of you were exceptionally good at reading each other, picking up on moods and small, everyday habits. You used to worry a little that this might make your relationship boring, stripped of surprises. But you quickly realized there’s nothing more captivating than another mind that matches your own and deeply understands its struggles. And sometimes, that feeling itself was a pleasant surprise.

"Next weekend, we're not going anywhere, okay?" you asked in a dreamy tone. The day before, you’d gotten back way too late, which was mostly to blame for your sleepiness. "Not even out of bed."

A look crossed Reid's face, somewhere between eagerness and a grimace.

"I’d love to," he assured with a genuine sigh, but then quickly added, "But I’m afraid I’ve already got something planned."

You tried to keep up the facade of your role, not showing too much excitement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I'm starting to suspect you have plans for every weekend for the rest of our lives."

"Actually, just for the next fourteen weeks," he admitted with a slight shrug, as if it wasn’t anything to be impressed by.

You weren’t sure if he was joking, and you didn’t get the chance to find out.

"Hey, lovebirds," Morgan called from the other end of the jet, where the whole team was gathered around a small table, ready to start discussing the case. "We're waiting for you."

For a while, you kept it a secret from them that you were starting to expect, but eventually, you had to come clean. Especially when Penelope, who knew everything, started taking every chance to send you suggestive glances or drop not-so-subtle comments. The rest of the team’s reaction wasn’t particularly emotional. They didn’t start screaming in surprise or jumping up and down in disbelief. They were profilers—they had figured it out. But they had enough decency to wait until you told them yourselves. No hard feelings, sweet Penelope.

You took the empty seat next to Gideon, right across from your boss and JJ. Reid settled into a chair on the side, where Morgan immediately poked him with his elbow.

"So, how’s it going in love land today?" Morgan asked, smirking. "Are puppies falling from the sky, and is it going to rain hearts this afternoon?"

You’d gotten so used to these kinds of jabs that, in perfect sync, you both rolled your eyes and opened your mouths to defend yourselves. It wasn’t like you two were constantly all lovey-dovey, exchanging kisses and holding hands at every chance! Morgan just loved to tease you, knowing how much it irked both of you when someone accused you of being unprofessional.

“Take it easy, it’s just the honeymoon phase," Gideon warned, not even looking at you as he adjusted his small square glasses, focusing instead on the folder in front of him. "You grow out of it."

On the laptop screen, Garcia’s face appeared, complete with an orange rose headband in her blonde hair.

"Well, hello there, babygirl," Derek greeted her, a small smile spreading across his lips.

"Hello, you charming, sweet, handsome thing…

Hotch exchanged a knowing look with Gideon.

“As you can see, not always," he muttered under his breath so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. JJ, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, briefly lowered her amused gaze, trying to hold back a smile. "Shall we get started?"

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if with the snap of fingers, when you began discussing the case. This time, it was a series of murders targeting men around the age of seventy-four.

"Are we sure this is the work of a serial killer?" Derek asked, his earlier light tone replaced with focus and seriousness. "I mean, looking at it, these guys don’t have much in common aside from their age."

“They’re all from the same area,” you noted, flipping through the victims' files. “But yeah, they don’t have much else in common. Different jobs, some married, some not…you think age is the reason the unsub picked them?”

“Looks that way,” Hotch said.

“About two weeks ago, his granddaughter reported him missing,” JJ informed you, pointing to a photo of an older man. “Ben Murphy, seventy-six years old. He’s from the same area, and all signs point to him being the unsub’s next victim. Each of the victims was held for an estimated three weeks, so there’s a good… a good chance he’s still alive.”

A brief silence settled over the room, heavy with the pressure of time.

“But why keep them alive for that long?” Spencer muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. “None of the bodies show signs of physical torture. They were killed with a lethal dose of insulin. If he chose that method, it doesn’t seem like he wanted to hurt them directly. The motive…the motive is unclear.”

The rest of the discussion revolved around trying to find connections and similarities to other crimes you were all familiar with, but you didn’t come up with anything groundbreaking that would significantly push the investigation forward. However, this didn’t stress you. You were just heading to the place where everything had taken place; you hadn't yet spoken to the victims' families, which often turned out to be crucial.

Just before the jet landed, you found yourself next to Reid, resting your elbow on his shoulder like it was some kind of convenient armrest while you pondered which card to discard from the ones laid out by JJ. This position made it much easier for him to sneak peeks at your cards, which he took full advantage of whenever he thought you weren’t looking (you were looking), so you had to hold them in a very awkward way to prevent him from seeing.

“C’mon,” JJ urged, as the time you were taking to think started to drag on.

You bit your lip.

“Easy for you to say. You’re winning,” you huffed, to which she flashed you a confident smile. “Great minds need time to come up with a solution. Right, Spence?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes…”

"Ugh, I wanted you to defend me, you silly..."

“Guys, do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Morgan appeared above you, pulling his headphones off his head.

“Scientists haven’t figured out a way to peek into other people’s thoughts yet,” Reid answered him, staring at the card you had just discarded and raising an eyebrow. Seriously? You shrugged. You knew it was a pitifully bad move. “So no, we don’t, Morgan.”

“I went over the case files again…” Derek continued, completely ignoring the ironic comment from his friend. “Mr. Murphy went missing right after a date with his wife…”

“...And may I ask why you’re sharing this incredibly sad fact with us?” you interjected.

“They went to the botanical garden,” Derek continued.  Everyone stopped, staring at him with completely baffled expressions. “Then they hit up the American Revolution Museum. And I couldn’t help but think of you two. Sounds like the perfect date for you, right?”

You were the first to react, rolling your eyes dramatically. You placed your cards face down in front of you, then rested both hands on Reid's shoulder, leaning your chin on them. You let out a long sigh.

"Can we get just one day without fighting off the nerd allegations?"

"Hey, I'm not mocking you," Morgan said, raising both hands in the air. "Just pointing it out. So, what did you two get up to over the weekend?"

Reid turned his face slightly toward you, exchanging a look. Given how you were positioned, the frame of his glasses lightly brushed your forehead. Well, if you answered your teammate's question honestly, you’d be proving him absolutely right. Before you could manage to turn the question back on him, you were preempted.

"We went up to the hill to try and watch the meteor shower," Reid answered, sticking to the truth. Morgan tilted his head, staring at both of you with interest. "But the sky ended up being too cloudy, so we ended up finding a night exhibit at the museum about space..."

You could see the victorious expression slowly spreading across Derek's face.

"You’re sinking us, silly," you muttered into your boyfriend's arm.

"She's right, silly," Morgan echoed the nickname with exaggerated emphasis. "Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Enjoy your game. Oh, and by the way, JJ peeked at your cards when you weren’t looking…"

 "JJ!"

 "That’s a lie—"

"Did he really come over here just to compare us to a pair of retirees?" Reid wondered, watching Derek walk away.

"And to expose a cheater," you added, shooting a look at your friend across the table. You’d lifted your chin from Reid’s shoulder, but your hand still rested there, your fingertips lightly brushing against him—not that you even noticed. Did that even count as touching?

You pointed at JJ with determination. "We’re starting over."

"We’re about to land," she noted, placing her cards on the table and revealing her hand. "So I’ll let it go. But you’re getting your rematch, trust me."

 "Oh, I can’t wait."

She walked off, leaving the two of you alone in the corner of the jet. You noticed Reid had been watching you for a while, his expression unreadable. When you finally caught on and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he just shrugged and gathered the cards from the table. His fingers shuffled them with effortless precision, the motion smooth and almost hypnotic.

You shook your head, tearing your gaze away from the cards and focusing on his face again.

“What thoughts are you hiding in that brilliant mind of yours, smarty?”

“Those exactly,” he replied almost immediately. He fell silent for a moment as he tucked the cards back into the box. You watched him closely, curiosity piqued, waiting to hear what he’d say next because you didn’t fully understand his response.

“You always call me something,” he added after a pause. “You know…”

“Pet name,” you supplied the term he was missing.

He nodded, and you stayed quiet for a brief moment, wondering if you really used them that often. You’d never given it much thought—they just slipped out naturally when you were teasing him. He’d never reacted to them before, and it had never even crossed your mind that it might cause him any discomfort.

Your expression grew a bit more serious as you shifted in your seat to face him directly.

“Does…does it bother you? Because, you know, if it does…”

“No!” he denied quickly, a faint hint of embarrassment flashing across his face, as if wondering whether he’d been too eager. He shifted into a calmer expression, letting out a small sigh. “No, that’s really not it. Actually…I like them. I like when you use them.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as he admitted it. But the question still lingered in your mind—if that wasn’t it, then what was?

"I just realized…" he continued slowly, with a hint of hesitation. You noticed that both of you had lowered your voices compared to the lively chatter during the card game. It was as if, unintentionally, you'd created a small bubble, separating this moment from the rest of the team.

You liked his whisper. Sometimes, it felt stronger than his regular voice, mostly because whenever he lowered it, it was usually tied to some genuine emotion.

"That I never use them myself. I mean, I don’t call you anything other than your name."

"I don’t…I don’t expect that from you."

"I know. I know, it’s not like I thought you were expecting it. I just started wondering if maybe you'd like me to... to start doing it too. I admit, it’s not something I’m used to—"

"If you’re comfortable with it," you interrupted him without meaning to, feeling the need to emphasize it. Until now, it hadn’t mattered how he addressed you; it didn’t bother you when it was just your name. After all, hey, it’s not really the most important thing in a relationship. But when he suggested it, you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. "I’m serious, Spence. Don’t force yourself if it feels unnatural," you added, slowing down a bit, feeling the slight tremor in the corner of your lips. You noticed how his brow furrowed slightly when he caught that movement. Usually, it meant there was an idea forming in your head, and this time, it was no different. "But if you really want to…you should know I have some requirements in this area."

"Requirements?" he repeated, sounding confused, as if he thought he misheard. "Sorry, but what kind of requirements could you possibly have when it comes to pet names?"

“Oh, you have no idea how many,” you scoffed, leaning slightly toward him with a mischievous gleam in your eye. Reid blinked, clearly both curious and a bit apprehensive. “I know you, your mind... so I guess you shouldn’t be surprised that I’m expecting you to be creative. I mean no babe. No honey. 

Spencer stared at you for a moment, a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he let out a soft laugh.

"Alright, I’ve got it. No babe, no honey. Anything else to add to your list of demands?"

"Hmm, let me think," you murmured, to which he rolled his eyes. You didn't actually have anything else in mind; you just wanted to keep him in that state of uncertainty. But then, an additional thought occurred to you. "Oh, I know. It has to really fit with me. And with you. I want using it to come as naturally to you as possible. And I don't want you complaining to Penelope later, saying I forced you into it."

"Seriously, do you think I'd complain about you to Penelope behind your back?" he asked, pretending to be offended. He shook his head as if disappointed. "It's obvious I go straight to Morgan with stuff like this..."

You lightly tapped his arm.

"Is everything clear?" you made sure to ask, keeping your hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at your hand briefly before nodding.

"As clear as the sun. Has to be original and fit," he recited the two demands in their briefest form. He left his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to add something, as if he was about to come up with the perfect nickname, but clearly, he hadn’t thought of one yet. He let out a short sigh of surrender. "This...this might take a while."

"Take your time, babe."

"Hey, you said we're not using that..."

"I only said you’re not using that”

"So what’s the point of giving me all these demands when..."

You both fell silent only when the jet neared its landing.

*

Working on the case had put a bit of distance between you. Well, it wasn’t unusual—there were often plenty of witnesses to interview, multiple locations to visit or search, and the team simply had to split up. Whenever Hotch assigned you somewhere, he always paired you up in the most complementary way possible, ensuring that your skills and experience balanced each other out. As the youngest members, relying more on brains than brawn, you and Reid rarely ended up partnered together.

And this time was no different.

You sat in the front seat of the car beside Gideon, who was driving. The two of you were headed to one of the victims' homes in silence, and you used the moment to glance at your phone—only to spot a message from none other than Reid.

spence: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on the jet, and I think I have a few suggestions that meet all of your conditions.

spence: Sorry for texting, but I’m not sure if we’ll get a chance to see each other today, and I wanted to tell you that.

y/n: tell me

y/n: i mean u should be thinking about the case rn not about me

y/n: but i’m just gonna assume ur brain is multitasking enough to do both

spence: Because it is.

y/n: wow so humble

y/n: so???

y/n: what’s with the pet names

y/n: surprise me, genius

spence: Sorry, I don’t have time to write proper explanations for all of them or explain why I think they suit you.

spence: But a few of them are love, dear, darling.

y/n: sweet, but kinda basic

y/n: anyway up to you

y/n: u’ll be the one saying them

spence: Yeah, but you’ll be the one called them, and it has to be something you like. What do you think?

spence: Maybe something less typical like pumpkin

y/n: pumpkin HAHAHA

spence: ?

y/n: sry, i just can’t picture u saying that out loud

y/n: u browsing some top 100 pet names for ur gf site rn?

spence: No

y/n: i’m telling garcia to check ur browsing history, silly

y/n: don’t even delete it she’ll find it anyway

spence: I admit, pumpkin is awful

spence: I really like daisy, but i know you're allergic to pollen

y/n: how do u know i’m allergic to pollen?

spence: 👍🏼

It was truly an exhausting yet enlightening response. Anyway, you didn’t dwell on it too much. Sometimes he just knew. Together with Gideon, you had already arrived at the right address, so you shoved your phone back into your pocket and got ready to get back to work.

*

The words we are ready to deliver the profile were a milestone in every case you worked on.

They marked a gathering of the entire team, where you would collectively organize the information you had gathered during the investigation. Together, you had managed to uncover the unsub’s identity, but there was still the task of determining their motive and locating where they might be holding their still, as you hoped, victim. 

"The unsub spent most of his life caring for his severely ill, mentally abusive grandfather, of whom he was the only relative, which is why he now targets victims of a similar age," Derek began, crossing his arms over his chest. "He holds them for twenty-three days, mirroring the twenty-three years he dedicated to caring for him."

"He sees it as lost time, wasted. He never finished school, he was socially withdrawn. By repeating the same pattern with his victims, he believes he's getting something back," explained Reid, standing beside you, tapping one hand thoughtfully.

"This is all we have,” you muttered under your breath. ‘But we're missing the most important thing. Where is he? Where is he holding this man?”

“Garcia is working on that,” Hotch reassured you, pressing his finger to the earpiece.

“Give... give me some time,” Penelope asked in a distant tone, drowned out by the sound of keys being pressed rapidly. “ I think I have something... I need to check...ugh, fifteen minutes!”

After those words, she fell silent, leaving you all in anticipation. With a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest, hoping she would find something. Reid stood by your side, slightly separated from the rest. Yet when he spoke, he lowered his voice to a murmur.

You stepped closer to hear him better.

"Vivi," he said softly.

You frowned at him, and his gaze hesitantly met yours—but once it did, it refused to let go.

"From the Latin vivus," he explained. "Full of life, vibrant."

You remained silent for a moment, savoring the echo his words left behind and the look on his face—just a hint of uncertainty creeping in as he waited for your reaction. If it weren’t for the fact that your team members were bustling around and the circumstances weren’t exactly romantic, you might have slipped under his arm. Instead, you settled for a small, sweet smile.

"That’s really pretty, Spence," you admitted, catching the faint shimmer in his dark eyes. "You think it suits me? Do you like it?"

He nodded slowly. You couldn't shake the feeling that something didn’t quite fit, that it didn’t sound natural coming from him. Maybe it was just your imagination? Or perhaps he was distracted, lost in more important thoughts while you were bothering him with pet names? You didn’t really have time to figure that out. At that moment, Garcia’s raised voice cut through the line, announcing that she might know where the unsub is holding his victim.

In the next moment, you were already on your way to the given address, listening to instructions on how to get inside without causing harm to the elderly man being held captive. When you and Reid reached him, he was loosely tied to a chair with rope, his head hanging limp against his chest. You crouched beside him, checking his pulse. It seemed like a simple loss of consciousness, likely caused by the stress and exhaustion of being held captive for over two weeks.

"Untie him," you said automatically to Reid, even though he had already started doing it before you spoke. "Can you hear me, sir? Damn it, I think we’ll need an ambulance..."

"Since when do angels curse?" A hoarse, weak whisper escaped the man's throat.

You exchanged confused glances with Spencer, momentarily frozen in place. The man's temples twitched before he gently lifted his head. His gaze landed on your face, and very slowly, he began to regain full consciousness.

"I died. And you're an angel, right?" he asked.

You sighed with a certain sense of relief. He was a bit delirious, but it seemed nothing serious was wrong with him.

"Don't worry, you’re not dead, sir. Actually, you’re perfectly fine and will be home soon..."

"Whatever you say, angel."

You saw Reid, who was untying the man, try to hide a amused expression on his face. Even after two weeks spent in captivity, Mr. Murphy managed to muster a bit of stubbornness. He told the arriving paramedics that he would only get into the ambulance if the angel who freed him went with him. And since you felt really sorry for the elderly man who had been kidnapped and whose mind was a bit frail, you did it.

You didn’t get back on the jet until late at night. Throwing yourself into the seat next to Spencer, you struggled to suppress another yawn. You didn’t even realize when your temple lightly rested against his arm, but through your partially closed eyelids, you noticed him closing the book he had been reading and placing it in his lap.

"Long day, huh, angel?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, brushing your ears as you leaned against him.

"So, you spent the whole day trying to come up with the perfect pet name and ended up just going with the one some confused old guy called me?"you asked, opening your eyes and turning your head to look at him. Or rather, from the position you were in, at his jaw. "Watch out, Spencer Reid. I might accuse you of being lazy."

"I'm not lazy," he denied. "I'm just looking for inspiration in unusual places. Besides, it fits, don't you think? Angel."

"Mhm. Lazy."

With those words, you closed your eyes again, snuggling against him more comfortably. Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, using his free hand to tuck the hair falling onto your face behind your ear.

"Sweet dreams, angel."

[chansdoll]

필릭스 ─── hands on me

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI!  ✁ tattoo artist!felix x afab!reader , sliiight buildup , oral (f. rec) , unprotected p in v (don't be silly) this was a request ♡ i hope you like it ! ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

it wasn't your first tattoo, but it was your first time going to this shop. 

what made it nerve-wracking was the fact that your tattoo artist, felix, was absolutely stunning. you had heard about him through a friend, and now, seeing him in person, it was impossible not to feel a little flustered.

felix was everything you imagined—and then some. his black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that could've been carved by a master sculptor. the tattoos that covered his arms, neck, and chest were intricate and bold, each one telling a story. 

he also had a variety of piercings—small hoops and studs that caught the light in a way that was somehow both edgy and captivating. his warm eyes, though, were what really threw you off guard. despite his tough exterior, there was something soft, inviting, almost comforting about them.

but it wasn’t just his eyes that drew you in. you couldn’t help but focus on his lips, which were perfectly shaped—plump and naturally a little shiny, likely from the chapstick he kept applying. you found yourself getting lost in the way he spoke, your eyes lingering on his lips as he explained the tattoo process, trying not to blush every time he glanced your way.

he looked so damn good. and that only made your nerves skyrocket.

the tattoo itself wasn’t huge, but the idea of being alone with him, vulnerable as he worked on your skin, had you second-guessing everything. you had no idea how long you could stay still, especially with his hands so close to you.

after you filled out the paperwork, felix returned shortly, holding a few sketches he’d worked on. you had opted for a bite mark design on your inner thigh—something subtle but realistic, something that would look almost like a real imprint. you’d spent hours online researching, and now it was time to make it real. you looked at the options, your hand shaking slightly as you reached out to point at the one you liked the most.

“this one’s perfect,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. your gaze lifted to meet his, feeling heat creep up your neck. you tried to push the nerves down, but it was hard when he was standing so close, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways.

felix chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed your discomfort. his expression softened just a little, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the spot you had pointed to. “don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and calm, almost teasing. “we’ll take it slow. you’ll be fine.”

you nodded, trying to calm the storm of butterflies in your stomach. felix’s confidence was reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and nerves swirling within you. 

felix slipped on his black gloves, the latex stretching over his fingers with a soft snap. he looked up at you, his gaze shifting between the paperwork on the counter and the spot you had indicated for your tattoo. "so, where did you say you wanted it again? your inner thigh?" his voice was steady, but there was a slight curiosity in his tone, maybe even a hint of hesitation.

you nodded, setting your bag down on the table next to the tattoo chair, your hands slightly trembling from both nerves and anticipation. "yeah, the inner thigh."

felix seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking to your leggings. you could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to phrase his question just right. "um... are those rollable?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward your leggings.

your stomach sank, realization hitting you. you had completely forgotten to bring a pair of safety shorts, the kind that would make this whole process a lot easier for both of you. you felt a knot tighten in your chest. "uh... no. they're not," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, suddenly very aware of your clothing.

felix's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly, clearly understanding the situation. he seemed to be weighing his words, a slight furrow of uncertainty crossing his brow before he spoke again. "are you comfortable with... taking them off?" his voice was gentle, yet there was a note of hesitation there, as if unsure how you might react. "if not, it's okay. we can always reschedule, do it another day."

you felt the pressure of the moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. you knew you had to get this done—work was about to pick up, and you didn’t have much time to spare. you couldn’t afford to reschedule. after a brief moment of internal conflict, you sighed softly and gave a small, reassuring shake of your head. "i can take them off. it's fine," you said, your voice a little more steady now. you offered a smile, though it felt slightly forced.

felix's expression seemed to relax at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing. he gave you a small, reassuring smile in return, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "okay," he said gently. "i'll give you some privacy, then."

with that, he turned and made his way toward the door. his footsteps were quiet, almost deliberate, and before leaving, he glanced back at you once more. "let me know when you're ready," he said softly before closing the door behind him, leaving you in the room alone.

you stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through you. you knew it was just part of the process, but it felt more intimate than you anticipated. still, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what came next.

you called out softly, "i'm ready," your voice steady despite the storm of nerves coursing through you. moments later, the door creaked open, and felix stepped back in, his gaze carefully neutral as he approached.

"alright," he said warmly, his tone professional yet kind. he kept his focus on your face as he moved to his workstation, ensuring you didn’t feel self-conscious under his gaze. "let me just get everything set up."

you nodded, clutching the edge of the chair lightly, your palms damp. the air felt cooler against your exposed skin, heightening your awareness of the situation. you reminded yourself that this was just part of the process—felix was a professional, and you were in good hands.

felix busied himself organizing his tools, laying out the stencil, and double-checking the placement. when he turned back toward you, he knelt slightly to meet your eye level, his tone gentle. "alright, i’m going to place the stencil now. let me know if it feels off, okay?"

you swallowed hard and nodded again, your throat feeling tight. "okay," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix moved closer, his gloved hands brushing lightly against your skin as he positioned the stencil on your inner thigh. his touch was firm yet delicate, and the closeness of it all made your heart race even faster. you forced yourself to stay still, focusing on your breathing.

"how does that look?" felix asked, pulling back slightly to give you space to examine the placement. his eyes met yours, soft and reassuring, as if sensing your nervousness.

you glanced down, grateful for the chance to break eye contact. the stencil looked perfect—exactly where you’d envisioned it. "it’s great," you said, trying to sound more confident. "right where i wanted it."

"good," felix replied, smiling slightly as he stood up. he moved to adjust his machine, the hum of it filling the room a moment later. "you ready to get started? i’ll go slow at first, so you can get used to the feeling."

you nodded, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. "yeah, i’m ready."

felix leaned in again, his presence calming despite the anxiety bubbling within you. his voice was gentle as he spoke. "just let me know if you need a break, okay? you’re doing great so far."

the first touch of the needle against your skin was sharp, but it was the kind of pain you could endure. you tried to focus on the steady hum of the machine and felix’s soft, calming instructions. still, his closeness made it hard to relax—his body angled toward you, his breath occasionally fanning over your skin, and the subtle brush of his hand near your inner thigh sent your heart racing.

felix worked with a laser focus, his movements precise and practiced as he outlined the stencil. his professionalism was clear, but the proximity made it impossible for you not to notice every little thing—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands through the gloves, and the way his dark eyes stayed intently on his work.

lost in his task, felix leaned in further, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. his knuckles brushed the outside of your underwear, a touch so light it could have been accidental, but it sent a jolt through you. the sensations from the needle—the sharpness, the vibrations—only seemed to amplify the growing heat in your core. you pressed your lips together, willing yourself to stay still, but the ache was becoming impossible to ignore.

as felix adjusted his position, his hand grazed just slightly closer, his knuckles brushing against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. the contact was brief but electric, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it. the sound was barely audible over the hum of the tattoo machine, but felix froze instantly, his head snapping up.

his dark eyes locked onto yours, a mix of concern and something unspoken flashing across his face. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care as he set the machine down on the tray beside him. his gaze flicked over your face, searching for any sign of distress.

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. the weight of the situation hit you all at once—the intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability of being in this position with someone like felix, and the fact that he had noticed your reaction. you nodded quickly, your face burning as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m fine," you said, your voice a little higher than usual, betraying your flustered state.

felix’s brows knitted together briefly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. he tilted his head slightly, his tone softening even further. "you sure? we can take a break if you need."

you swallowed hard, shaking your head more firmly this time. "no, really, i’m okay. just... sensitive, i guess." you gave a nervous laugh, hoping to brush it off.

felix’s lips curved into a small, understanding smile, though there was still something unreadable lingering in his expression. "alright," he said gently. "but if anything feels uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?"

you nodded again, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as he returned to his work. his focus shifted back to the tattoo, but the tension in the air felt heavier now, charged with an energy neither of you acknowledged. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed, though the sensation of his hands and the steady vibrations made it a challenge you weren’t sure you’d win.

throughout the duration of the tattoo session, you tried your best to maintain a calm composure, hiding the telltale signs of your arousal as you and felix talked about random things. but felix could see and smell it all too clearly. the scent of your desire wafted through the air, filling his senses and causing an immediate reaction in his jeans. his member began to thicken and strain against the fabric, already tight on its own.

though he knew he needed to remain professional, the sight and smell of your arousal was impossible to resist. he couldn't help but lean in closer, selfishly inhaling more of your intoxicating scent as he worked deftly on your skin. as his breath brushed against your core, a shiver ran down your spine.

but then he caught a glimpse of your slick glistening through your panties, and he almost let out an audible groan. it was clear that you were completely turned on by him and his touch, and he couldn't resist pushing the boundaries just a little further. 

you squirmed slightly, the movement catching his attention. "still doing okay?" felix asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words were laced with a subtle edge, a hint of something more.

"y-yeah," you stammered, your voice unsteady. your face felt hot, and you avoided his gaze, knowing that if you looked at him now, you might lose whatever shred of composure you had left.

felix's lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he refocused on the tattoo. he told himself to stop, to keep this professional, but the temptation was maddening. his hand brushed against your thigh again, his knuckles grazing higher this time, and he swore he felt you shiver.

he glanced up, his dark eyes locking with yours. the room felt unbearably small, the air thick with tension. felix hesitated, his professionalism warring with the primal desire that had been building since the session began.

he leaned back slightly, setting the tattoo machine down. his gloves flexed as he adjusted them, his voice soft but firm when he finally spoke. "you’re... really sensitive here," he said, his words carrying more weight than their innocent meaning should have.

you swallowed hard, your breath quickening. "yeah, i guess so," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix leaned in again, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "if this gets too much for you... or if you need anything, just say the word," he said, his tone almost daring you to admit what he already knew.

the tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken desire. felix's hand had just brushed your slick panties again, his breath hot against your inner thigh, when you jolted slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. your body was trembling, the sensations overwhelming as your arousal built to a point where you could barely think straight.

"felix," you breathed, your voice unsteady as you placed a hand on his wrist, stopping his movements. "i... i need a second."

he froze immediately, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, filled with concern. his hand withdrew gently, and he sat back slightly, giving you space. "are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with worry.

you nodded quickly, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m just... it’s a lot," you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. you couldn’t meet his gaze, but when you glanced down, you caught sight of the prominent bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric. your breath hitched at the realization, and your eyes darted back up to his.

felix followed your gaze and cursed under his breath, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. "i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice rougher now. he shifted slightly, as if trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use.

your heart raced at his words, a mix of embarrassment and intrigue flooding through you. "felix..." you started, your voice trembling.

he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his expression equal parts hesitant and desperate. "if this is too much, we can stop," he said, his tone sincere. "but... if you want, i can help you." his words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

your lips parted, your mind spinning at the offer. "help me?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "you know what i mean." he said, his voice dropping an octave, "i can take care of it. only if you want me to." his gloved hand rested lightly on your thigh, his touch both comforting and suggestive, and his eyes were pleading.

you hesitated, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you considered his words. the ache between your legs was unbearable, and the thought of his skilled hands—or more—bringing you relief was almost too tempting to resist. but the intensity of the moment, the sheer intimacy of what he was offering, made you pause.

"only if you’re sure," felix added, his voice softer now. "i don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with."

you gave him a nod, your voice wavering. “words, y/n.” he said, setting the tool down and taking his gloves off. “i-i’m sure,” you said nervously.

that was all felix needed. he yanked off his gloves, tossing them aside in a hurry. a growl rumbled low in his chest as he leaned in, his hand sliding higher along your thigh, skimming the edge of your panties. his lips were tantalizingly close to your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. 

his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, a teasing, feather-light touch that made you gasp softly. felix smirked, his eyes darkening as he saw the effect he had on you. "so wet," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against your clit through the fabric, drawing a whimper from your lips. "is this all for me?"

you nodded, your body arching into his touch as a soft moan escaped you. felix groaned, leaning down to press his lips against your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate.

 he tugged your panties aside, exposing you fully to his gaze. your pretty lips were glistening, sopping wet with your essence. his eyes drank you in, and he licked his lips before looking up at you. "i want to make you feel good," he said, his voice husky with need. "will you let me?"

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

felix didn’t hesitate. he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer to the edge. 

his touch was gentle and careful as he moved your thighs apart, mindful not to disturb your freshly inked skin. with one hand holding your panties to the side and the other spreading your lips open, he marveled at the sight between your legs. "fuck, you're so wet," he murmured before leaning in for a taste.

the sensation of his tongue piercing against your sensitive flesh caught you by surprise, but it was a welcomed one. a wave of satisfaction rippled through you as he flicked his tongue against your clit with skilled precision. your hand found its way to his head, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging occasionally in pleasure. he looked up at you, a hand running along the inside of your thigh as he lavished attention on your bud.

a deep growl rumbled from his chest as he buried his face deeper into your cunt, sucking and licking with fervent desire. you couldn't hold back the loud moan that escaped your lips or the way your body arched towards him. "just like that," you praised him through heavy breaths, hips bucking against his face desperately.

it was too much. the sight of felix between your legs, his nose buried in your mound and the wet, sloppy noises of him eating you out sent a sharp pang to your core. with a few more sucks from his mouth, you came undone - stars exploding behind closed eyes and pleasure coursing through every inch of your body. felix eagerly lapped up every drop of you, not pulling away until you gently guided his head off of you.

he stood up in front of you, smiling down with pride and lust in his eyes. "feeling better?" he asked playfully. you could only nod, cheeks flushed darkly from the intense encounter that had just occurred. your gaze drifted down to the prominent bulge in his jeans, knowing that he needed release too. "let me help you," you muttered, eagerly reaching for him.

felix’s grin faltered for a moment as your words sank in. his dark eyes widened slightly, and then his smirk returned, this time tinged with a hint of surprise and desire. "you don’t have to do that," he said softly, though the way his voice betrayed just how much he wanted you to.

you swallowed hard, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, but your gaze remained fixed on the straining bulge in his jeans. the thought of him, thick and hard, made your core clench again. you shook your head, your voice steadier now. "i want to."

felix’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low groan, as though he was fighting every instinct he had. "are you sure?" he asked, his hands flexing at his sides. "this wasn’t supposed to go this far. i... i don’t want you to feel pressured."

you stood slowly from the chair, your knees still a little shaky, but your determination unwavering. your hands reached for his belt, and when you looked up at him, your eyes were full of intent. "i’m sure, felix," you said softly, your fingers working the buckle open. 

he let out a sharp breath, his restraint snapping as he nodded. "fuck," he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "i’m not going to hold back, then."

with that, felix helped guide you as you undid his jeans, his cock springing free, the sight making your breath catch. he was surprisingly thick, the head flushed and already leaking precum, and the sheer size of him only made your arousal spark anew. felix leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he pulled you flush against him. 

“bend over that counter for me.” he instructed you, patting your barely clothed ass. you did just that, bending over the counter and arching your back for him slightly. he yanked your panties to the side again, getting behind you hurriedly. he rubbed his fat tip against your wet lips, coating himself with a groan. he pushed himself inside you slowly, as if savoring every inch being swallowed by your cunt. each second of his cock filling you was pure bliss; he felt divine. 

he buried himself to the hilt, a low, throaty groan leaving his lips. he ran his hands up your back, catching your shoulder to pull you back against him. “oh, you feel so good,” he grunted, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of your cunt. he lifted your leg carefully, helping you rest it on the counter so he could fuck you better. 

his hands roamed your body as he fucked into you, one of them resting in the crevice of your thighs and your hip, squeezing into your flesh. he sped up quickly, rutting into you with low growls and curses. his thick tip massaged your g-spot so deliciously, making a pit form deep in your stomach. you whined loudly, crying out in bliss as he stretched you fully.

felix abruptly halted when he heard a sharp knock at his door, and he cursed under his breath. "i'm with a client," he hollered, his hands still kneading your flesh while he paused inside you. the sound of footsteps retreating from outside his door made him exhale heavily with relief. he quickly returned to thrusting into you with renewed vigor, the thrill of almost getting caught fueling his actions. 

as he continued to fuck you senseless, you whimpered in excitement, knowing that any minute someone could walk in on you both. "you almost got us caught," felix growled, increasing his pace to an unrelenting one as he whispered dirty words in your ear. the possibility of being caught only heightened the intense pleasure pulsating through your body, and you couldn't help but moan louder with each powerful thrust.

felix moaned loudly as your pussy tightened around him, fluttering and milking him with every delicious movement. "f-fucking...shit, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out hoarsely. his fingers dug into your skin now and his hips were moving quickly and urgently as he chased his release.

your ass slapped against his waist, the loud clapping sounds echoing in the room. "cum in me," you whimpered, glancing back at him over your shoulder with pleading eyes. he didn't need to be told twice and obliged, your words sending him over the edge in no time. with a deep growl, he threw his head back and bit his lip as he emptied himself inside of you. he pumped you full with his load, his cock twitching with each spurt of cum.

you whined in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as he continued to thrust slowly in and out of you, mixing his release with your own essence. his gaze never left where your bodies were connected, as if he was in a trance from how thoroughly fucked out he was. 

he finally pulled out wetly, helping you stand back upright. “are you okay?” he asked, tucking himself away quickly and helping you fix your panties. you nodded, still dazed from the thorough fucking he gave you. “yeah, th-thanks for helping me,” you looked up at him, a dark blush on your face. 

he grinned and zipped his pants back up. “don’t mention it,” he nodded toward the chair. “should we continue?”

needless to say, you continued. and you definitely would be coming back.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo'66 au ! old!serial killer! rafe x young!sugardoll!reader

warnings : daddy issues/kink. slight of rafe having a god complex. smut. sick love/obssession/behavior. age gap. size kink. gunplay. spit. mean!dark!rafe. mentions of kidnapping/murdering. dark content. be careful with the warnings.

author's note : i think a lot about rafe having a god complex. and the way it could fix him to have a girl who cherish him and love him like he's just the only one. as the same i think a lot of rafe being a cult!leader with a sweet lamb. anyways, enjoy !

you knew you weren't allowed to touch his gun, but you couldn't pretend that the forbidden rules didn't excite you either. the proof being that you were still with rafe even though he had kidnapped you. you had found the glock in the drawer, and now you were having fun with it to the point where you hadn't heard your jailer come home. you were too captivated by the handgun to pay attention to that.

“ will you teach me how to shoot ? ” you asked in a soft tone.

“ obviously not. but i can swear to you that if you don't put the gun right in my hand in a second, i will show you how i use it. especially on a little tiny thing like you. now stop playing and give it to me, sugardoll. i already told you to not get on my nerves. ”

“ are you a serial killer or something ? ” you said to him, not aware about his job.

“ no obviously, i'm a babysitter. see ? how well i care about little silly girls ? ” he answered with the most sarcastic tone. “ i think you already know what i am, but you like playing dumb. because you're desperate for my attention. you need me to explain things, to satisfy your need of validation. that's right ? ”

he moved from his place, and placed himself behind you, your small body caged against his bigger size. you could feel all the pressure of his strength on you, and you started to shiver when his breath came near to your ears.

“ since you want to play with daddy's gun so bad, i'm willing to give you what you want. ”

“ no, i don't want to play anymore ! ”

“ oh i'm afraid to tell it's too easy like that, sugar. the game doesn't stop when you decide. the game stops when i’m done playing. got it ? nod your head if you got it.”

you really started to be his doll, accepting to nod whenever he wants, to use you whenever he feels the need, to move whenever he decides. when you nodded your head, giving him a little look, he grabbed the gun.

“ you will kill me ? don't, i can be good ! ”

“ you can ? no, you will. choose your words better, sugardoll. why are you crying right now ? the worse it yet to come actually. now, open that pretty mouth of yours. ”

you refused, shaking your head. you were terrified that he would kill you.

“ i said open it. if i have to repeat it, i swear that i will snap dry this gun further in your cunt, and everytime a sound will come out your mouth, pushing it deeper inside. do you understand me ? now, don't you want to be a baby sugardoll, full of kindness and sweetness ? show me how sweet and pretty you are for me. and listen to me. ”

with tears on your cheeks, you slowly opened your mouth. you could feel rafe’s smile against your neck. you were so submissive, the perfect victim. he had chosen you well the day he saw you. like a true serial killer, he never missed his prey.

“ this is why you call me sugardoll ? ”

“ see ? i'm good enough to give you a nickname. ”

it was sick but you smiled, you felt like you were special in his eyes. maybe rafe had a collection of little dolls but you felt unique.

“ don't kill me. i'm begging you. ”

“ fuck, you don't know how hard you make me when you're desperate like that. but trust me, i will make you see soon how good you make me feel. it will be your reward for being this sweet for me, sugardoll.”

he spread your legs, holding them wide with his strong hand covering your trembling thigh while his other hand brought the front of the gun down onto your skin. passing the coldness of steel across your tummy, while you shivered at the thought of dying. when he got to your underwear. you had heard his smirk.

"oh sure, you don't want to die. you want to be fucked. it's so wet here, i could stick the gun in without even preparing you, it would slide off so easily.” his mocked tone made you yelp.

“ i'm not controlling myself ! ”

“ and you don't need too. let me take care of you. keep your mouth open. i will put my gun in. ”

“ i can't do this ! it seems very dangerous…”

“ then suck it well, sugar. especially, if you don't want me to empty the gun on your gorgeous throat. ” he warned you, while pressing his lips on your neck. it was not a kiss, but you were so soft for this little touch. you wanted to please him, to see him proud of you.

he rushed the pistol between your wet plump lips, and you almost choked on it. “ be careful, doll, daddy's gun it's loaded. ” he said with a smile that made your tears even saltier.

while you had started to do your job, his fingers were lightly pressed on the surface, fiddled with the trigger. he loved seeing your petrified eyes, he loved feeling your blood freeze inside your veins, the way you resembled a frightened and helpless animal. you were defenseless and he had no limits.

you lapped at the cold metal at first, your tongue rolling over the barrel, swirling like a needy pet, and licking every bit of the object. you didn't waste anything, moistening the weapon with your own spit, some trails dripped down your tits. rafe had pushed the gun farther, almost into your throat. you choked, a trail of saliva raining over your jaw.

there was nothing amusing about it, but he found it fun. you sucked like your life depended on it even though let's be honest, it did. you moved back and forth quickly, rushed every movement with a softly sloppy gasp. he loved, no he adored the view of your ruined face and your mouth stuffed by the cold weapon. your great job made his dick painfully hard. you could feel the gun under your tongue, and the way it abused you. you drooled, a batch of saliva engulfing one side of the charger.

“ slow down, sugardoll, you're about to melt. ”

you felt dirty for being turned on by something so humiliating, the way you were pathetic for every single thing he introduced you to. it was as if he knew what you wanted, and how to exploit it. he could destroy you as well as shape you. you were nothing but the doll he wanted to play with. he knew more than anyone how to make you feel good. he knew well how to play with his toys.

you were killing him slowly with the way you were going about it, your pink tongue tickling the barrel, your mouth swallowing the entirety of his gun. every inch moved in and out of your parted lips. you lost count of the number of times you almost choked to the point you could throw up, you did your best.

the cold air of the room hit the soaked fabric of your underwear. it had gotten so wet down there.

you tried to focus on this dangerous game but you saw his bulge growing, his crotch distorting his pants.

“ keep sucking, i'm not done. ”

“ but ..."

he ignored you and took off his pants and boxers, freeing his hard cock. the next minute he was inside you, completely buried to the point where you could feel him all the way to your stomach. you salivated on the handgun, making a rain all over it.

as he filled you up, his thick cock abusing your tight pussy, the position was totally different, you were lying there, still the gun in your mouth, but now he was fucking you. his eyes were on you, and you could feel that motivating him even more to pounded you. your juices pooled on the surface the deeper he went. the slobber gathered around the metal. he rushed away your tears with his thumb.

“ stop whining, sugardoll. you can't cry when daddy takes you so well. ”

you really wanted to listen to him but it was too much for you. you were full of tears and they constantly wanted to come out, even when you felt good. but it was like the more you cried, the more he bullied your pussy, and by that, giving you more reasons to whine.

“ jesus, i'm pretty sure that you really like that gun in your mouth. ” he said with a firm thrust that made you squirm, your eyes wettering as the sentence. “ you like being this pathetic ? don't worry, i got you, i'm not judging you, but don't mind if i take advantage of it ? of course, you don't mind. you love being this sick, you're just a needy freak. ”

he pulled out before putting it back in you, inched himself deeper and deeper, letting you breathless. he was more rough this time, his fat length stretching you wider. his hips slammed your skin, his sweaty balls slapping you in motion. you nodded your head, your loud moans echoed in the empty room. his heavy hand on your tiny throat, pressuring it every time your walls tighten him.

his big other hand squeezing your small waist, as your core wrapped him harder. “ see ? daddy's making you a new home, right now. ”

his breath was heavy and short, the sweat of his body pressed against yours, while you were about to explode, so close to the orgasm. you were crying even more. and he covered your mouth with his large palm. he hitted the right spot again and again, without a break. you reached the second orgasm quickly, and you waited for him to explode at his turn. but he was taking his time on purpose. he obviously liked to abuse this little cunt of yours, wrecking like it was nothing your cervix. he glared at your glistening eyes with a proud face, while hurting your sloppy cunt. “ be patient, sugar. it's a matter of time but daddy will make you melt, and you will make a big mess on his dick to show how grateful you are ? ”

you didn’t answered, even when he released your mouth from his hands, because of the overheating.

“ you better answer because i can go to the next round. ”

“ yes .. yes !! ”

“ you're so naive, sugar. trusting me this easy, it's your own fault if old men like me use you. like did you really think we will not go on another round ? i'm about to make you dumb. not only your brain, your pussy, all of you. after this, you will not be able to think, to talk and even to walk. ”

your tears made him cum, and you let out a noisy and desperate whimper. “ it's sad for you that i'm the only god you can pray for, because i'm going to ignore all your prayers, making you on your knees every time for nothing more than my own good. sweet lamb, i'm such an uncaring god. but you can't hate on me, even a little, such a pretty precious thing you are. ”

“ why ? ” was the only word that came out of your mouth.

in fact, you were a little sad about this, because you wished that he cared a bit, even an hint about you.

“ nobody deserve you like i do. nobody deserve to touch you, or put an eyes on you, no one. you're just mine, and i need you to understand that clearly. do you got it ? do you even understand what i mean ? i will never let someone have you. never. ”

“ i really love you. ”

“ not only you love me, sugardoll. you adore me, you cherish me, you can't breath without me. do you understand ? how trapped i made you.”

“ bu…”

“ quit crying. you wanted this, you begged for. ”

“ i thought you only wanted to kill me ! ”

“if i wanted to kill you, it would already be done. i don't mind having blood in my hands, i'm a killer after all. but yours, i promise, i would never dream of, sugardoll. ”

it was very sick. but his words made you smile.

“ i want to hug you ! ”

“ don't make me regret my words. i still can choke you to death. ”

“ can i ask a question ? ”

“ jesus, if you don't yap more than a thousandth time each day, you're dead or what ? i swear, tell me your question, but choose it carefully because it will be the last. so, use your dumby brain very well. ”

“ i just wanted to know…if it's the first time you do this with one of your victims ? ”

“ why do you want to know ? ”

“ you need to answer ! ”

“ and you need to mind your own business. ”

“ i asked you a question ! it's not fair if you don't answer it ? ”

“ you better not try to raise your voice at me because i can shout, and trust me, the tears i will bring in your face will not be that pretty. ”

“ you're still mean to me…nothing has changed. ”

“ and you're still annoying. yes, nothing has changed.”

and you smiled at him, your sweet eyes melted on his unhichanged look.

“ someday i know you will love me too ! ”

“ bold to have faith, better to work on it, sugardoll. ”

you gave him a sweet look, even if he was grumpy, you wanted him.

[no-144444]

꩜summary: his sports car doesn't impress you, but he hopes he can still make it work

꩜pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

꩜a/n: slight smut (18+) Bella= beautiful in italian :)

Your dad was clear; ‘Don’t mess with Kimi’. 

How was it your fault if he messed with you first? 

“One more minute, Bella,” he whispered against your lips, his hands roaming up your shirt. He had quali in less than an hour, and he needed to be in the car already, but no. He was here, with you, kissing you silly. You chuckled against him, then pushed him away, getting up and off his lap. He groaned in frustration as he adjusted his trousers. 

“I have to get out of here before my dad personally comes to find me,” you announced, fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror. He watched from behind you, his eyes captivated by the way you moved, spoke, and smiled. He was falling fast, and you didn’t even seem to notice. It was impressive. “And you need to deal with your hard-on,” you turned back to him, a practically sadistic smirk on your lips. 

His cheeks heated and he blushed, but he didn’t shy away from your gaze as he did before. He started you right in the eyes and smirked, taking your hand again. “Maybe you could take care of it, huh?” he smirked, a cocked eyebrow to match. You laughed and kissed his cheek, leaving a mark you knew he’d rub off if he was halfway smart, and shook your head. 

“Good luck in quali Kimi, don’t crash the damn thing,” you saluted and closed the door behind you, leaving Kimi pent up, and yourself giddy. Kimi was a nice guy. He was young, he was new, he was it apparently. Your dad adored him and so did your mom. He got on with George and all the other drivers. He was funny and sweet, and totally not yours. You liked him, sure. He was the kind of boyfriend every girl would want, but you weren’t the right kind of girl for him. You were messy and mean, and you knew the novelty of the ‘cool girl’ would wear off eventually, so you didn’t really mind messing around with him, because it was always going to be temporary. It always was. 

The team were out celebrating George’s engagement when the attention turned to Kimi. He might have been the new kid on the block, but he was sure he’d never get used to all the prying questions. Not that he was a closed book, he just didn’t exactly enjoy questions about his personal life every few seconds. 

“What about you Kimi, any girlfriends?” Toto mused and Kimi stilled for a split-second. 

Then he laughed and shook his head, all too aware of the fact that he was speaking to his boss, yes, but also to the father of the girl he was trying to pin down and make his girlfriend, for real. He cleared his throat. “No, not right now-” there was meant to be a ‘but’ there, but Toto cut him off before he could finish. 

“See, that’s what I like to see!” he announced to the table of various sponsors. They chuckled around him as Kimi’s cheek heated, then the cheering came. “No distractions, no messing around, just pure racing.” 

Toto had that fatherly look in his eye, the one Kimi saw more than he probably should’ve. More than you probably saw it. It wasn’t lost on him, the strained relationship you two had. It was pretty obvious, and you didn’t care to talk about it, so he didn’t ask. But Toto talked. He talked about how disappointed he was with you quitting racing despite being brilliant. He talked about how he disapproved of your current career (software engineer student), because he saw your potential. 

“But,” Kimi continued, the cheers quelling. “I do have my eye on someone,” he shrugged as Toto’s face dropped, and the rest of the table cheered louder. 

“Well, you could get anyone you wanted mate,” George chuckled, swinging an arm over his shoulder. “You’re a racing driver.”

Kimi chuckled. “I don’t think she’d be impressed by that. She’s not into sports cars.” 

And it was too late to realise the damage he’d done. Toto’s face hardened, and it took him about 5 minutes before he got up and dialled your number, Kimi none the wiser. 

The next two races were pretty lonely. You weren’t there, weren’t accepting his calls or texts, and Toto was being weird. 

“Kimi,” Toto’s voice rang out like his teachers when he fell asleep in class. “My office.”

He gulped but followed him suit, practically shitting himself. What had he done? What was going to happen? Totos' office was bland, but there were pictures of Susie, Jack, you, and your two older siblings. He cared about it, that much as clear. He just didn’t know how to channel it. Toto sat across from him, his tall frame imposing and intimidating. “Do you know what this is about?”

Kimi shrugged, then realised he should probably be a bit more professional. He cleared his throat. “Umm… no. Not really.”

“You won’t be bothered by Y/n anymore,” Toto nodded. “I’m sorry about her behaviour, it was entirely inappropriate and she knows what she’s meant to be here for, and it’s not that.”

“Oh… um, I asked her out,” Kimi admitted, his leg bouncing wildly, knowing what this confession might cause. “I really like her, and I’d treat her really well- promise! I think she’s awesome. She’s super smart and funny, and she’s a super positive person. Not to mention the fact that she’s beautiful and-” he cleared his throat again, realising that he was rambling about you to your father. “Yeah,” he played with his necklace, trying desperately to calm himself down as he felt another drip of sweat drop down his back. 

Toto was bewildered by the sight in front of him. “You… asked her out?” 

Kimi cocked an eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Huh,” Toto hummed, looking down. Kimi’s confusion only grew. He looked up again. “Well… I guess I can’t stop you from having a relationship, but I still need your full focus on the races, yes?”

“Of course,” Kimi nodded. “Full attention.”

Toto smiled. “Good, you’re free to go.”

Walking out of his office, Kimi felt a weird sense of confession. He had told Toto before he’d told you that he wanted you. 

He sent you another text. 

After another week of no replies, he decided it was time to get creative, and get creative he did. He somehow weaselled his way out of school for a few days to go and hunt you down in Monté-Carlo, so that you would finally respond to him. 

“That’s it,” George explained over the phone. “That’s her place. It’s their old house but Toto, Susie, and Jack moved out a few months ago to a new place, closer to the airport, and she stayed there to start college on her own.”

“So she should be at home by now?” he questioned, pulling into your driveway, the cosy house ahead of him making him think of you immediately. 

“Yeah, she does online classes and works at a cafe nearby, she should be done, so Susie says,” he nodded. “Alright mate, good luck.”

“Thanks mate,” Kimi huffed as he got out of his car, ending the call. 

Your doorbell was loud, like, annoyingly loud. Therefore Kimi ringing it until you came out was loud. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you demanded as you swung open the door, a look of surprise on Kimi’s face. That melted into a soft, boyish, perfectly Kimi smile. You rolled your eyes. 

“I wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Want to go for a drive?” he offered, keys in hand. Behind him stood his new Mercedes AMG GT 63 S, and again, you rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t care about cars-”

“I know you don’t,” he chuckled. “But you do care about me.” 

You stared back at him. He had a lot of nerve coming up to you after getting you banned from the paddock and a 4 hour long lecture about sleeping around with your dads drivers- which you didn’t do with Kimi. You didn’t sleep with anyone, you were just flirtatious by nature, and he hated it. You got on with people, you had interpersonal skills and he didn’t and it pissed him off. “You’re very presumptuous.”

“You know I’m right,” he took another step forward and snaked a hand around your waist. “Come on Bella, I miss you,” he admitted, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. He wasn’t his regular flirty and funny self, this was real. He cared. 

“Your car still doesn’t impress me,” you shook your head, brushing his hands off and grabbing your house keys before following him to his car. “And I need to be back soon, I have some homework to get done.” 

“You’re so smart,” he stated, a hand running through your hair mindlessly as he drove the streets of Monaco, as the sun set. You had a favourite route, the one you’d taken him on last summer when whatever this was started. He remembered it. He started that way and you smiled despite yourself, and then focused your eyes on the scenery around you. The blue ocean to your left, the rocky mountains to your right. It was truly stunning. 

He pulled into a little look-out and you both sat in silence for a moment, soaking in the view of the sea in front of you, then you turned to him, and kissed him. 

Of course you did, even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t. You needed to break this off, and just leave him to go racing with your dad, and fade into obscurity in his mind. But something kept you running back. He reached over and grabbed a handful of your ass, spurring you on to climb over the centre console and sit yourself in his lap. Quickly, his kisses grew hungrier, grabbing more of you, holding you closer. He wanted more, needed it. 

“More,” he begged against your lips. A split-second decision meant your top was off and his hands were all over your tits. Fading into obscurity was going really well, clearly. “So beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his kisses down your neck and eventually down to your tits. Next, his hand made its way down your trousers, his fingers lightly brushing against the place you wanted him most. If you could get a fuck out of the last time you’d be together, maybe the heartbreak was worth it? You’d realised in recent times that no, you didn’t dislike Kimi, not at all in fact. You very much liked him. Well, as they say ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

“Fuck, Kimi,” you moaned as he finally quit teasing and finally started pumping his fingers in and out. You grinded against him, sending a shiver down his own spine. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, lost in the pleasure. “Ti amo,” he whimpered as you grinded down on his cock. You stopped all your movements for a moment and looked at him. You both went wide-eyed at what he’d said, and quickly, your top was back on and you were in the passenger seat, waiting for one of you to say something. He licked his fingers clean in the mean-time (gross), and you tried to fix your hair.

“What’s this about then?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, shrugging. “I missed you. You weren’t replying to me, so I came to you.” 

You huffed. “Why did you miss me?”

“Because I love you?” he chuckled. 

“You like making out with me before a race, that doesn’t mean you love me,” you argued. “All we do is physical, we never talk about anything which means we don’t even know anything about each other-” 

“I know a lot about you,” he shook his head. “And I want to know more. You know a lot about me too.” “You won’t like me soon,” you murmured. He whipped his head around to look at you, his mouth open to speak. You stopped him. “Don’t, Kimi. I know, it’s fun to fuck the ‘cool girl’ until you actually get into a relationship with me and realise that I’m just a regular person-”

“I want you to be a regular person,” he interrupted, taking your hand tentatively. “And I want you to know I’m not in this for the sex.” 

You turned your head to look at him. “You don’t.” 

“I do,” his voice was soft and light, as if he wasn’t saying something deeply profound. “I think you’re cool, sure. But I also think you're smart, and funny, and a really positive person. You fucking light up the garage when you’re there, and when you’re not, people ask about you all the time. I don’t know what idiot put these ideas into your head, but you need to forget them. I want you, and I want you to be you. I don’t want some polished, less version of yourself. I want the real you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You just sat there for a moment collecting your thoughts. “Ok,” you breathed out. “We should give this a try.”

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your hand. “This car is pretty great,” he added after a moment’s silence. You shook your head, laughing. 

“Shut up Kimi.” 

navigation for my blog :)

mercedes & williams masterlist

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤyandere monster harem

pairings. various m! yandere monsters x gn! reader

warnings. yandere themes, toxic obsession, 18+ dark themes

a/n. i love my sillies!!

wc. 6.1k

imagine a dark, mystical forest where you're the lone human, fated to cross paths with a group of terrifying yet obsessively devoted monsters.

each of them is unique in their appearance and abilities, but they all share one thing: an unrelenting desire to make you theirs, no matter the cost.

the werewolf

a hulking figure with sharp claws, wild amber eyes, and a low growl that vibrates through your very bones. he encountered you when you wandered too close to his den during a full moon. despite his primal instincts, he resisted harming you, instead captivated by your bravery—or foolishness.

he tracks your scent everywhere you go. if you so much as step outside, he’s already following from the shadows, ensuring your safety (and warding off anyone who dares to come near).

he marks your belongings with his scent and doesn’t hesitate to bare his teeth at anyone he deems a threat. you’re his mate, and he’ll challenge anyone who thinks otherwise.

though rough and wild, he becomes uncharacteristically gentle when he sees you hurt or scared, licking your wounds and curling protectively around you.

the werewolf is a wild, untamed force of nature, his obsession with you rooted in instincts so primal he can't suppress them even if he tried.

he watches you from the shadows, always nearby but rarely letting himself be seen at first. your scent drives him to madness—earthy, warm, uniquely you. it's comforting and addictive, and he can't get enough. he's stolen pieces of your life to keep close: a scarf left behind, a mug you drank from, anything that holds your essence.

his possessiveness is terrifying. he won't let anyone else near you if he can help it. if someone gets too close, he intervenes, his voice low and threatening, his golden eyes burning with barely concealed rage. no one dares challenge him; there's something in the way he moves, the way he looms, that screams danger.

he doesn't understand human boundaries. if you're speaking to someone too long, he'll step in, claiming he needs to talk to you or finding some excuse to drag you away. if you protest, he'll growl—not at you, never at you—but in frustration. you're his; why can't everyone else see that?

but with you, he's soft. gentle. when he's sure you're not afraid of him, he'll let you closer, let you see the man beneath the beast. his touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he's afraid he'll break you. when you're upset, he wraps himself around you, his warmth and presence enough to shield you from the world.

his affection shows in small ways. he brings you gifts from the forest: flowers, feathers, shiny rocks he thought you'd like. he watches your reaction closely, his heart swelling with pride when you smile. if you ever thank him, he becomes almost shy, looking away with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

jealousy is his constant battle. if he sees someone making you laugh or smile, his claws dig into his palms. he won't confront you about it, but the person who caused his jealousy might find themselves on the receiving end of his wrath later.

at night, he lingers near your home. the thought of you alone, unprotected, drives him crazy. he paces, his instincts screaming at him to stay close. sometimes, he leaves small signs that he's there—a paw print in the dirt, a tuft of fur snagged on a branch—as if he wants you to know he's watching over you.

his biggest fear is your rejection. he knows he's more beast than man, and the thought of you being afraid of him keeps him awake at night. if you ever flinch or pull away, it shatters him, and he'll retreat, his golden eyes filled with pain. but he always comes back, unable to stay away, his obsession too strong to overcome.

you are his anchor, his reason for fighting the beast within. he doesn't care what it takes; he'll keep you safe, even if it means keeping you all to himself. his love is overwhelming, suffocating, but he doesn't see it that way. to him, it's devotion—pure, unbreakable, eternal.

his growl rumbled low as kael draegon stepped from the shadows, his golden eyes fixed on you with that same wild, desperate intensity.

"don't be afraid," kael draegon whispered, his voice rough but steady as he offered you his hand. the cold breeze tugged at his hair as he stood beside you, his voice soft as he murmured, "you're safe now, with me."

kael draegon always seemed to appear just when you needed him, his presence both calming and terrifying. his hand lingered on your shoulder for just a moment before kael draegon pulled back, his voice almost apologetic. "old instincts, i'm sorry."

the vampire

elegant and poised, with glowing crimson eyes and a voice like silk, the vampire first saw you in the dead of night. he was drawn to the purity of your blood but became enthralled by the purity of your soul instead.

his pale, marble-like skin seems to glow faintly in the moonlight, untouched by time or imperfection. his crimson eyes burn with a smouldering intensity, framed by thick lashes that only add to his magnetic gaze.

his raven-black hair falls in soft, silky waves around his sharp cheekbones, perfectly complementing his aristocratic features. his tall, slender frame moves with a predatory grace, and his voice—smooth as velvet—wraps around you like a dark lullaby.

he loves to watch you sleep, marvelling at your vulnerability. He’ll slip into your room at night, not to harm you, but to leave gifts—a rose, a letter, or even a piece of jewellery from an unknown era.

the vampire despises anyone who captures your attention. Friends, family, or even strangers—they’re nothing but distractions. He may use his hypnotic gaze to erase their presence from your life.

he gets flustered when you show him kindness, like bandaging a wound he sustained in your defence. he tries to hide his blush, but his pale complexion betrays him.

the vampire is as elegant as he is dangerous, his presence suffocating yet alluring, like the pull of a siren's song on a lonely traveler at sea. his crimson eyes gleam in the dark, reflecting centuries of wisdom and hunger, but when he looks at you, they’re soft, desperate, and entirely devoted. you’re his obsession, his muse, his reason to exist in a world that has grown cold and lonely with age.

he first saw you during one of his midnight wanderings, his attention drawn by your scent, a sweet, intoxicating mix of vulnerability and warmth. you were an easy target at first—a stranger out on a walk, unassuming, untouched by the weight of the supernatural world. but then he watched you, from the shadows, and the hunger in him shifted. you weren’t just food, not in the way he expected. you were you.

his obsession grew quickly, a slow, crawling thing that nestled in his bones. he has a habit of appearing when you least expect it: slipping through your window as you sleep, standing at the end of a dark alley when you’re walking home, always close but never intrusive enough to harm you. he studies you with endless fascination, watching how you move, how you smile, how you react to the smallest moments of life. you are his everything.

he is a master manipulator, charming and patient, with a voice like silk and words that dance between honeyed promises and half-truths. he always knows just what to say, always seems to be exactly where you are, making sure you feel safe.

but beneath the charm is something ancient, something sharp—a predator who has learned how to play the long game to get what he wants. you are his, and he has all the time in the world to make sure you know it.

his jealousy is sharp and swift. the moment another person shows even the slightest interest in you, his eyes narrow, his smile turns colder. it doesn’t take much for him to make his presence known, weaving himself into your life, into your conversations, until the other person is left with nothing but fear or confusion. you are his, and he’ll ensure that no one else tries to stake their claim.

he doesn’t simply show his obsession through manipulation. he is far more intimate, far more human in the moments where he can let his guard down. he’ll leave you gifts—roses with petals as red as blood, antique trinkets from his many years of wandering, or old letters written in his perfect, flowing script.

he tries to convey his feelings subtly, his words wrapped in metaphors and promises, but they always come from the deepest part of his heart.

he’s possessive in the way only a centuries-old predator can be. he touches you often, with a hand to your cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, or lightly grazing your hand as if you might slip away at any moment.

he isn’t violent, not by nature, but his love is all-encompassing, wrapping itself around you like a snake squeezing its prey. you belong to him in every way, and he has no intention of letting you slip out of his grasp.

his dark powers allow him to watch you from afar, slipping into your dreams, invading the quiet moments of your subconscious. you’ll wake with his voice lingering in your mind, his whispers promises of eternity, of a life spent with him, of safety, beauty, and endless nights. he wants you to rely on him, to lean into his presence, to crave his touch, until you can’t imagine your life without him.

when you show kindness or affection toward him, his calm, elegant mask slips. his eyes soften, his voice trembles slightly, and he finds himself speechless.

he’s terrified of showing too much, of letting you see the raw hunger that lies beneath his smooth exterior, but he can’t stop himself. your smile, your laughter, it means everything to him, more than centuries of darkness and isolation ever could.

he would give you everything. his life, his immortality, his heart. but he struggles with the weight of his own nature—the bloodlust that lies just beneath his perfect, pale skin. he’s not just obsessed with you out of a need to control or dominate; he truly cares. he wants you safe, protected, happy. but his fear of losing you makes him cruel, calculating, and relentless.

you are his forever, and he has no intention of sharing you with anyone else, not with the world, not with time, not with destiny itself. his love is suffocating, but it is eternal, and as much as it terrifies him, he knows you’ll never escape his grasp. he’ll make sure of it.

his voice was like silk as dorian vale leaned against the window frame, his crimson eyes glinting in the moonlight

"you shouldn't be out here alone," dorian vale said smoothly, stepping closer, his voice as soft as a whisper. dorian vale’s gaze was piercing, unyielding, and you could feel every moment of his attention as he looked at you

he handed you a single red rose, his pale fingers delicate as he said, "for you, my dear.

his presence lingered, and you could feel dorian vale’s words in your bones as he whispered, "you were always meant to be mine."

the ghost

a shadowy figure with hollow eyes that glow faintly in the dark, the ghost is a tragic soul who found solace in your warmth. his attachment to you began when you unknowingly lingered in the house he haunts, speaking softly to the empty air as if sensing his presence.

alaric’s form is translucent, a faint, glowing silhouette that shifts and flickers like mist. his features are soft and hauntingly beautiful, with a melancholy that clings to him like a shadow.

his once-vivid eyes are now pale, like the reflection of a full moon in still water, and his long hair drifts around him as if caught in a gentle breeze. though incorporeal, he retains the faint shape of his elegant hands and tall, lean frame, an echo of the man he once was.

his presence feels like a cool touch on your skin, a constant, bittersweet reminder of his undying devotion.

he manipulates the environment to keep you close—doors creak shut when you try to leave, and objects mysteriously disappear, only to reappear where he wants you to stay.

if anyone hurts you, the ghost unleashes his wrath. lights flicker, temperatures drop, and your assailants are haunted until they’re too terrified to approach you again.

he’s deeply moved when you acknowledge him, even if it’s just a whisper to the air. your willingness to accept him, despite his incorporeal nature, solidifies his eternal devotion.

the ghost is a tragic, ethereal figure, bound to you by a love that death itself couldn’t sever. his form is translucent, shimmering faintly in the moonlight, and though he may no longer have a heartbeat, his emotions are as raw and overwhelming as they were in life. he exists in the liminal space between the living and the dead, obsessed with you in a way that is both haunting and heartbreakingly tender.

he doesn’t remember how or when it started—only that one day, he found himself drawn to you, unable to leave your side. whether it was your voice, your laughter, or the way you brought life to even the smallest, most mundane moments, you became his light in the suffocating darkness of his afterlife. he watches you from the corners of rooms, a faint chill in the air marking his presence, his spectral form always lingering just out of reach.

his love is quiet, but all-consuming. he whispers your name into the night when you sleep, his voice carried on the softest breeze. he rearranges small things in your home to make his presence known: a book left open to a meaningful passage, a flower you swore wasn’t there before resting on your windowsill. at first, it’s subtle—gentle signs that you’re never truly alone—but as his obsession deepens, the signs become harder to ignore.

jealousy eats away at him when others capture your attention. he can’t bear the thought of you being close to anyone else, of you laughing or smiling with someone who isn’t him. when you’re out, he follows you like a shadow, unseen but ever-present, and if someone gets too close, the air turns cold, the lights flicker, and an unshakable unease settles over them until they leave.

he craves your touch, but his incorporeal form makes it impossible. this frustrates him endlessly, and he spends nights lingering near you, reaching out as if he could somehow feel the warmth of your skin, the beat of your heart. his desperation leads him to try anything to bridge the gap between life and death, no matter the cost.

despite his possessiveness, he’s deeply protective. he uses his abilities to shield you from harm, warding off danger with an almost primal ferocity. if someone threatens you, they’ll find themselves plagued by unexplainable misfortunes—objects falling, shadows moving, and an unrelenting sense of being watched. he doesn’t harm them directly, but his presence is enough to terrify even the boldest.

when he speaks to you, it’s with a voice like the echo of a forgotten melody, soft and tinged with sorrow. he tells you things you shouldn’t know—secrets from your past, glimpses of your future, things only someone who’s been watching you so intimately could know. he wants you to feel his devotion, his undying love, even if it frightens you.

there’s a tragic loneliness to him. he knows he can never truly be with you, not in the way he desires, and this realization drives him to the edge of despair. his love is obsessive, yes, but it’s also painfully pure—an eternal yearning for a connection he can never fully have.

if you acknowledge him, his devotion only deepens. the smallest smile, a whispered “thank you” into the empty room, is enough to make his entire existence worthwhile. he clings to these moments, replaying them endlessly in his mind, as they are his only solace in an eternity of longing.

he follows you everywhere, unseen but ever-present, his translucent form flickering in the corner of your eye or casting a fleeting shadow against the wall. at first, his presence is subtle, almost unnoticeable: the faint creak of floorboards when no one else is home, a cold breeze brushing against your skin, the lingering feeling that someone is watching you. but as his obsession deepens, his presence grows stronger, more impossible to ignore.

he learns everything about you. the way you hum absentmindedly when you’re focused, the scent of your favorite tea, the books you read late into the night. he listens to the sound of your heartbeat as you sleep, a steady rhythm that lulls him into a state of peace he hasn’t felt since he was alive. he treasures these moments, hoarding every detail about you like precious relics of a life he can never fully be part of.

his jealousy is a storm that rages within him. when others come into your life, his calm demeanor shatters. he can’t bear the thought of you sharing your smiles, your laughter, or your attention with anyone else. the air around you grows colder when someone he deems a threat is near, and they often find themselves inexplicably uneasy in your presence. lights flicker, objects fall, and whispers echo in the corners of the room, driving them away with a fear they can’t explain.

but with you, he is soft, almost fragile. he speaks to you in whispers, his voice carrying the faint echo of a forgotten melody, full of longing and sorrow. "don’t be afraid," he murmurs into the quiet of the night. "i’ll always protect you." his words are laced with an aching devotion, a promise to guard you from harm, even if you don’t fully understand where the comfort is coming from.

he leaves you gifts, though he has no tangible hands to place them. a single white flower on your windowsill that wasn’t there the night before, an old, weathered book that appeared on your desk, or a faint message written in the condensation on your mirror. they’re tokens of his affection, his way of reminding you that you’re not alone, even when he can’t be seen.

despite his protectiveness, he’s painfully aware of his limitations. his incorporeal form frustrates him to no end—he longs to touch you, to hold you, to feel the warmth of your hand in his, but the barrier between life and death is unyielding. he spends countless hours watching you, reaching out with ghostly fingers that pass through you, yearning for a connection he can never truly have.

he’s haunted by the memory of what it felt like to be alive, to love and be loved in return. his obsession with you is his only solace in a world of emptiness, but it also drives him to desperation. he begins searching for ways to bridge the gap between your worlds, delving into the supernatural, seeking answers, rituals, or bargains that might bring him closer to you.

when you acknowledge him, even in the smallest ways, it’s everything to him. a whispered “thank you” when you notice the flower he left, a hesitant glance toward the flickering light he caused—it fills him with a joy so profound it nearly breaks him. he clings to these moments, replaying them endlessly in his mind, as they are the only proof that he still exists to you.

his love is all-consuming, a desperate and eternal yearning that leaves no room for anything else. he doesn’t just want to protect you; he wants to be with you, to share in your life, to have a place in your heart. he knows his love is overwhelming, even suffocating, but he can’t stop. you’re his reason for lingering in this world, the one thing that makes his cursed existence bearable.

in his more vulnerable moments, he confesses his feelings, his voice trembling with a sorrow that spans lifetimes. "i’m sorry," he whispers, his spectral form flickering like a dying flame. "i didn’t mean for this to happen. but i can’t let go. i won’t." his words are both a plea and a promise, a declaration of a love that will haunt you forever.

his devotion is eternal, unyielding, and consuming. he doesn’t see his obsession as wrong; to him, it’s the purest form of love, a connection that transcends life and death. and though his presence may sometimes frighten you, you can’t deny the strange comfort it brings, the knowledge that someone—something—is always watching over you. he is yours, now and forever, and nothing, not even death, will change that.

you are his reason for lingering in this world, his obsession, his eternity.

alaric drifts soundlessly through the walls, his form a faint shimmer of light that barely disturbs the air

"you called for me," he whispers, his voice like the rustle of leaves on a quiet night. he hovers just out of reach, his longing evident in the way he watches you with those hollow, mournful eyes

every creak of the floorboards, every cool breeze brushing your skin—it’s alaric, a constant, invisible guardian, desperate for you to feel his presence.

the demon

with horns curling from his head, molten eyes, and a smirk that could tempt even the purest soul, the demon is as charming as he is dangerous. he first appeared to you when you were at your lowest, offering power and protection—but only if you stayed by his side.

azrael is striking in his infernal elegance, his beauty sharp and dangerous like a blade. his obsidian horns curl menacingly from his head, gleaming faintly in the firelight, and his jet-black hair is cropped just enough to frame his angular face.

his glowing amber eyes burn with an intensity that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying, framed by dark lashes that soften their predatory edge. his physique is perfectly sculpted, with broad shoulders and sinewy muscle wrapped in dark tattoos that pulse faintly with infernal energy.

a long, spaded tail flicks behind him, a subtle testament to his demonic nature, while his sharp, claw-like fingers could destroy—or cradle.

he infiltrates your dreams, filling them with his voice and his image so that you can never forget him. no matter how far you try to run, he’s always there, whispering promises of eternal love.

the demon doesn’t share. he’ll make deals or threats to ensure no one else dares approach you. his flames flare dangerously when he senses competition.

when you challenge his overbearing nature, he’s secretly thrilled. Your fiery defiance makes him want you even more. but when you show fear or sadness, he’s quick to reassure you with surprising tenderness.

the demon is a dangerous enigma, a being forged in fire and darkness who is utterly captivated by you. his obsession burns hotter than the flames of his infernal home, an all-consuming desire that transcends mortal understanding.

he’s not a creature of softness or restraint—his love is raw, primal, and possessive, and he would raze the world to ash if it meant keeping you by his side.

he first noticed you in a moment of vulnerability, a flicker of something pure and radiant that pierced through his otherwise unrelenting darkness. maybe it was your kindness, your resilience, or even your imperfections—whatever it was, it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in centuries.

for a demon who thrives on power and domination, this feeling was alien, unsettling, and exhilarating.

at first, he tried to ignore it. love, after all, is a weakness—a chain that binds. but the more he watched you, the deeper he sank. you consumed his thoughts, invaded his dreams, and stirred emotions he didn’t even know he was capable of. the line between fascination and obsession blurred, and before long, you became the center of his world, his greatest desire and his ultimate possession.

his presence is overwhelming, even when he isn’t visible. the air grows heavy when he’s near, crackling with an unnatural energy that makes your skin tingle. shadows twist and writhe in the corners of your vision, and faint whispers echo in your mind, promises of devotion spoken in a voice as smooth as velvet.

he’s not above manipulating your emotions to keep you close. he knows exactly how to twist words, how to play on your fears and insecurities, all while making it seem like he’s your only sanctuary. "no one will love you the way i do," he purrs, his voice a blend of seduction and menace. "no one will protect you like i can."

jealousy consumes him with a ferocity that borders on madness. he doesn’t tolerate anyone vying for your attention or affection. if someone dares to come too close, they often meet with mysterious misfortunes—car accidents, sudden illnesses, or even inexplicable disappearances. he doesn’t see these acts as cruel; in his mind, he’s simply ensuring that no one can take you from him.

despite his darkness, his love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. he’s incapable of expressing it in soft or traditional ways, but his devotion is absolute.

he treasures every interaction with you, every fleeting smile, every word you speak to him. he hoards these moments like a dragon hoards gold, replaying them endlessly in his mind.

he’s endlessly fascinated by your humanity—the way your emotions shift like the tides, the fragility of your body, the warmth of your skin. he often marvels at how delicate you are compared to him, a creature of immense power and near-immortality. this contrast only deepens his obsession; you’re a treasure, a rare and precious thing in a world of chaos and darkness.

when he does reveal himself to you, it’s always dramatic and intentional. he thrives on your reactions, whether it’s fear, awe, or even anger. he’ll step out from the shadows, his horns catching the dim light, his dark eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity. "you belong to me," he’ll say, his voice leaving no room for argument. it’s not a question, not a plea—it’s a declaration, an unshakable truth in his mind.

he uses his demonic powers to bind himself to you in ways both subtle and overt. you might find strange symbols etched into the corners of your room, or feel an inexplicable pull toward him that you can’t resist. he’s always there, in your dreams, in your thoughts, in the very fabric of your reality.

but for all his power and confidence, there’s a vulnerability beneath his fiery exterior. he’s terrified of losing you, of you rejecting him or finding someone else.

it’s a fear he doesn’t understand, one that gnaws at him and drives him to even greater extremes. he’ll do anything to keep you, even if it means breaking every rule, defying the laws of heaven and hell, and binding your soul to his for eternity.

in his own way, he tries to be gentle with you. he knows his nature frightens you, that his obsession can be overwhelming, so he tempers his intensity—at least, as much as a demon is capable of. he’ll appear to you in dreams, his voice soft, his touch feather-light, weaving fantasies of a life where you’re his and his alone.

but make no mistake—his love is as dangerous as it is consuming. he doesn’t see you as a partner, but as something to be claimed, protected, and possessed. you’re his light in the darkness, his one weakness, and he would destroy anyone—or anything—that threatens to take you from him.

"i’ll burn this world to the ground for you," he tells you, his voice a low growl, his eyes glowing with an intensity that’s equal parts terrifying and mesmerizing. "just say the word."

to him, you’re not just his obsession—you’re his salvation, the one thing that makes his existence bearable. his love is eternal, fierce, and utterly inescapable, binding you to him in ways you might never fully understand. you are his everything, and he will stop at nothing to make sure you remain his. forever.

azrael appears in a flicker of shadows and embers, his smirk sharp enough to cut

"did you miss me?" he purrs, his voice dripping with sinful charm. his burning gaze never leaves yours, an intensity that feels like it could consume your very soul

when he steps closer, the scent of smoke and spice fills the air, and the room grows impossibly warm

"you can’t escape me, little one," he murmurs, his words a promise and a threat all at once.

the sea monster

a towering creature with scales that shimmer in the moonlight and eyes as deep as the ocean, the sea monster saved you from drowning during a storm. since then, he’s watched you from the water’s edge, longing to pull you into his world.

his body a perfect blend of human and sea creature. his skin shimmers with an iridescent sheen, scales glinting faintly with hues of green, blue, and silver that shift like sunlight on water. his long, flowing hair resembles seaweed, dark and sleek, cascading down his back in waves.

his eyes glow faintly, like bioluminescent creatures of the deep, their piercing intensity revealing his ancient power. his hands are webbed and tipped with sharp, claw-like nails, and his muscular frame is marked with jagged scars from battles in the ocean’s depths. his lower half bears fins that ripple with movement, giving him a grace that belies his massive size.

he collects things you’ve touched—seashells, pieces of cloth, even footprints in the sand. his underwater lair is filled with these treasures, each arranged like a shrine.

he hates when you leave the shore. If you venture too far inland, he’ll create storms or tidal waves to draw you back to him.

he becomes surprisingly bashful when you willingly approach the water to speak to him. your trust in him, despite his monstrous appearance, makes his heart swell.

the sea monster is an ancient being, born of the ocean’s depths, where sunlight never reaches. his obsession with you is as vast and unfathomable as the waters he calls home—a love born of isolation, mystery, and an insatiable hunger for connection. to him, you are his beacon, a rare and precious light in the endless darkness of his world, and he is utterly captivated by you.

his first encounter with you was serendipitous—a chance meeting by the shore, or perhaps a daring moment when you ventured too close to the water’s edge. he saw you, a fragile creature of the land, and was instantly enthralled.

your movements, your laughter, even the way the sunlight caught in your hair—all of it was alien and beautiful to him. from that moment, you became his fixation, his reason to rise from the depths.

he watches you from the water, his massive form concealed beneath the waves, his glowing eyes ever watchful. at first, his presence is subtle—the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, the inexplicable pull of the tide whenever you’re near.

but as his obsession deepens, his signs become harder to ignore. strange treasures wash ashore: seashells, polished stones, and other trinkets that seem too deliberately placed to be coincidences.

he is a creature of contradictions. his love for you is as tender as it is overwhelming, and while he longs to be near you, he’s painfully aware of his monstrous appearance. his body is a fusion of scales, fins, and sinewy muscle, a form designed to survive in the crushing pressure of the deep sea. he fears your rejection, that you will see him as a monster rather than the devoted being he has become.

despite this, he can’t help but draw closer. when you venture into the water, he’s there, just beneath the surface, his presence a dark shadow that follows you. he revels in these moments, the closeness, the illusion that he’s part of your world. the saltwater clings to your skin, and it drives him mad with desire—it’s as though the ocean itself is marking you as his.

his jealousy is as fierce as a storm at sea. anyone who dares to draw too near to you risks his wrath. fishermen speak of sudden squalls that rise from nowhere, boats overturned by unseen forces, and sailors vanishing into the depths. he doesn’t see it as cruelty; to him, it’s protection. the ocean is his domain, and no one else has the right to take what belongs to him.

he dreams of pulling you into his world, of making you his in every way. the thought of you joining him beneath the waves consumes him, and he begins to weave fantasies of a life together in the depths—a palace of coral and bioluminescent light, where you would be his queen, his eternal companion.

but he knows it’s impossible, and this knowledge torments him. he can’t survive on land for long, and you can’t live beneath the water. this barrier between your worlds drives him to desperation. he begins seeking forbidden rituals and ancient magic, anything that might allow him to bridge the gap and bring you into his realm—or transform himself into something that can walk beside you on the shore.

when he speaks, his voice is a low, resonant rumble, like the distant crash of waves on a rocky shore. his words are filled with longing and reverence, a declaration of a love that spans the vastness of the ocean. "you are my light," he murmurs, his glowing eyes fixed on you. "without you, i am nothing but the endless dark."

his love is consuming, a tidal wave that sweeps away everything in its path. he doesn’t understand restraint or boundaries; to him, love is absolute, and his devotion to you is all-encompassing. he sees your hesitations, your fears, but he can’t stop himself. you are the first thing in centuries to stir his cold, ancient heart, and he will not let you go.

when you acknowledge his presence, even in the smallest ways—a whispered word to the sea, a touch to one of the treasures he’s left for you—his heart swells with a joy so profound it’s almost painful. he clings to these moments, replaying them in his mind during the long hours when he’s alone in the depths, waiting for the chance to see you again.

his protectiveness is as fierce as his love. the ocean itself seems to bend to his will, rising to shield you from harm. storms part in your wake, currents carry you safely to shore, and even the most fearsome predators of the deep seem to bow before you. you are his everything, and he will guard you with a ferocity that defies nature itself.

but there’s a darkness to his love, a possessiveness that borders on madness. he doesn’t just want you to love him; he wants you to need him, to see him as the only one who can protect and cherish you. "the land will never understand you as i do," he tells you, his voice a low growl, the waves crashing behind him. "they will never love you as i do."

his obsession is eternal, as deep and unyielding as the ocean itself. you are his heart, his treasure, his reason for rising to the surface. and though his love may be overwhelming, even frightening, there’s a strange beauty in it—a devotion so pure and unshakable that it defies the boundaries of worlds. you are his, now and always, and he will never let the tide carry you away.

mio watches from the waves, his body a dark silhouette against the moonlit water. when you finally meet his gaze, he speaks your name like it’s a prayer, his voice low and reverent

"you don’t belong to the land," he says, his tone both pleading and possessive. "the ocean calls to you. i call to you.

his fingers trail through the water, creating ripples that mirror the emotions surging in his chest—desire, devotion, and an unshakable determination to make you his.

while each monster is fiercely possessive, they begrudgingly tolerate each other’s presence because they all agree on one thing: your happiness comes first.

you’re not just a human to them—you’re their everything. whether you accept their twisted love or try to escape, one thing is certain: they’ll never let you go. you’ve awakened something primal and eternal in their hearts, and no force on earth or beyond could sever the bonds they’ve forged with you.

[apricot-blossomss]

☛ the moment they realize they are in love with f! reader [apollo, eros, hermes, ares x reader]

☀️ APOLLO falls for you when he hears you sing

☛ there was nothing you would rather do on a sunday afternoon than have an exhausted god resting on your lap and running your fingers through his hair. right after coming home from his godly duties, apollo had swept you away to this remote flower field in the mortal realm. a glistening stream splashed lightly in your ears as you watched apollo, the way the sun kissed his cheeks and showed his freckles, the way he seemed to glow with a golden hue. his divinity on full display, and at the same time, the visible tiredness made him look more human.

subconsciously, you started humming a tune. a lullaby for your sleeping god as your fingers drew small circles on his scalp. in his slumber, a little huff left his lips that fanned your wrist and you smiled affectionately. it was almost too natural, the way your tune turned into a melody and the way that your humming turned into words, but you couldn't help a grin when you serrated to sing in a low voice. "here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun..."

when apollo was around, poets got inspired, artists creative and people couldn't get catchy melodies out of their heads. wherever he went, he often left the mortals singing and dancing. if he did not say so himself, his voice was ethereal, the most beautiful tune one's ear could ever be blessed with, captivating, divine, amazing. he used to think his was and would always be the most perfect voice in the world, but the one filling his ears as he slowly regained consciousness shook him to his very core.

it only took him a few seconds to realize he was listening to you, singing to him. though a little hushed, your voice was stunning to him, the most ethereal tune and he was definitely not biased. you were ethereal. feeling your soft fingers in his hair, listening to your melodic voice, it was heaven to him. when he carefully cracked his eyes open, you were hovering over him with your adoring eyes and beautiful smile.

as soon as he opened his eyes though, you fell silent and averted your eyes. unfortunately, you misinterpreted his frown for judgement of your very much imperfect vocal abilities and your embarrassment worsened even further. to sing in the presence of the god of music- what had you been thinking? "sorry," you chuckled and looked away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"why'd you stop?" surprised, you looked down at the god and swallowed, seeing his clear green eyes. wondering how to convey the obvious, that being your mediocre singing abilities, you big your lip and looked away, when you heard him hum. his voice was a soft, melodic whisper until he started to gently continue the tune. "little darlin', it's been a long, cold, lonely winter. little darlin', it feels like years since it's been here" his voice stunned you. it was beyond beautiful, beyond pleasing. when you began to well up at it's perfection, you felt silly, but your heart clenched and fluttered hearing him sing.

but he didn't continue, looking at you expectantly, like he was waiting for you to do something. correctly interpreting his body language, you gasped. "no-"

"yes!" he cut you off, sounding delighted and a little deranged. with one fluid motion, he sat up and reached for your clasping hands.

"you should be ashamed of yourself, that you want me to embarrass myself like that," you snorted and looked to the side, avoiding eye contact. "truly, you are cruel."

"embarrass yourself?" he asked, and again with those furrowed brows. "darling, that was beautiful."

light, warm fingers came up to trace your features gently and you saw no lie in his eyes. "you are biased," you accused him and pushed against his chest because him being so near made you unable to think straight. like a strong parfume, sweet but messing with all other senses.

"maybe," apollo smiled. he was resting on his back once more and he hadn't once enjoyed being pushed into a flower field like right now. "but that's how I hear it. and, last time i checked, i'm still the god if music so i would say i have some authority in the matter." his finger came up to trace your lips and his gaze got so heavy and so ... heated that blood shot like hot water into your cheeks. "sing with me?"

well, how could you possibly refuse him when he was looking at you like that? "i- but only a little," you said, feeling shy. "and if you make fun of me I swear, I will never sing again!"

"what a loss for the world and, more importantly, for me that would be," the sun god smiled and his eyes trailed down to your lips. "well, then.. sing, lover"

and when you gave up your resolve and sang the refrain with him, his heart burst with giddiness and he knew; he was head over heels in love with you.

💘EROS falls for you when you give him valentine chocolates

☛ valentine's day was the busiest day of the year for eros, so it was no surprise that he arrived late to your date when he usually was the first of you two at everything. after he spammed your phone with a thousand apology texts about how he was a horrible date and offering to drown himself in tartarus for eternity if you asked for it, he did manage to get his job done for the day and was now sprinting towards you, nearly trampling a satyr waiter of the cafe you a made a reservation at.

at least the view of him toppling over and trying not to destroy the valentine decorations with his wings was easing your nerves a little. you had been fawning over the god for a while now and when he asked you out two days ago, you nearly combusted with excitement. at the same time, though, eros had the tendency to make you very flustered. even though you had known him for years, your breath still got shaky and your hands sweaty whenever he so much as smiled at you.

like right now, when he spotted you from across the room and sent a bashful smirk your way. Under the table, your hands tightened around the heart-shaped box of valentine chocolates and you beamed back, unable to contain the happiness you felt.

"i am so unspeakably sorry i'm late," he panted upon arriving at the table. checking his reflection in the nearby mirror subtly, he ran his hand through his bronze locks and flashed you a seductive grin, though he still seemed a little out of breath. "tell me how to make it up to you."

"you're only ten minutes late," you smiled as your insides fluttered. his damn smile made your stomach do cartwheels.

"ten minutes i didn't get to spend with you," he argued and only now let his gaze wonder over the parts of your body visible. "love, you look beautiful. can't believe i've missed out on this sight"

damn charmer.

"speaking of beautiful," he continued and reached down to pull a giant flower bouquet out of nowhere, in your favorite color. "though it doesn't come close to your beauty, it reminded me of you."

by now you were just as red as the rose decorations. shyly, you stretched your arms out over the table to take the bouquet. "busy day?" you asked, placing it beside you and picking out a particularly colorful flower to put behind your ear.

"you would not believe how many arrows i shot today," he said, reaching over to take your hand over the table. "apparently, everyone is just as head over heels for a wonderful person in their life as I am"

you didn't know what in the world to answer with. a love declaration? just smiling? saying thank you? you opted instead to reach under the table and pull out the valentines chocolates. it was a pink box, you picked it specifically because it had a little cupid drawing on top. "i hope you like chocolates."

"oh, i love-" eros gaze dropped to the heart shaped box and suddenly, his heart seized. as if he had just been shot by his own arrow. you had given him valentine chocolates. cute. he couldn't explain why his tummy exploded with butterflies at the simple action but he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. he had to remember to breathe and when he did, he breathed out "-you."

🪽HERMES falls for you when you kiss him on the cheek

☛ "when are you finished?" hermes whined for the fifth time in the last minute and pulled his lips into a pout. the only acknowledgment coming from you was a deadpan stare over the edge of your book. not only had he come by unannounced and without a reason, now he was annoying you in your scheduled reading time. and as if that wasn't bad enough, he also looked so cute doing it you felt the urge to kick his face that currently invaded your private zone by burying itself in your tummy.

"come back in half an hour and maybe i'll be finished then," you murmured, already invested in your book again.

"half an hour?!" hermes cried dramatically and sneaked his arms around your waist. "but I'm busy!"

"hm, is that right?" you sighed and nudged his shoulder. "get back to work and leave me alone, then."

"come on," he said and a sly smile took over his face. "dont'cha want to come with me? fly over a few countries, live in the flash for a day... it would be far more exciting than your book!"

"my book is very exciting," you mumbled, already caught up in the story again. not for long, though, as hermes began to complain under his breath, muffled by your belly that still served as his pillow. you peaked past your book and couldn't help but find the sight utterly endearing. when he looked up, you quickly hid behind your book again and heard him laugh.

your face burned up when the affectionate god sat up, only to prop himself down next to you and lean his head on your shoulder. "do you know for how long you have been reading this one page? ten minutes,"

"oh, and why might that be?" you grinned, though his teasing tone tinted your cheeks pink. "maybe because this pain-in-the-ass of a god won't leave me alone."

"admit it, you have fallen for me," he retorted, poking your side with his deft fingers. "and you will miss me dearly when i am gone, impatiently awaiting my return so i can whisk you away as i do in your daydreams."

"well, you are quite the dreamer," you mused and put your book down. "let's make a deal. today i read this book, tomorrow i am all yours. 'mkay?" and to silence any further protests, you pressed a kiss to his cheek and pushed him off the bed.

you expected a retort, another teasing comment, anything, which was why you were confused by the following silence. looking over the edge of your bed, you found him sitting there, looking up at you dumb-struck and with very rosy cheeks. the spot where you had kissed him tingled and hermes head was wiped clean of any funny reply, just full of you, you, you and the feeling of your lips on his cheek.

"i- okay," he finally managed to say and walked over to your windows with weak knees. falling for him my ass. he was head over heels in love with you.

🗡️ARES falls for you when you slap someone

☛ your smile was so tight your cheekbones were aching, but you kept your calm. if ares, who would yell at a pigeon staring at him in the park and almost give your mom a heart attack when he started a fight at the last family get-together you invited him to, could restrain himself right now, you could as well. firsthand, you knew how protective ares was of his friends and family, you belonging to the former. for him to not remodel the face of your ex whom your mom had invited to her birthday party and who had cheated on you twice, it had to take a lot of meditation and begging from you.

but now it looked like you were about to violate your own principles. by violating the absolute train wreck of a bad person that was your ex. luckily, ares was in some other corner of the room, having a stare-down with your dad, but you felt like you could mess this man up real good even without his help. you were really not one for violence -ignoring the odd choice of plus one- but right now you felt rage burn inside you as this pathetic excuse of a man tried to rile you up to boost his ego.

"listen, i think i'm going to go grab me a drink now," you said, overplaying your anger with a stiff politeness this piece of trash didn't deserve. "nice talk."

"yeah, whatever," the guy drawled. "back to that hunk of a date you brought, huh? i see your going for the looks now. not that you ever cared about anything else, you girls are all the same."

"if i was going off of looks i would have never dated you," you bit back and turned around to leave when his sweaty hand closed around your wrist tightly. "hey, let go!" you hissed but he didn't budge, only stepping closer so all you could smell was his excessive deodorant.

"what, does he fuck better than me?" he snarled and lowered his voice. the hand that wasn't holding your wrist hostage wandered down your back where you definitely didn't want it. "wanna give it a second try?"

SMACK

before you yourself knew it, you had struck him across the face with your free hand, resulting in a sound that made the room fall silent, all eyes in you two. as your ex stumbled back, he let go of your wrist and you locked eyes with ares, expecting him to jump at the opportunity for a fight. but instead, you only saw him looking at you, with a sort of awe-struck expression that really didn't suit the occasion.

you lifted your chin, shouldered your purse and brushed past ares as you hastily walked towards the exit. ares had to collect himself before following you. your anger, that fire in your eyes, the way you had struck this pathetic mortal man- it was more than hot. oh he definitely was in love with you. he would deal with this piece of crap later. now, all he wanted was to follow you to his car, follow you anywhere, as long as it was with you.

[casuallyanidiot]

I actually need a part two to Yandere sugar daddy or I will die

Yandere sugar daddy who loves to spoil his baby.

MDNI!

Tw. Yandere, power imbalance, isolation, captivity, NSFW themes

What do you want honey? A new pair of pretty shoes? A designer bag? A car that costs more than your left leg? He'll give it to you with a snap of his fingers.

Yandere sugar daddy who loves becoming your main source of income. You shouldn't have to trouble yourself with anything hard like boring paperwork or stupid board meetings. That's for him to worry about. No, the only thing you should be concerned about is spreading your legs and murmuring understanding words when he comes home from a stressful day at work.

And sure, you've been kind of whiny and bratty ever since he started to limit the time you spent outside, but can you blame him? Yandere sugar daddy hates even thinking about you wandering through the big scary world without him there to guide and protect you. You're supposed to be his responsibility, so don't go thinking you can just run around without his explicit permission.

Yandere sugar daddy who likes to hide little gifts for you around the penthouse. It's like a little game. He likes sending you messages randomly throughout the day. Go check the third drawer in the study. It's a good way to make sure you haven't snuck out on him, but he also just loves it when he finds you with a new pretty gem settled on the column of your throat.

Yandere Sugar daddy who takes you on crazy, all expenses paid for vacations to tropical islands, different cities, and dream destinations. You'll have the best hotels, best views, best wardrobe as long as you sit pretty and snuggled up to him while you're flying first class.

Yandere Sugar daddy who shuts down any kind of arguments you might have about silly things like 'Why can't I see my friends' or 'Where is my passport and my credit card?' He just hands you stacks of cash or his own cards and tells you to go wild. Don't worry about all of that. Just go to the shopping outlet with the security guards he hired to keep an eye on you and have lot's and lot's of fun spending his money.

Yandere Sugar daddy who finds a way to blacklist you from the industry you used to work in. No one in their right mind will give you a job even if you wanted one (Not that he intends to even let you think about living life away from him). He's never, ever going to let you have even the slightest chance of being independent.

Though, he's sure that he'll feel much better when he can finally slip a ring on your finger and make this little arrangement more official.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air. 

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you. 

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm. 

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed. 

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[girlatmirror]

the viscount who loved me | jjk

It was your sister’s season, and she was the diamond, while your season was still a year away. Though suitors could seek your hand already, it doesn’t excuse you for secretly pining after the viscount who courted her.

viscount!jungkook x reader

warnings: (kinda??) morally gray yn and jk, sexism (c’mon it’s the 18th century what did u expect), sex (bye minors), it’s not sex centered tho, longing and yearning (bring real romance back), cheating (is it tho, idk u be the judge), u might get mad at the main characters, enemies to lovers, heavily inspired (or stolen) by my loves anthony and kate 😍😍, yn is the younger sister and has yet to enter her season, but she is in her twenties!! (not specified in the text, but i was thinking jk is like 27, yn’s sis is 24 and yn is like 22, just to clarify) is idk what else. ENJOY!

_

The fresh, sunny air of London on that day called you to leave the mansion and ride your horse, Cinnamon, into the forest, just as you did every morning that was suitable for a nice ride. It was not entirely proper to do so in that society, but they did not need to know about it. You always felt safe; you rode at a time of day when you were sure nobody would see you. You had a set time of 20 minutes; after that, you returned home, wearing a cloak with a hat that covered half your face. If someone were to catch you, you could merely lower the hat, and they would not know who you were. The last thing you wanted was to bring shame on your family, especially not in a society as cruel as that one.

You rode to your familiar place and felt the breeze of the wind in your hair; you felt free. It continued to be the beautiful, calm ride you were used to—until you heard the sounds of a man, seemingly talking to you.

"Miss?" the voice from afar called. "Miss, are you in trouble?" To your dismay, the voice came closer so quickly that you did not know where to go or what to do. If you were to ride deeper into the forest, you would get lost, and if you rode straight ahead, the man would see you either way. It seemed even this baggy cloak could not conceal your femininity as you had thought it would.

The man came nearer, and you turned your head so he would not recognize you.

"Miss, if there is a problem, I shall help you," his deep voice stated. "It is not suited for a young lady to be out here unchaperoned."

You did not say a word, your face still turned in the opposite direction. You did not think it through, and he turned his horse to face you, ducking his head to see you. You had never felt this silly in your life. You took off the hat hesitantly, revealing long curls and innocent, almost pleading eyes.

Before you sat the infamous Viscount Jeon on his horse, a most important figure of the ton. The gossip columns described him as a ‘rake through and through,’ yet he was as captivating as a summer’s night and as wealthy as the stars were numerous. Indeed, there was not a mother in the ton who did not dream of him marrying her daughter.

You were sure he recognized you as well; with your sister being the diamond of the season, there was not a single gentleman in London who did not know the family he wished to marry into.

"I know you," he revealed. "You are the daughter of Baron Ln. Miss, you should not be here alone. It is dangerous."

"I am not here alone, my lord; I am here with Cinnamon... and you are here, also," you stammered, hesitantly and nervously.

The viscount did not hide his amusement, chuckling while shaking his head. He found the entire sentence you had just said to be hilarious.

"You do not need to be scared; I shall not tell a soul about this encounter," he reassured you, still chuckling. "But I believe you should head home now, for your folks should get worried."

You listened to him, still flushed and slightly embarrassed, and headed home.

The Viscount Jeon certainly was gentler than what the columns wrote about him.

___

"Mother, I was unable to breathe in this corset. It was utterly ridiculous, and it elevated my bosoms up to the sky," you said, exaggerating, while your maid tied up the corset—who was, at that moment, your rival.

The last ball you attended had been the first of the season at the palace, where your beautiful sister, Nadia, had been chosen as the season’s diamond by the queen herself. You had been proud beyond measure; your sister was the eldest of your household and often played a secondary motherly role. She deserved to have the finest suitors begging for just a pinch of her attention.

"I did not have such a problem, sister, and my corset was just as tight, if not tighter, than yours," Nadia declared, looking down at her much flatter body.

"I cannot help but wonder why..." sarcasm left your mouth.

Since the queen’s announcement, your mother had not stopped rushing, running errands, investing in your jewelry collections, and buying dresses from the finest modistes in the city. Your mother had always been insatiable and prideful, yet you had never seen this side of her before.

"My dear Yn, your sister is the diamond of the season; she is destined to wed a most extraordinary gentleman, one who must possess both fortune and lands in locales of which we have never even heard, and court her heart with poetry. Such is the very least that the daughter of a most noble man is entitled to receive. She is the jewel of her season, which ensures that all eyes shall be upon her—and upon us. We shall create a most splendid impression at tonight's ball at Danbury House. We simply must," Lady Ln proclaimed, her pride evident as she gazed at herself and her two eldest daughters in the mirror. "Moreover, Yn, what is this lamentation regarding your bosoms? Such femininity is precisely what captivates a gentleman and stirs envy among the young ladies of the ton. You shall also find your match. Both of my daughters are undeniably the most beautiful women of the ton, nay, of the entire world!"

You and Nadia glanced at each other, trying not to laugh at your mother’s boasting. She had been excited to get her daughters married since they were born, always saying that marrying off a son was not as exciting and beautiful as marrying off a daughter. Your two older brothers had both gotten married in the last few years.

You did not like to admit it, but you had been dreaming of your prince charming since you were just a little girl, waiting to get married. Not because of the couples you knew, but because of the books you read that spoke of longing, making you feel as if you were living the character’s life.

"Lena, get the ladies ready; I shall attend to the little ones. They are out in the gardens, engaged in activities unknown to me," your mother commanded the maid, exiting the chamber with graceful haste to see what her mischievous twins were up to.

"Is it not amusing how mama calls Hana and Idris little ones despite their approaching age of sixteen?" Nadia shook her head, smiling. She admired herself in the mirror and told Lena to fix up her hair. "I must look perfect."

Nadia was a perfectionist through and through, the eldest daughter of a baron and his insatiable wife—a combination that could only produce a girl whose expectations for herself were high, too high for anyone to reach.

"You do look perfect. You are the diamond, Nadia; not a single soul in that ballroom shall utter an ill word about you—and if they do, it is out of pure envy," you said adoringly. "I must say, I cannot wait to meet my new brother; I bet he is a most handsome gentleman who shall ask you to dance, and in the morning, he shall call on you, saying how he cannot stop thinking about you and that you are as beautiful as a blooming flower."

Your teasing was accompanied by you dancing around playfully and blinking your eyes at a fast rate, which irritated your maid, who, of course, wouldn’t say a word to you beyond measure as she adjusted your dress. Nadia shoved your shoulder in a joking manner, smiling to herself.

"I shall find myself a love match, much like Baba and Mama—I desire a love like theirs; that is my only goal," her eyes communicated her feelings of yearn, while you nodded.

"You shall. You are your mother’s daughter, after all; you shall always get what it is you desire," you kissed her cheeks encouragingly, and she looked at you with thankfulness.

"Ladies! The carriages have arrived. Make haste!" Your mother’s demanding voice called from downstairs, resulting in you immediately strutting down the stairs.

___

The Jeon family had a reputation to uphold. They were known for their generosity, their welcoming spirits, their lavish homes, and their riches. The viscountess was nothing short of the perfect viscountess, continuing to be so, even after her husband’s tragic death a mere couple of years ago.

She intended to find herself a replacement that season, desperately wanting to marry off her eldest, the viscount. Her desperation did not come from a place of fear of undesirability; it was quite the opposite.

The viscountess feared her son might be looking for a wife for the wrong reasons. What she and her late husband shared was a love she wished for all of her children; yet her son seemed to see the world differently. He wanted a wife only to fulfill his duties and produce an heir.

"Jungkook, the search for happiness and love is not shameful. It is indeed the bravest thing a man can do—to listen to his heart and let it guide him," the viscountess tried to woo her son, who did not look up from his estate’s accounts ledgers. "You cannot hold interviews for eligible young ladies to find a suitable one; you shall know she is the one when you gaze upon her and converse with her for the very first time."

"When will you realize that what you and father had is the exception, not the rule? I am the viscount; I hold many responsibilities, and one of them is to wed a girl of good noble breeding to replace you as viscountess and produce an heir who shall lead this family when I am gone," Jungkook responded calmly. "I have indeed let my heart guide me; we are in agreement. I shall not continue with the interviews, as I have already found my future bride in Miss Nadia, the daughter of Baron Ln."

His mother was shocked at the revelation, looking at him with a glimpse of hope and wonder. "The diamond? Oh, how delightful! She must have great promise to have caught the eyes of the viscount."

She recalled the last ball when the queen announced Nadia as the diamond. Her son had not had a chance to talk to her that night, as the girl was occupied with many overbearing suitors and mothers.

"Yes, indeed, Mother. She is accomplished in literature, she plays many instruments, dances quite beautifully, and she comes from a most respectable family. She shall be my viscountess," he explained further. "We shall attend the ball at Danbury House tonight, united as one. Miss Nadia shall be there as well; we might find a suitable gentleman for Yoona if that is what she wishes." Jungkook was referring to his younger sister as he spoke.

"Wonderful," his mother’s eyes sparkled with joy.

___

The Jeon family arrived quite late, but in style. The viscount dressed in fitted trousers and a crisp white shirt that accentuated his strong arms and broad shoulders, his brothers dressed similarly, and his sisters in beautiful, rich silk gowns.

Jungkook was already on the lookout for a certain diamond who had caught the attention of the entire ton. He was not worried she would reject his advances; after all, he was the viscount, and there was not a single gentleman in London who could claim to be more eligible than him.

"Excuse me," he gracefully pushed through the people standing before the diamond, all waiting for a turn to speak with her. "I wish to dance with you, Miss Nadia."

As the voice of the viscount was heard, the stares of the ton overwhelmed Nadia, everybody in utter shock; the viscount, who mothers had been trying to get to look at their daughters for years, wished to dance with a girl in her first season out? How very surprising and envy-inducing.

Nadia nodded shyly, letting go of her very proud mother’s hand and accepting the viscount’s. She wondered where her sister was until she saw her at the drink stand fetching herself a lemonade.

"You are an excellent dancer, my lady," Jeongguk expressed, his hand in hers as they attracted all the eyes of the crowd.

"That is all your doing, my lord," she shyly answered, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. "You are quite a natural."

Their conversation continued for the next few minutes. They discussed very trivial matters, but Jeongguk made sure to let her know that she had caught his eye.

Eventually, Nadia moved on to another gentleman, and the viscount disappeared out of sight.

After a while of proudly watching your sister dance beautifully with potential suitors, you decided to step outside for a while to catch a breath of fresh air.

You were not particularly in the mood for dancing that night.

"Do not tell me the Viscount Jeon is looking for a love match this season; what happened to the viscount who visited his courtesan at least once a day and enjoyed a good brothel show?"

As you walked into the garden of the grand Danbury House, you heard a conversation that sparked your interest. A group of men, including the viscount who had just danced with your sister, and a few others you did not recognize, were talking. Letting your curiosity wander, you remained silent and listened to their talk unfold.

"I assure you, I am not out to find a love match; I am simply fulfilling my duties. Is it so impossible to find a suitable wife for a viscount, one who has hips meant for birthing, the ability to woo me with her intellect, and does not require love? It is simply a struggle," Jeongguk complained.

"Not a lady in London lives up to the standards of the viscount, I presume," the other man standing laughed. "I have seen you dance and converse with the diamond of this season; tell me, Viscount Jeon, does the diamond live up to your standards?"

"She is a respectable young woman who I plan on getting to know better, but I must not judge yet, for I fear I do not know what I might find out," the viscount answered the man’s question with honesty.

By then, you were sure your face was red with anger. How dare that man, that filthy rake, talk about your sister or any woman that way? And to think that Nadia was completely smitten with him already, you could not believe this audacious behavior.

They continued talking about useless things.

"We shall go back inside, my lord; are you coming with us?" one of them asked.

"No, you go. I shall join you later," he said, wanting to stay in the fresh air.

He started moving in your direction, and you quickly tried to get away, but your foot caught something, making a loud noise. "Who is there?"

You knew you were as good as caught, so you revealed yourself. "It is you. Were you eavesdropping?"

It seemed his audacity continued.

There was a spark in his eyes as he looked you up and down, as if he suddenly remembered the encounter you had in the woods or as if he really enjoyed what he saw.

"I was not! Also, one cannot eavesdrop in a public space…" you defended yourself. "The words you spoke were filthy and jarring, my lord; I cannot help but believe it is best if you do not let your interest in my sister unfold."

He visibly became uncomfortable, the evidence in his face demonstrating that he knew he had said things that did not particularly present him well.

"Those words were not meant for your ears, Miss Yn," he said, attempting to maintain his composure.

"I heard them regardless. If this is you with all your guards down, if these are your true feelings, you are not a suitable match for my sister," you emphasized defiantly.

The viscount lifted his eyebrows at you, letting his eyes linger on your body until he gazed into your face again. "You do realize there is not a lady in London who does not seek the kind of marriage I offer? That is, besides the privileges of becoming the viscountess."

"Oh, is that true? You assume the ladies of London are so easily charmed by a pleasing smile and nothing more?" you questioned him, causing him to grin.

"You find my smile pleasing?" he smirked down at you.

"I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high. And I stand by what I said; you do not suit my sister," you spoke, crossing your arms.

He skimmed your body, an amusing expression forming on his face. "Miss Yn, I remember the morning in the park very well. It seems to me that you do not care much for the rules of this society; that is why you spoke to your viscount in that manner."

"My apologies, my lord. I simply feel defensive over my sister," you apologized, feeling blood rush to your face.

"That is quite all right; I know what it is like to have siblings one cares for," his smile was warm, which surprised you.

After a few awkwardly intense looks between you two, you decided to bow respectfully and leave the scene.

You left Jeongguk standing for a while, the smile on his face visible even from a long distance; your jasmine scent lingered, and your words never left his mind.

___

Ever since the announcement, suitors from all over London had come to visit the Ln house to spend time with the diamond.

You quickly got used to seeing gentlemen in your house every morning, conversing with your older sister while you pretended to be occupied with something else, secretly listening to their conversations.

That day was no different. It was exciting, to say the least, not only because you were happy for your sister, who was receiving all these presents and love, but also because it broadened your understanding of courtships; your sister was paving the path for you in the future.

Oh, how excited you were for your future marriage.

As you walked downstairs after waking up from a long night of carefree sleep, you could already hear the distant sounds of a suitor.

You smiled to yourself, walking into the spacious living room, where you found your mother and father sitting on one couch with smiles that spoke volumes.

As you entered the room completely and saw who your sister was talking to, your face began to drop.

It was him. The viscount.

The man whom you could not escape from, for some reason.

While they finished their conversation, your mother noticed you standing there. "Good morning, Yn! Look who came to visit your sister first thing in the morning! Greet the Viscount Jeon."

You bowed respectfully and begrudgingly spoke, "Good morning, my lord."

He simply smirked, reciprocating the greeting.

It was as if he was provoking you with his handsome face and effortless demeanor.

"I shall head home now," he announced, standing up from his seat. "Breaking my fast here was very lovely indeed, Lord and Lady Ln; I must thank you dearly."

They exchanged pleasantries and enthusiastic goodbyes, of course, not without the viscount promising to come back tomorrow around the same time.

As he stepped outside, you followed him, pretending to go on a garden stroll.

"My lord!" you called after him, making him turn around to you.

"Yes, Miss Yn?" he spoke with a tinge of teasing, which seemed to always be present when he spoke with you.

His coachman was patiently waiting, watching you two standing face to face.

"Why have you called on my sister?" you asked; you were always known for your bluntness, which was something you tried to work on.

The viscount sent you a questioning but amusing look before replying, "Am I not allowed to?"

You shook your head, trying to put your thoughts into words.

"You are allowed," you answered hesitantly. "But what I said to you at Danbury House, I meant. I do not believe you are the right man for my sister."

There was a short exchange of glances between you; you hoping he understood your concerns and him wondering how you gathered the audacity to speak to a viscount that way.

It was not that he was angry about it; he was merely surprised. He had never had a person talk to him that way.

"Miss Yn," he started, his voice low. "I believe your sister can make her own decisions, can she not? And I must say, she did not seem to have a problem with my presence at all… quite the contrary."

You knew he was right, but there was something in your intuition telling you that this would not work out; you looked at him and did not see your sister’s future husband.

Yes, he was wealthy, and he was quite handsome, but still… he was not the man your sister was looking for.

"I believe I know my sister better than you do, my lord," you insisted, as stubborn as you always were.

He simply chuckled. "I do not doubt it," before hopping into the carriage and waving goodbye to you.

You could not comprehend how severely irksome he was.

___

In the following weeks, Jungkook tried his hardest to impress your sister; calling on her, giving her extravagant gifts, attending events and balls seemingly only for her.

It felt like he could propose to her at any moment, and you did not like it.

Your sister, on the other hand, seemed to be very happy with the viscount’s affection for her.

Who would not be?

One day, your mother hosted a gathering in the diamond’s name—an opportunity for suitors to see your sister and make themselves known to her.

The Jeon family was invited and set to attend, but the invitation for the viscount was lost in the mail.

Jungkook was very busy that day; meetings and managing accounts and staff took up a great deal of his time.

He did not have time to prepare himself for the crucial task ahead.

After asking his brother, Namjoon, for help with the poetry he intended to read out loud at the Ln house, he read over the piece of paper and could not control his scoffs; he thought poetry might be the most deceptive tool of all.

Such pretty, empty words.

He ordered a carriage, hastily moving to make it to the party that he was so conveniently not invited to, and hoped for the best.

The doorman immediately let him in, obviously knowing who the Viscount Jeon was—a familiar face to all of London indeed. Marching in as if he owned the place, he found a huge gathering of gentlemen performing their talents—or lack thereof—to impress Nadia.

You and Nadia were sitting next to each other on the sofa; you wore a judging yet amused face, and Nadia looked very grateful for the time they took for her.

He dreaded that his eyes lingered on you for far longer than they did on your sister; you were wearing an accentuating, expensive gown and a classic updo, your expressive eyes drew him in.

"Please excuse my tardiness," Jungkook took his chance right when someone finished his performance, making a loud announcement that turned everybody’s head. "I shall read a poem I wrote for Miss Nadia.”

Your expression was hard to read; though you were certainly annoyed by his sudden appearance, there was something gleaming in your eyes that he could not overlook. Your eyes locked in a room full of people, something that seemed to happen quite frequently between the two of you. Your effect on him made him nervous to perform; for some reason, he cared for your opinion quite a bit.

Naturally, everybody respected the viscount and his wishes, giving him their full attention. Nadia’s smile was beaming; your mother was more than happy to see the viscount show further interest in her daughter, and the rest were in awe of the viscount, whose shell was very hard to penetrate to make such an effort for the diamond.

"What is it to truly admire a woman?" he read from a small piece of paper in his hand, and your heart began to beat faster than it should have. "To look at her and feel inspiration, to delight in her beauty, so much that all— all your defenses—"

Suddenly, he stopped; everybody in the room quieted as they attentively listened to his beautiful words. His sudden silence caught some off guard, including you, who sat there looking at him with longing eyes, and Nadia, whose smile slowly vanished. Whispers began to break out.

"My apologies, I cannot do this," the viscount stated, resulting in Nadia frowning slightly. "Truth be told, I am not a man of poetry; those words are someone else’s entirely."

A few quiet gasps could be heard around the crowd of people, but Jungkook did not shy away from speaking the truth.

"Miss Nadia... I cannot offer you pretty words and rhymes, but I assure you, when it comes to action and duty; I shall never be found lacking."

Your breath hitched in your throat, as if his words were hitting you in your chest.

There was a part of you that was grateful for his honesty; the probability that your sister would not want to continue a courtship based on a false perception.

But there was another part that hated his honesty; why did the man you were supposed to hate repeatedly find his way into your heart by revealing sides of him you felt drawn to?

You knew the viscount did not want a love match.

And you loathed him.

So why did your chest burn with every word he spoke?

You could tell your sister was lost for words, watching the viscount with curious eyes.

"Nadia..." your voice came out smaller than you expected. "If you wish for him to leave, I—"

But your sister’s response shocked you. She stood up and clapped her hands, a sign of approval for the viscount’s words.

Others started joining her, but you stayed put in your place.

Jungkook’s growing smile beamed, feeling relieved that Nadia didn’t seem to mind his lack of verbal affection.

"Nadia," you murmured to your sister. "Did you not hear what he said? He cannot offer you the love that you long for."

Nadia let out an understanding "I know," before explaining herself, "I have come to accept that. I do not need a love match that can turn into an incompatible marriage in the future; I now merely desire a stable, harmonious marriage, and I believe the viscount can offer that to me."

You did not know what to do besides sigh and nod. "I just want you to be happy, Nini."

Your sister took your hand and lovingly squeezed it before giggling. "I do hope you and the viscount can find common ground throughout our marriage."

You simply awkwardly smiled at her to mask the storm brewing inside you.

She got up to confront the viscount, while you sat on the couch, staring into nothingness while contemplating the confusing feelings that were so foreign to you.

___

With every passing day and night, Jungkook found himself consumed by thoughts of you.

You appeared in his dreams, haunting him like a beautiful ghost, the face behind his sleepless nights.

He was aware of the problematic nature of the situation—courting one sister while dreaming of the other was not something a gentleman did.

But your beauty resembled summer nights and hidden love letters, while your resistant character was consuming and complex; yet he saw kindness in your eyes.

To be truthful, he could not stop his thoughts surrounding you since that morning in the park—the first time you two talked, the first time he heard your beautiful voice.

While you swore you would not admit it to a living soul, you felt similarly.

The viscount refused to leave your mind, appearing in your dreams unannounced and causing havoc inside your heart with every moment you stayed in or out of his presence.

You could not bear it.

Not only did the viscount consume you, but shame accompanied him.

But you promised yourself it was a fleeting moment, and he told himself to suppress his feelings.

___

"My dears, we have received an invitation from Jeon House, inviting us for a week to their country residence in order to continue the courtship away from the ton’s attention; is that not lovely?" your mother spoke, excitement evident in her voice. She was sat beside your father, who was paying more attention to the pie.

"Ah, yes, I’m afraid I cannot join you for that trip; I have business to attend to here in the city," your father spoke, placing a reassuring hand over your mother’s. "But I am certain you will handle it yourself, dear."

Your mother simply nodded and smiled, still in a very happy state about where her daughter’s courtship was headed. Nadia was sat next to you with a similar shy smile on her face.

You, on the other hand, could not help but feel a strange sensation; it was so foreign and something you could not describe. You loved seeing your sister happy, yet there was always a selfish voice in your head.

What if the viscount were to propose?

You began to imagine that scenario in your mind, and you did not like the thought of it at all.

But you feared it wasn’t because of your ‘hatred’ for the viscount, but because of something that was quite the opposite.

___

After packing, organizing carriages, and your mother stressing the entire day, you finally made your journey to the countryside.

It was only your mother, your sister, and you, as your mother thought your younger siblings were better off at home with the housekeeper.

You felt beautiful, dressed in the finest clothes, the most beautiful cosmetics put on your already lovely face. But you were in an undeniable state of distress.

Just as you stepped out of the carriage after four long hours, you were met with the friendly faces of the Jeon family.

Your eyes immediately met the viscount’s, who always seemed to have a certain look of yearning and some sort of pain when he saw you. You locked eyes with his deep brown ones, which somehow spoke a thousand words. His nostrils flared slightly, and it was as if you were both in a trance, unable to take your eyes off each other.

You shared a moment swimming in his eyes before he slowly diverted his gaze elsewhere.

Somehow, he looked even more handsome than the last time you had seen him.

You rued those feelings, the tingle you felt near him, the desperate need to be in his strong arms, to be the only one he knew to love—those feelings you had only read about in books, the tingling in body parts you were taught not to speak of.

But more than that, you cursed yourself for feeling them; how dare you think about your sister’s intended that way?

Were you a girl of no upbringing? Were you not a lady intended for marriage in just less than a year? It was breaking not only your soul but your perception of yourself to be plagued by these feelings; but you knew it would break you more to betray your sister, so you knew you had to stay quiet.

Amidst your overwhelming thoughts, a graceful young lady who was about the age of your older sister and bore a great resemblance to the viscount approached you, right after greeting your mother. She stood next to the viscount, and unbeknownst to you, noticed the shared glances of longing between the viscount and you, surprised to see her usually earnest brother so taken by a girl.

"You must be Miss Nadia," she spoke with a gentle smile. "I am Miss Yoona, the viscount’s younger sister. I have heard very much about you. You are even more beautiful than he described."

You bowed respectfully, yet you did not have the words to express that you were not who she thought you were.

Jungkook stepped in, embarrassment slightly evident on his face as he coughed a little. "Yoona, that is not Miss Nadia; that is her little sister—Miss Yn."

He then pointed to your sister, who was greeting the viscountess. You saw a look of confusion on Yoona’s face.

After everybody greeted each other, you settled into the rooms assigned to you and made yourselves at home.

The rooms were spacious, clean, and very elegantly decorated.

The Jeons were indeed a very generous family.

You suppressed the thought of how lovely it would be to marry into the family, as it was just a thought for you, but the reality for your sister.

And you did not want to hurt your sister or yourself.

___

Despite the comfortable beds and the expensive silk fabric of the sheets, you could not sleep.

Not only because you were not used to sleeping on foreign beds in foreign houses, but because, if your mind could not rest, you could not.

Nadia, on the other hand, had fallen fast asleep on the bed next to yours.

You needed something to distract you from the chaos in your head; a glass of cold water or a breath of fresh air would do.

As silently as you could, you got out of bed and started wandering the halls of the grand Jeon house with a lamp in your hand.

It was magnificent.

You breathed in the warmth, smiling to yourself; it was as if the house knew what a loving family owned it.

While walking towards nothing specific, you stumbled into a large room, empty of people and full of books.

You entered it with a calm heart, grabbing one book after another, taking in the beauty of the written words.

Your calmness was short-lived as you heard the huge door open. You gasped loudly and held up the lamp to see who it was.

Before you stood the viscount in a nightshirt that modestly exposed his muscular arms. He looked handsome, even at nighttime.

"Are you not able to sleep, Miss Yn?" he asked while fully entering the room.

You shyly turned your whole body toward him, feeling exposed in your silky nightgown that clung to your every curve.

Feeling his eyes flicker over you, a sense of timidity washed over you. "No... I cannot seem to fall asleep. I do apologize for roaming around without permission, my lord; I simply could not resist these many books."

Jungkook chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly.

"You do not need to apologize," he assured you, now standing in front of you. "This is...was my father’s library. He read and collected books from all over the world. He was a very well-read man."

"May his soul rest easy," you softly sighed, pouting slightly at the mention of his deceased father. "He sounds like an extraordinary man."

Jungkook nodded in agreement. "He was. I would not be the man and the viscount that I am today if it were not for him."

You did not answer, simply making space for a short moment of beautiful silence between you. Your eyes were intertwined with his deep ones; you felt as if you could dive into them.

"Can I ask you a question?" he suddenly asked; you simply nodded. "Why is it that you are so opposed to the idea of me marrying your sister? Do you truly hate me so?"

You broke the eye contact for a second, trying to gather your answer, while your heartbeat undeniably quickened. "I do not hate you, my lord. I simply worry for my sister. I want the very best for her."

The viscount came closer to you, chuckling again, exposing his barely visible dimples. "And you believe that I cannot offer her the best?"

Your arms were now touching, sending electricity through your body.

"I simply cannot forget what I overheard in the gardens at Danbury House," you answered his question as confidently as you could.

Jungkook’s eyes slightly darkened at your words. "Those words were not for your ears, Miss Yn."

You started to become defensive, letting out a "But I did hear them regardless."

He poked his cheek with his tongue, his nostrils flaring up with mild anger, stepping closer to you until there was hardly any space left between you. "You do not know how much you aggravate me, Yn Ln."

You now felt his fresh breath against your face, causing dizziness.

"And you," you uttered quietly in response, your eyelids becoming heavier. "You believe you do not vex me? I have only grown to accept your presence for my sister’s sake, but only God knows how long I will last in this... this lie."

Jungkook tucked your hair behind your ear, leaning in to whisper into it. "This lie that you insist upon, what is it exactly? That you and I vex each other... or that we cannot seem to get away from one another?"

His voice was low and thick, tinged with a hint of teasing. You slightly backed away, but only to meet his dark eyes, which seemed to challenge you.

He leaned in until his lips were almost brushing against yours.

"My lord," you spoke in a soft whisper. "I—"

The sound of the door opening interrupted you.

Before you could get away from each other, a shocked Yoona witnessed the scene; as quickly as she entered, she left again, closing the door after saying a rushed "I am so sorry.”

You separated from Jungkook immediately after, running out in embarrassment and shame, leaving Jungkook standing in the middle of the library.

You could not believe what you had done.

___

Dinner with the Jeons was incredibly amusing; they were a big, loving family who were not afraid to share jokes and stories, even in front of guests.

To say you enjoyed yourself at dinner would have been an understatement.

In a moment of beautiful chaos, everybody laughed while simultaneously discussing intellectual topics. Jungkook raised his glass and stood up to make an announcement.

He was seated at the head of the table.

"I would very much like to start my toast by thanking our dear guests for taking their time to visit us at our country house. We are very delighted by your presence here with us," he started his tasteful speech. "Miss Nadia, it has been a delight to get to know you further. It is safe to say the Baron and Baroness Ln deserve praise for raising such an upstanding, demure woman... I would like to ask you a question, Miss Nadia."

While he spoke, the entire room fell silent, everybody attentively listening. His words added suspense to the atmosphere, making everyone wonder what he wanted to ask her.

It was obvious what everybody immediately thought of—for he was most likely going to ask for her hand in marriage.

Your mother and Nadia exchanged excited looks while you felt a thick lump form in your throat. The Jeons were all looking at Jungkook with an air of anticipation, waiting for him to finally speak the words.

Yoona tried her best not to gaze upon her brother with a frown of disapproval after she experienced whatever it was that happened between him and you the other night.

Jungkook began to awkwardly cough and put on somewhat of a feigned smile. "I wanted to ask you if you were ready for a game of pall-mall with this family or if you’d rather spare yourself the mayhem."

The whole table broke out in laughter—partially because they genuinely laughed and partially to cover up the awkwardness of the situation.

But you did not laugh, and neither did your sister.

"I would be... honored to play a game of pall-mall with you and your family, my lord," your sister tried to mask her sadness playfully.

During the rest of the dinner, your hand was placed on your sister’s back, soothingly running it up and down her spine.

___

Hours after the dinner, it was nighttime when you were supposed to be asleep, but you and Nadia found yourselves sitting on the bed—her head on your lap and your hand in her hair.

You always comforted each other in non-ideal situations, but this time felt different; it was the first time you felt you had wronged your sister, being the reason for her despair.

"Perhaps the viscount does not wish to propose because of you," your sister suggested, looking up and trying to gauge your reaction.

Your breath slightly hitched as you felt your cheeks warm.

"Uh—whatever do you mean, sister?" you carefully asked.

Nadia gave you a knowing look, presumably confused as to how you did not understand what she meant.

"The two of you loathe one another!" she exclaimed, her words making you sigh in relief. "He is probably under the impression that you would not approve."

You chuckled lightly at the irony. "Nini, he does not care what I think! I am your younger sister, not Baba or even Mama. Even if I do not approve, I do not make the decisions for this family; Baba does."

Your sister nodded but elaborated further, "I know, but there is something in my heart telling me that you are the reason he is so... reluctant."

Your heart skipped a beat, hoping she would not come to the right conclusions, wondering how you could steer her away from thoughts that could possibly lead to the destruction of your sisterly relationship.

"It is not as if I am desperate to marry him, but I believe it would make Mama and Baba unbelievably happy if I were to marry the viscount," she continued, sighing as she absentmindedly played with her hair. "He is wealthy, and he comes from a great family... I do not want to disappoint them."

"If the viscount does not wish to propose to you, it is not because you are lacking, Nini. You shall find wealthy suitors in every city you visit," you stated your opinion. "But I shall talk to him about it if that is what you wish."

Nadia jumped up from your lap, now facing you.

"I should very much like that, Yn," she admitted.

You gave her a gentle smile before getting up to pay the viscount’s office a visit.

His office was on the other side of the mansion—a long way to walk—but with your thoughts running wild, you did not feel the length of the walk.

You knocked on his door hesitantly and entered after he called out, "Come in."

He was seated at his paper-covered desk, staring down with intensity before looking up and seeing you.

"Miss Yn," he addressed you with a trace of surprise in his voice. "Is everything quite all right?"

You did not feel like wasting time, so you jumped right to your point.

"You have been set on courting my sister despite my every objection, and now you plan to cast her aside?" you accused, your tone defensive. "What has she done to deserve this?"

His eyes darkened; he momentarily forgot about the paperwork, getting up from his chair to walk up to you.

"It is not her," he raised his voice. "It is you."

His honest words felt like a gentle hit in your face; your intuition knew what he meant.

"But I am to marry next season!" you exclaimed reactively.

"You believe that is what I desire you to do?" he shouted, his jaw clenched. "There is not a thing you can do—not a corner on this earth that you can travel to—that will free me from this torment."

He continued, "I am a gentleman; my father raised me to act with honor, but that honor hangs by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence."

"You are the bane of my existence... and the object of all my desires," the viscount added, almost in agony, coming closer to you, whispering in your ear. "Night and day, I dream of you. And when I—do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you..."

Your breath hitched; your tight dress accentuated your breasts as your breath quickened with every word he spoke with every step he took closer to you.

"I did not ask for this," you finally got the chance to talk, facing him directly, barely an inch away. "To be plagued by these feelings... being distracted every time you enter the room, hiding those feelings from my sister... I did not ask for any of it."

"If I were to wed your sister, that would bind me to you for eternity," he stated, stepping away from you. "And I would spend my whole marriage dreaming of you, wanting you, longing for you... until the last thread of my honor snaps. Is that the future you want for us? For your sister?"

You shook your head, unable to say anything.

"Then I shall not go forward with this courtship," he declared, his eyes burning into your skin. "If that is what you wish."

You slightly shook your head—not out of disagreement, but as a signal to yourself to stop the urge to melt into him, a dizzying feeling taking over you.

"It is very much what I wish, my lord," you admitted in a whisper. "I could not bear it..."

He stepped closer again, now breathing your air. "What could you not bear?"

Your fingers grazed his and it felt like a fire ignited inside you.

"I could not," you whispered into his ear, fingers tapping gently against his thick arms. "I could not bear the sight of you with her."

Jungkook leaned into your touch, his eyes closing from the overwhelming urge to embrace your whole body.

"Yn..." he softly breathed into your ear. "All I find myself thinking about—all I find myself being able to breathe for—is you. Do you think I want to be in this position? Contending with these thoughts of wanting to be nowhere except with you. Wanting to run away with you. Acting on the most impure, forbidden desires, no matter... how much I must remind myself I am a gentleman and you are a lady."

Your breath hitched, and you felt a sensation between your legs, pressing them together. He continued, "It is maddening how much you consume my every being."

You grazed your hand further down his arms, eyes locked and bodies almost pressing against each other; if anyone were to catch you, it would be scandalous.

"No," you protested in a whisper. "It is you— you who has thrown my world off its axis, you who has made me question my sanity, you who consumes my every thought, so do not dare to blame me... do not blame me."

Your lips brushed against each other, his breath hitting your lips and your breath hitting his, before they finally collided and became one in a passionate kiss. His hands wandered down to your defined waist, grabbing onto you as if you would fly away.

Your hearts were racing; he cupped your face with one hand and fiddled with your dress with the other; you melted into one.

"Tell me you want this," Jungkook insisted in a breathy, aroused voice.

"I want this, my lord," you purred against him, before gently biting into his lower lip. "Teach me everything you know."

Jungkook had no self-control in that moment, feeling like an animal in the wilderness.

He loosened the ties of your dress with an urgent hand, and you felt the cool air caress your skin as the fabric fell open. Your breasts, heavy and full, spilled out of the dress, begging for his attention. Jungkook's eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilated with desire.

His hands wandered down to your hips, gripping the curve of your bottom through the thin fabric of your undergarment. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as he pulled you closer, his mouth still devouring yours. You could feel the heat emanating from him, the tension in his body a testament to the passion that burned between you.

"Are you certain?" he asked once again, his hands working to remove your undergarments.

You simply nodded, too dizzy and aroused to form a sentence.

Your hands wandered over his shirt, playing with the buttons before tugging on it, urging him to take it off, which he did, revealing his strong arms and chest. You kept your hands glued to them while he took off your bodice, revealing your full breasts to him.

Lifting you up and sitting you down on his desk, he immediately massaged your breasts and took one in his mouth, licking and sucking on it, making you moan in pleasure. "I have dreamt of this very moment for so long, Yn."

You ‘hmm’ed in response, grinding your hips against his in search of friction. You felt a big bulge in his pants, moving your own up and down on it, resulting in quiet groans from Jungkook.

"I..." you tried your best to formulate a thought. "I am so... sticky between my legs, my lord; is that normal?"

Jungkook chuckled amidst his arousal, leaning in to plant a short kiss on your lips. "Yes, my love; that is quite a good sign. Do not worry."

You felt comfortable with him; you admitted, "I have the same feeling quite often when I think of you," without realizing the implications.

Jungkook threw his head back in desire, unable to contain his urges to take you right there.

He took your hand in his and led it to his pants.

"Feel it," he urged, his voice simmering with lust as you began to grab his hardness and gently rubbing it. "That is what you do to me, Yn."

You tugged at his pants, and he quickly took them off, first revealing his drawers, which he removed as well.

He could not waste any more time.

As he revealed his large penis, you gasped.

"Do not be afraid, my love," he assured. "I will be very gentle.”

You were seated on the desk, and he was standing before you, his naked parts touching, with gasps and moans filling the entire room.

He positioned himself in front of you, looking into your eyes to ensure you were ready, only to be met with your awaiting gaze.

"What are you going to do now?" you hesitantly asked, hands on his bare arms.

His hands were placed lovingly on your soft waist, soothing you to ensure you were comfortable. "I will enter you now."

You nodded, not fully understanding the idea.

You blamed the mamas who were too ashamed to speak of essential things like that one.

Slowly entering the tip inside you, you gasped from the pain. "It hurts, my lord."

Jungkook stopped for a moment to cup your face, planting a kiss on your lips. "It will take time, but soon enough, you shall find pleasure in it, I promise."

You gazed at him, immediately believing his words, but wondering, "Does it hurt you as well?"

Jungkook laughed at that, slowly starting to thrust gently into you. "No, not at all. It is a very pleasant feeling for me."

His words came out as grunts, which you found incredibly attractive.

"Well, that is certainly unfair," you pouted, but gradually adjusted to the new feeling.

Jungkook agreed with you, saying, "I know," while chuckling.

As you began to get used to his thrusts, you leaned in even closer, urging him to fully enter you and thrust harder.

"You are simply the most beautiful woman I have laid eyes upon," he praised with hushed grunts, to which you cooed.

The fact that your families were outside the four walls of his office, peacefully sleeping, was something long forgotten by both of you, alongside the idea that he was the man who was supposed to be courting your sister.

You chose to forget about the one thing that was printed in your mind for the past months, even if only for a few minutes.

His thrusts began to become stronger, eliciting seductive sounds from both of you. His strategy to make less noise was kissing you almost the entire time.

His big hands roamed your entire body, and your legs wrapped around his hips; you were surprised at your ease—being with him felt not only beautiful but also effortless.

After a few final thrusts, his hips began to stutter, and a foreign sensation started to form in your stomach, causing you to look at him with a helpless expression, to which he answered, "I know, I know, my love; just allow it to happen."

You hesitantly let go, your head tilting back as you felt yourself reach a pinnacle—a feeling of pure bliss.

Jungkook could barely speak understandably, closing his eyes as he savored the last few thrusts before he reached his orgasm, pulling out and coming on a piece of cloth before he could release inside you.

"You did beautifully," he smiled and kissed your forehead lovingly.

You simply smiled back, the shame slowly returning as you put on your dress again.

He engulfed you in a gentle embrace before whispering into your ear, "Go rest now, my love; we shall see what we do tomorrow. Do not worry about anything; I will take care of it. That is a promise."

Somehow, you did not feel comforted by his words, but you reluctantly obliged, ignoring the slight pain in your legs as you walked through the halls of the mansion back to the room you had to temporarily share with your sister, who was already asleep.

You could not sleep that night, too consumed by wondering how and when you became that bad of a person.

___

The following day, you avoided Jungkook as much as you could. You felt ashamed, dirty; you felt like a bad person.

Your uncommonly quiet behavior did not go unnoticed by your mother and your sister; they kept pestering you about it.

But you did not know what to say to them.

Throughout the entire game of pall-mall, you acted out of the ordinary, not playing as well as you normally could.

Nadia and you were playing with Jungkook and four of his siblings, who were all much better players than the two of you.

"It seems you have forgotten the game, sister," Nadia giggled, watching you struggle with the mallet.

You kicked the ball hard in the wrong direction and almost tripped over; if it had not been for the strong hand that held your waist up.

"Be careful," the viscount’s deep voice rang in your ears.

Although you could stand on your own, he continued to hold onto your waist, his lips almost touching your ear. He forgot his surroundings, and so did you, as you locked eyes and shut out everything that was not each other.

It was a sight of pure chemistry, pure love; a blind man could see the feelings sparking between the two of you.

Visions of the prior night swirled in your mind as you leaned into his muscular body, completely in tune with him even in sheer silence.

Until Yoona interrupted you two with a cough, causing you to separate as quickly as possible from each other with more than embarrassed faces.

Jungkook’s siblings awkwardly laughed, and Nadia’s eyes, which you were avoiding, were boring into you penetratingly.

After the game, you went back to your rooms to prepare for lunch.

Strategically dodging your sister as much as possible, you pretended like nothing had happened between the viscount and you, while your insides brewed with fire.

But Nadia was the confrontational type.

"I see the way you look at each other, Yn," she admitted to you, hurt evident in her voice. "I have seen it for a long time, but I thought... you hated him. Had I known you did not, I would have ended the courtship."

"Nini..." you whispered. "I did not want to hurt you. I do not know how I could have been so selfish. You do not know how much I hate myself right now. I did not tell you because I was ashamed of myself... I did not want you to think that I purposely wanted to steal the man you love."

"I am not in love with him!" Nadia exclaimed in response, "I love you! You are my sister, Yn. If you would have told me from the beginning, I would not have been angry with you."

"I am so deeply sorry, Nadia," your face was a tearful mess at that point. "I did not know what to do; I thought... I was sure this would be just a passing infatuation, but... please forgive me, sister."

Your sister’s gentle hands found their way to your tear-stained cheeks. "I understand..."

"Please, I beg of you, do not let this ruin our sisterhood," you sounded pathetic, but you did not care.

You loved a man you were not supposed to love; you did things you were never supposed to do.

"You are my little sister, Yn," even in anger, her voice was soft and assuring. "You always will be... but do give me time to process this."

You nodded, immediately pulling her into a warm, strong embrace, whispering "I love you" to her.

___

You traveled back to London in complete silence, your sister still unsure how to talk to you and your mother, disappointed in the lack of proposals, but still happy with the time spent together.

For a couple of weeks, you did not hear anything from the viscount or his family. You tried to distract yourself with books and art, but nothing filled the emptiness in your heart.

You knew you gave the viscount the impression that you did not wish to speak with him, but you longed to hear or read his words.

One day, your mother entered your room with a pensive look. "Mama, what is it?"

"Yn... I have news, very important ones," she sat down at the edge of your spacious bed and took your hand in hers. "The viscount... he asked for your hand this morning. Your Baba approves, and Nadia does too, my love."

Your heart jumped outside your body for a moment, completely in shock.

You were happy, but you were not at the same time; perhaps the viscount only proposed because he was the gentleman he claimed to be and was merely fulfilling his duty?

"The viscount does not love me, Mama; I know it..." you sniveled, sadness washing over you. "He is simply fulfilling his duties because we..."

Your mother cut you off with an understanding look.

"Yn..." she spoke softly. "It is well; you do not need to tell me what happened between you and the viscount."

You sent a grateful gaze at her.

She always knew the right words to say when you were in distress.

"But, my dear," your mother expressed in an almost hesitant tone. "Whether the viscount wishes to marry you out of duty or out of love... I believe we should accept his proposal."

You were not angry at her idea because you wanted to marry him more than anything else in the world, but you feared he felt forced into proposing.

It was as if your heart had declared war on your mind.

Reluctantly, you nodded.

"I understand," you softly whispered. "Tell Baba to accept his proposal, but I wish to speak with the viscount beforehand."

Immediately after what you said, your mother ordered the maid to send an invitation for tea to the Jeon house.

___

The next day, Jungkook arrived with his mother by his side and an expensive bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"These are for you," he handed them to you, smiling shyly.

You silently thanked him, feeling the awkwardness brew; thankfully, your mother took the viscountess aside and left you and Jungkook enough room for a private conversation.

"I have not heard back about the proposal yet," Jungkook carefully started.

You nodded. "I have my Mama’s and Baba’s approval... Nadia’s too."

Jungkook watched you with attentive eyes, trying to gather what was holding you back from taking him as your husband.

"But I am afraid you are only proposing because of what happened at the country house," you confessed to him, looking down at your lap. "I do not want a marriage that is based solely on duties, Jungkook."

Jungkook looked frustrated, shaking his head.

"Listen to me, Yn," he grabbed your chin gently, locking his eyes with yours. "I love you. I have loved you from the moment we raced each other in that park. I have loved you at every dance, on every walk, every time we've been together, and every time we have been apart. You do not have to accept it, embrace it, or even allow it. Knowing you, you probably will not. But you must know it in your heart. You must feel it because I do. I love you."

You looked away for a second, tears of joy and longing filling your eyes.

While you gathered your words, he continued, "I know I am imperfect, but I will humble myself before you because I cannot imagine my life without you, and that is why I wish to marry you."

At that point, your face was tear-stained all over, returning your gaze to him as you smiled delicately.

"I love you, Jungkook, and I will marry you," you declared. "But do not think there will come a day where you do not vex me."

He now wore a big smile on his face, leaning in to engulf your full lips in a gentle kiss.

"Is that a promise, Yn Ln?" he breathed against your lips.

___

hiiii, i’m back!! i hope u all get my vision of jungkook as the viscount bridgerton because i do. btw, i’m sorry i’m not rlly active on here but i am a college student okay, i am very busy i cannot help it😭😭 i try to write as much as possible but a girl’s gotta have priorities. anyway, i hope everybody who reads this has a nice day💋 (btw, i love ur feedback, ur comments, etc. so pls don’t be shy)

[2b4st4r]

Could I request one piece villains (bartolomeo and Kidd included) with a soft kind reader? Like he's a monster and the reader is a literary a flower (gn reader pls) hope it's not much!

SOFT HEARTED

GN!Reader x One Piece villains (+ Kid and Bartolomeo)

(I hope I included everyone you would want)

Warnings: toxic/abusive relationships, violence/cruelty, manipulation, power imbalance, dark themes, cruelty, self-sacrifice, arranged marriage, possible sensitive family dynamics

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

DOFLOMINGOᯓ★

A Kindred Spirit in a Cruel World (3,176 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped strands of hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar expression that rarely left your features. You were a soul of unwavering kindness, a beacon of warmth in a world often cloaked in shadows. For you, true joy came from the simple act of giving – a piece of candied fruit to a child with wide, hopeful eyes, a comforting word to a stranger in distress, or even, if the need arose, a selfless offering of yourself, an organ donated without a second thought to save a life. Your compassion was boundless, your empathy a deep well from which you drew strength and offered solace.

People often wondered how someone like you, so inherently good and giving, found yourself entangled with a man like Donquixote Doflamingo. He was everything you weren't – a force of nature driven by a chilling cruelty, a man who reveled in the suffering of others, who twisted lives for his own amusement. His laughter, a harsh, cackling sound, often sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest pirates, yet to you, it was merely the echo of a different kind of storm. You saw the broken boy beneath the flamboyant exterior, the scarred past that molded him into the monster he had become. And despite the vast chasm between your natures, a strange, undeniable bond had formed, pulling you deeper into his dangerous, unpredictable world. You were the sun to his moon, the calm to his chaos, a tender hand reaching out to touch the untouchable. But how long could such a fragile connection endure in the tumultuous currents of the New World, especially when one heart beat with boundless love and the other pulsed with unyielding darkness?

You were excellent at seeing. Not just with your eyes, but with your entire being. You saw the flicker of doubt behind a braggart's grin, the tremor in a bully's hand, the silent plea in a hardened criminal's eyes. This wasn't a skill you honed; it was an inherent part of you, a profound capacity for empathy that allowed you to connect with the raw, often hidden, core of another being. And it was this very quality, your boundless compassion, that had first snagged Doflamingo's attention, drawing him in like a moth to a dangerously bright flame.

He remembered the first time he truly saw it, or rather, felt it. It was on some forgotten island, a backwater where his crew had just finished asserting their dominance. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and fear, the usual aftermath of their arrival. Doflamingo was striding through the chaos, a predatory smirk plastered on his face, when he stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because you had. You were kneeling by a collapsed stall, not tending to a fallen comrade or assessing damage, but gently stroking the ruffled feathers of a terrified pigeon, murmuring soft, comforting words. A silly, insignificant bird, in the grand scheme of his brutal world, yet you treated it with a tenderness that defied the very atmosphere he cultivated. He watched, utterly perplexed, as you then offered a small, broken piece of bread to the creature, your eyes shining with a pure, unadulterated kindness that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed armor of indifference.

It was infuriating. It was fascinating. It was, he grudgingly admitted to himself, captivating. Your inherent goodness was a stark contrast to the ugliness he embodied, and for a time, that contrast intrigued him. He found himself drawn to it, to the way your empathy softened the sharp edges of his world, to the bizarre comfort of your compassion, even when he pretended to scorn it. He’d test it, push against it, only to find it unyielding, unwavering. And a strange, possessive feeling began to fester within him – a desire to keep that purity close, to have it reflect back at him, a twisted mirror to his own depravity.

But now, that same boundless empathy, that unending compassion, was a festering wound, a constant, irritating reminder of everything he wasn’t and everything he refused to be. Your ability to see past the facade, to offer understanding where he craved fear, to forgive where he delighted in vengeance, had curdled into a bitter resentment. It was a weakness he couldn't tolerate, a light that burned too brightly in his shadowed existence, threatening to expose the very depths of his cruelty. It was what he loved and loathed, the very essence of you that both bound him and drove him to the brink of fury.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, the memory vivid and biting. It was Baby 5. She’d been careless, as usual, taking a hit during a skirmish that was meant for someone else, her body crumpling in a most un-Doflamingo-like display of vulnerability. The sight of her, pale and bleeding on the grimy deck of their ship, usually elicited nothing more than a disgusted sneer from him. A weakness. A liability.

But then you were there.

You moved with a quiet urgency he found both perplexing and infuriating. Your hands, usually so gentle, were surprisingly steady as you knelt beside Baby 5, ignoring the blood that stained your clothes. Your touch wasn't clinical or detached; it was infused with that damned, unwavering compassion that burned him. You didn't just tend to the wound; you murmured soft reassurances, your voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality of their world. He watched, transfixed, as you pushed strands of hair from Baby 5's tear-streaked face, your eyes filled with an unbearable, soft sorrow for her pain.

He saw the way Baby 5, usually so desperate for validation, melted into your touch, her rigid posture softening, her sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. You treated her not as a tool, or a subordinate, or a nuisance, but as a person, a fragile being in need of comfort. It was a scene that twisted something cold and hard in his gut. A part of him, the part he brutally suppressed, wanted to reach out, to understand that profound connection you effortlessly forged. But another, larger part, the one that governed his entire existence, raged.

Weakness. That’s all he saw. Your empathy was a gaping hole, a vulnerability he couldn't comprehend, let alone tolerate. It was a stark reminder of the sentimentality he'd long ago excised from his own being, a betrayal of everything he stood for. And in that moment, watching you pour your boundless kindness into someone he considered expendable, the first tendrils of that bitter, simmering hatred began to wrap around his twisted heart. It was a contradiction, a paradox he couldn't reconcile: the very thing that drew him to you, the very thing he secretly craved, was also the most potent source of his disdain.

God, you were the source of his anger, the very wellspring from which his fury flowed. Your existence was a constant, irritating contradiction to his own. It wasn't just your kindness in general, but your courage to openly display empathy and compassion right there, in front of him, that truly set his teeth on edge. It was a defiance, a silent rebellion against the cruel world he'd so painstakingly built around himself. He’d watch you, offering a gentle hand to a whimpering child, speaking softly to a terrified subordinate, or even, once, just gazing with a profound, aching sorrow at the destruction he’d wrought, and a cold, sharp rage would coil in his gut.

He hated you for it. Hated the way your inherent goodness shone, unbidden and untamed, like a defiant sunbeam piercing through his carefully constructed darkness. He hated that you saw beyond the monster, that you refused to cower, that your compassion was so absolute it made his own barren existence feel even colder. It was a mirror reflecting his own twisted soul, showing him everything he'd lost, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he’d brutally suppressed to become the man he was.

Yet, it was the same damned thing that had drawn him to you in the first place. Like a moth to a flame, he'd been inexplicably pulled into your orbit. Your unwavering kindness, your fearless empathy – it was an anomaly he couldn't comprehend, a challenge he couldn't resist. He’d wanted to possess it, perhaps even to corrupt it, to see if he could break that unbreakable spirit. He’d wanted to understand it, to tear apart the enigma of your compassion, to find its weakness, its breaking point. But you never broke. You simply continued to be you, radiating that infuriating, mesmerizing warmth, a constant thorn in his side and a strange, undeniable anchor in his chaotic world. It was a maddening paradox: the thing he despised most about you was also the very thing that had, against all reason, brought him to his knees.

The air in the opulent, yet often chilling, halls of Doflamingo's palace crackled with an unspoken tension. You had been tending to one of his crew, a low-ranking grunt who'd caught a nasty fever, and your quiet ministrations had, as always, drawn Doflamingo's gaze. He watched from the shadows, a familiar knot of conflicting emotions tightening in his chest. Your effortless kindness, your pure, unadulterated compassion – it was a constant affront to his very being, a soft hand gently pressing against the jagged edges of his soul.

When you finally straightened up, he was there, blocking your path. His usual predatory smirk was replaced by something colder, more volatile. "Fufufu... still playing the innocent healer, are we?" His voice was a low growl, laced with a familiar mockery.

You met his gaze, your own eyes unwavering. "Someone needed help, Doffy."

"Help?" he scoffed, taking a step closer, his tall frame looming over yours. "Such a pathetic sentiment. Don't you see, little dove? This world doesn't reward kindness. It devours it. And you... you practically bleed it." His hand, usually so quick to unleash devastating strings, reached out, not to strike, but to brush a lock of hair from your face. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt charged with an unbearable weight. "It infuriates me."

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken truths. You knew what he meant. You always did. Your empathy, the very core of your being, was a constant challenge to his cruel philosophy.

"It infuriates me," he repeated, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "how you can look at the ugliness of this world, at me, and still find... something. How you can offer that soft hand, that gentle gaze, when all I've ever known is taking and destroying." His eyes, usually hidden behind his sunglasses, were now piercing, raw, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability, a deep-seated confusion that warred with his inherent cruelty. "I hate it."

The words were harsh, blunt, an honest confession of his bitter resentment. And yet, in that moment, the raw honesty of it was almost disarming. You didn't flinch. You didn't argue. You simply stood there, your compassion a silent, unyielding force against his venom.

Then, just as the anger seemed to reach its peak, a different kind of storm brewed in his eyes. His gaze dropped from yours to your lips, a sudden, almost desperate hunger replacing the fury. He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, his breath ghosting across your face.

"I hate you for it," he rasped, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn't quite name, "but I can't... I can't stay away."

And then, before you could even process the words, his lips were on yours. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, almost violent in its intensity, a desperate claim. It was the kiss of a man consumed by a maddening contradiction, a torrent of anger and a desperate, undeniable yearning, all tangled up in the paradox of his twisted heart and your unwavering, infuriating kindness. In that kiss, the love and the hatred, the fascination and the revulsion, all collided, binding you to him in a dangerous, undeniable embrace.

The kiss had been a jarring shift, a violent tenderness that left you both reeling. Afterwards, Doflamingo had pulled away, his face a mask of conflict, and stalked off without another word, leaving you alone in the silent, echoing hall. This was the pattern of your relationship with him – intense bursts of raw emotion, followed by a tense, often suffocating silence.

You were his, in his own twisted sense of the word. He introduced you as such, a subtle possessiveness in his tone that brooked no argument. You were a permanent fixture in his life, a strange, soft anomaly in the Donquixote Family’s brutal hierarchy. The crew, hardened by years of Doflamingo's rule, regarded you with a mixture of confusion and cautious respect. They’d witnessed his volatile rages, his chilling indifference, yet you were the one person who could, at times, evoke something else from him – a flicker of something akin to worry, a strange, almost gentle touch, or even a fleeting, unguarded expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

For your part, you navigated his volatile nature with a blend of unwavering patience and quiet defiance. You wouldn't change who you were for him, and he, in turn, seemed to begrudgingly accept that. He’d yell, he’d rage, he’d mock your bleeding-heart tendencies, but you would simply meet his tirades with a calm gaze, a soft rebuttal, or even, occasionally, a pointed silence that infuriated him more than any argument. He’d test your compassion, presenting you with situations designed to break your spirit, to force you to acknowledge the "reality" of his world. He’d make you witness acts of cruelty, hoping to see the idealism shatter in your eyes. But it never did. Instead, you'd find small, subversive ways to mitigate the damage, a whispered word of comfort, a hidden act of kindness, an almost imperceptible gesture of solace.

This constant push and pull was the core of your existence together. He thrived on power, on control, on instilling fear. You, on the other hand, sought to soothe, to understand, to alleviate suffering. It was a clash of fundamental forces, a storm and a calm, perpetually locked in a dangerous dance.

There were moments, rare and fleeting, when the "love" part of their relationship, however twisted, would surface. He would watch you as you slept, a strange, almost tender expression softening his usually sharp features. He'd pull you closer during a storm, the rough expanse of his arm a surprising comfort. He'd bring you rare trinkets, not as gifts of affection, but as tokens of possession, yet the act itself held a bizarre, almost endearing sincerity. And you, in turn, found yourself drawn to the wounded boy beneath the tyrannical facade, to the flicker of humanity he so desperately tried to extinguish. You loved him, not for what he was, but for what you believed he could be, for the glimpse of a tortured soul you occasionally saw in his eyes.

But then, just as quickly, the mask would snap back into place. The cruelty would resurface, the mocking laughter would echo, and the cold, hard reality of who Doflamingo truly was would assert itself. And in those moments, the hatred he held for your inherent goodness would flare anew, a constant reminder of the chasm between you. You were his greatest weakness and his most coveted possession, a constant source of both agonizing frustration and undeniable fascination. It was a love built on paradox, sustained by conflict, and perpetually teetering on the brink of beautiful destruction.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violent orange and bruised purple, a fitting backdrop for the paradoxical life you shared with Doflamingo. Years had passed, marked by countless clashes of will, by his bouts of cruel amusement and your unwavering, stubborn kindness. Their relationship wasn't a fairytale, nor was it a conventional romance. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, in the most unlikely of pairings, two vastly different individuals could, against all odds, find a way to make things work.

It wasn't that the toxicity vanished; it simply became a part of the air you breathed, a constant, low hum beneath the surface of your shared existence. Doflamingo still reveled in chaos, still inflicted pain, and still, at times, openly disdained your empathy. You, in turn, never stopped offering comfort, never stopped seeing the lost boy beneath the Celestial Dragon's veneer. But something had shifted, solidified into a bizarre, unspoken agreement.

He had learned, in his own twisted way, to tolerate your goodness. More than that, he had come to rely on it, though he would sooner tear out his own throat than admit it. Your presence was a grounding force, a silent barometer that measured his own volatile temper. When his fury threatened to consume everything, your calm presence, your steady gaze, was often the only thing that could anchor him, if only for a fleeting moment. He might scoff at your compassion, but he knew, deep down, that you were the only one who could truly see him, the only one who didn't fear him unconditionally, and perhaps, the only one who didn't want anything from him other than his flawed self.

And you? You had come to understand that Doflamingo's love was not a soft, gentle thing, but a fierce, possessive grip. It was in the way his hand would linger on your arm for a fraction too long, in the way he'd dismiss a threat against you with a chilling finality, or the almost imperceptible softening of his voice when you were truly distressed. You accepted that his world was one of shadows and blood, and you chose to illuminate your own small corner of it, a quiet defiance that he, surprisingly, came to respect. You weren't changing him, not fundamentally, but you were undeniably influencing him, softening the edges of his brutal regime in ways no one else ever could.

Their life together was a constant tightrope walk, a delicate balance between destruction and a strange, profound connection. There were no grand declarations of love, no idyllic moments under starry skies. Instead, it was in the shared silences, in the way he'd instinctively reach for your hand during a tense standoff, in the fierce protectiveness he unconsciously displayed. You were the quiet anchor to his storm, the gentle touch to his hardened cruelty, and in that complex interplay, you found your own unconventional version of forever.

The world might call your relationship toxic, and perhaps it was. But in the volatile, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line, you and Doflamingo had forged a bond that, against all logic, endured. It was a love born of contradiction, sustained by unwavering acceptance, and ultimately, a testament to the fact that even the most disparate souls could find a way to fit, imperfectly but inextricably, together.

CROCODILE ❀.ೃ࿔*

Where kindness meet cruelty (2,431)

You always saw the good in people, even when no one else did. Your heart was an open book, filled with empathy and a boundless capacity for kindness. You were the one who'd offer a comforting embrace to a weeping stranger, whispering words of encouragement until their tears subsided. Sacrificing your own well-being for another's happiness was simply second nature to you, a quiet act of devotion that defined who you were. In a world often steeped in cynicism, you were a beacon of unwavering compassion, a gentle soul whose presence brought warmth to even the coldest corners.

And then there was Crocodile. Your lover, and the jarring counterpoint to your own gentle nature. Where you offered solace, he dispensed harsh truths. Where you sought understanding, he wielded anger like a weapon. He was the shifting sands of a desert storm, unpredictable and unforgiving, a stark contrast to your own steady, calming presence. You, the compassionate secretary of the Cross Guild, found yourself drawn to the very man who embodied everything you weren't. It was a paradox, a love story etched in opposing shades, and yet, it was undeniably yours.

The docks of Nanohana were a chaotic symphony of shouts, creaking wood, and the salty tang of the sea. A young street urchin, no older than ten, stumbled, sending a cascade of oranges tumbling from their overloaded basket. The fruit rolled across the cobblestones, some squashed underfoot by hurried passersby. The child's lip trembled, tears welling in their eyes, a whimper escaping their throat.

You, ever the first to react, were already moving. Your steps were swift and light as you knelt beside the distraught child. "Oh, you poor thing," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm amidst the din. You began to gather the remaining oranges, carefully brushing off the dirt before placing them back in the basket. "It's alright, we'll get these picked up. Don't you worry." You even pulled a small, pristine handkerchief from your pocket, gently dabbing at the child's tear-streaked face. You'd likely offer to buy them a new batch of oranges, or at the very least, share some of your own rations. You wouldn't just fix the problem; you'd mend the child's spirit.

Meanwhile, Crocodile would observe the scene from a short distance, a scowl deepening on his scarred face. His eyes, sharp and calculating, would assess the situation not with pity, but with a cold, almost detached analysis. He wouldn't lift a finger to help. Instead, he'd bark, "Get up, you sniveling brat! Crying won't put those oranges back in the basket. Learn to hold onto your belongings, or you'll starve." He might even kick a stray orange further away, not out of maliciousness, but as a twisted form of tough love, a brutal lesson in self-reliance. For him, the child's misfortune wasn't an opportunity for kindness, but a chance for a harsh, unforgettable lesson about the unforgiving nature of the world. He'd tell you later that coddling only bred weakness, that true strength came from enduring hardship alone.

The docks incident was a stark, undeniable fissure in their shared reality. It was a clear line drawn in the sand, illustrating precisely where your unwavering empathy diverged from Crocodile's unyielding pragmatism. You'd spent the rest of that afternoon ensuring the child was truly alright, even managing to convince a local vendor to give them a few extra oranges, while Crocodile watched, his arms crossed, a silent, disapproving observer.

Yet, despite these glaring differences, you made it work. It wasn't always easy, and there were countless silent battles fought in the space between your intertwined fingers. But moments of unexpected tenderness, like scattered desert blooms, punctuated their harsh landscape.

You remember one particularly rough night in Alabasta, the wind howling like a banshee through the desert, whipping sand against their temporary shelter. You were shivering, despite the worn blanket wrapped tightly around you. Crocodile, ever alert, seemed to sense your discomfort without a word passing between them. He didn't offer a platitude, or even a direct question. Instead, he simply shifted closer, his large frame radiating a surprising amount of warmth. He draped his own heavy cloak over your shoulders, its rough fabric a stark contrast to the softness of his subtle gesture. He never acknowledged it, never mentioned it the next day, but the quiet act spoke volumes. It was in these small, unspoken gestures that his version of affection manifested—a protective instinct, a silent acknowledgment of your presence and comfort, even if it was buried beneath layers of gruffness.

Another time, after a particularly grueling Cross Guild meeting, you found yourself overwhelmed by the endless paperwork and the constant tension that simmered between the members. You were slumped over your desk, a headache throbbing behind your eyes. Crocodile entered, a cloud of cigar smoke preceding him. He usually had a biting comment or a new demand. But that day, he simply pulled up a chair opposite you. He didn't speak. He just sat there, meticulously cleaning his hook, the rhythmic scrape of metal against leather the only sound in the room. You didn't realize how much you needed that quiet, undemanding presence until he was there. It wasn't comfort in the traditional sense, but it was his comfort—a shared silence that somehow eased the pressure in your head and the weight on your shoulders. It was in these moments that you truly understood how deeply intertwined your lives had become, a testament to a bond forged not in similarity, but in the acceptance of profound differences.

The quiet moments, the ones where the world's chaos faded into the background, became the bedrock of your relationship. You learned to read the subtle shifts in Crocodile's demeanor, the slight tightening around his eyes that signaled a flicker of concern, or the rare, almost imperceptible softening of his jaw when he genuinely approved of something you'd done. And he, in his own gruff way, came to rely on your presence, on the gentle order you brought to the tumultuous operations of the Cross Guild, and perhaps, to his own turbulent mind.

You often found yourself sifting through stacks of bounty posters in his office, organizing the chaos of wanted criminals and their ever-increasing prices. He'd be hunched over his own desk, a plume of cigar smoke curling around his head, ostensibly engrossed in a map or a strategy document. But you knew he was aware of your every movement, the soft rustle of paper, the quiet hum you sometimes made when you were deeply focused. He’d never admit it, but your steady, calming presence was a quiet anchor in his storm-tossed life.

One evening, a fierce storm raged outside, rattling the windows of their temporary headquarters. Rain lashed down in sheets, and the wind howled like a hungry beast. The power flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness before sputtering back to life. You jumped, startled, a small gasp escaping your lips. Crocodile, who had been observing the storm with an almost casual indifference, turned his head. He didn't say anything, but his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than usual. Then, almost imperceptibly, he reached out and flicked a switch on a small, oil-burning lantern he kept on his desk, its warm, steady glow pushing back against the encroaching shadows. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes. It was his way of saying, "I'm here. You're safe."

You smiled then, a soft, genuine smile that reached your eyes. He didn't return it, of course, but you saw the briefest flicker in his own, a hint of something unreadable, perhaps even content. In that shared, silent moment, amidst the raging storm and the world's cruel indifference, you knew, unequivocally, that your contrasting souls had found an unlikely, yet unbreakable, harmony. You were the light, he was the shadow, and together, you cast a unique silhouette against the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line.

Crocodile would never admit it, not even to himself, but your relentless kindness was a persistent, inconvenient anomaly in his carefully constructed world of cynicism. He viewed emotions as weaknesses, vulnerabilities to be exploited, yet your boundless empathy chipped away at his hardened resolve in ways he couldn't comprehend, let alone control. It was like a constant, gentle pressure against a rock, slowly, imperceptibly eroding its sharp edges.

He'd often scoff at your bleeding-heart tendencies, muttering about sentimentality being a burden in the Grand Line. He'd witness you offering a stray dog a portion of your own meal, or patiently listening to a tearful merchant lamenting their losses, and a muscle in his jaw would tick. It wasn't anger, not precisely. It was… disquiet. Your actions defied his every belief about survival, about the ruthless efficiency required to thrive in a world that devoured the weak.

One blistering afternoon in Alabasta, you both found yourselves navigating the dusty streets of a small desert town, en route to a discreet meeting. The air was thick with the scent of spices and the distant sound of a bazaar. As you passed a narrow alley, a faint, mewling sound caught your ear. Tucked away in the shadows, a tiny kitten, no bigger than your palm, lay curled on the grimy sand, its fur matted, its ribs starkly visible. It was shivering, despite the heat.

Without a moment's hesitation, you knelt, extending a gentle hand. The kitten, wary, flattened itself further, but you remained still, your voice a soft, reassuring murmur. "Hey there, little one," you cooed, your fingers slowly, carefully reaching out to stroke its head. It flinched, then, surprisingly, leaned into your touch, letting out a weak purr.

Crocodile stopped, his shadow falling over you both. He watched, his golden eyes narrowed, a mixture of disdain and something unreadable in their depths. He half-expected you to leave it, to continue on your way. Instead, you carefully scooped up the trembling creature, cradling it against your chest.

"We can't just leave it, Crocodile," you said, your voice quiet but firm, not even looking at him as you began to gently clean the kitten's matted fur with a damp cloth you always carried. "It's starving. It won't last the night."

He let out a low, exasperated grunt. "It's a stray, Y/N. This isn't a charity mission. We have business." His words were sharp, cutting, but you noticed he didn't move to stop you. He merely stood there, a formidable, unyielding presence, observing your tender ministrations.

You didn't argue. You simply continued to comfort the kitten, your fingers stroking its tiny head until its purrs grew stronger. You knew he wouldn't outright forbid it, not when you looked at him with that earnest, unwavering gaze. He'd grouse, he'd mock, but he wouldn't force you to abandon it.

Later, back at your temporary lodgings, you found a small, chipped bowl on the floor, filled with water and a few scraps of dried meat. The kitten, now somewhat revived, was cautiously lapping at the water. Crocodile was nowhere to be seen, but the message was clear. He hadn't asked about the kitten, hadn't acknowledged its presence beyond his initial protests. Yet, the bowl was there, a silent, grudging concession to your persistent heart. It was a vexing, illogical feeling for him, this involuntary response to your empathy. He understood power, control, ambition. But your quiet, unwavering kindness? That was an enigma he was still, against his will, trying to decipher.

Years passed, measured not by calendars, but by the relentless pursuit of power, the fleeting alliances, and the dust of countless islands. The Cross Guild grew, its influence spreading like a desert storm, and through it all, you remained at Crocodile's side, the unwavering constant in his tumultuous existence. The kitten, long grown into a sleek, healthy cat, often curled on your desk, a silent, furry testament to that long-ago moment in Alabasta and to Crocodile's begrudging, unspoken tolerance.

He never softened, not in the way one might expect. The scowl rarely left his face, his words remained sharp, and his ambition burned as fiercely as ever. But something shifted. The exasperated grunts became less frequent, the cynical remarks sometimes carried a faint, almost imperceptible hint of dry amusement. He still chastised you for your "naiveté," but the bite in his voice was tempered by a strange, almost possessive undertone.

It was during a tense standoff with a rival crew on a remote, rain-swept island. A young, inexperienced crew member, overwhelmed by the sudden violence, froze, directly in the path of an incoming attack. Your eyes widened in alarm, and without thinking, you moved. Not to fight, but to push the young man out of harm's way, leaving yourself momentarily exposed.

Time seemed to slow. Crocodile, already engaged with the opposing captain, saw it all. His golden eyes, usually cold and calculating, flashed with something akin to raw, visceral panic. For a fraction of a second, his guard wavered, a dangerous lapse. But before he could curse, before he could intervene, you had already completed your selfless act, tumbling to the ground with the crew member, both of you narrowly avoiding a devastating blow.

The fight raged on, but the brief, unguarded look on Crocodile's face spoke volumes. It was not anger at your recklessness, not disdain for your perceived weakness. It was a fleeting, terrifying glimpse of fear – fear for you.

Later, when the dust settled and the enemy lay defeated, you stood a little shaken, but unharmed. Crocodile approached, his cloak billowing around him, a silent, imposing figure. He didn't ask if you were hurt. He didn't offer praise. He simply reached out, his hook glinting, and with surprising gentleness, he nudged a stray strand of hair from your face. His eyes, devoid of their usual malice, met yours. For a long moment, an eternity in their complex dynamic, there was no anger, no judgment, only a quiet, profound understanding.

He might never articulate it, but in that silent gesture, in the way he allowed your kindness to exist unfettered in his brutal world, was his ultimate acceptance. You were the anomaly, the inconvenient truth, the softest edge to his sharpest ambition. You were the one who saw the flickering good in a heart he insisted was barren. And perhaps, in a way he would never acknowledge, you were the only one who could truly anchor the shifting sands of Sir Crocodile. You were his balance, his contradiction, and his most fiercely, silently guarded treasure. Their story wasn't one of change, but of profound, unwavering acceptance of each other's unchanging, contrasting natures.

KATAKURI 𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆

The flutter and the stone (2,593 words)

A warmth emanated from you, a silent, comforting glow that drew people in like moths to a flame. You were the kind of soul who’d offer a gentle hand to someone stumbling, not just to pick them up, but to steady them until they found their footing again. Sacrifice wasn’t a foreign concept to you; it was a quiet understanding, a willingness to put another’s well-being above your own, even if it meant hardship for yourself. You were truly one of the best, a beacon of empathy in a world that often felt devoid of it.

But then there was Katakuri. He was a stark contrast to your vibrant spirit, a calm and serious presence, his emotions carefully guarded behind an impenetrable facade. An arranged engagement by Big Mom herself had sealed your fate, weaving your compassionate nature into the fabric of his stoic world. Now, you found yourself living alongside him on Whole Cake Island, the sweet, saccharine air a strange accompaniment to the quiet, almost detached reality you shared. You, a soul brimming with kindness, and he, a man of unwavering composure, were bound together in an intricate dance orchestrated by a Yonko.

He'd expected a hindrance, a constant, buzzing annoyance orchestrated by his mother. That's what most of these arranged marriages were: a liability, a weakness he'd have to account for. He'd envisioned someone fragile, prone to tears and dramatics, clinging to him for protection, constantly seeking attention he had no desire to give. He'd braced himself for endless chatter, for a person who would disrupt the rigid order he'd meticulously crafted in his life. The idea of sharing his space, his very existence, with someone so utterly out of sync with his own stoic nature had been, frankly, irritating. He’d prepared for the worst, for a constant drain on his already limited patience, a shadow of inconvenience following him everywhere.

But you… you were different. You were a quiet warmth, not a demanding heat. You didn't cling; you simply existed, a gentle presence that somehow softened the edges of his perpetually sharp world. The "endless chatter" he'd anticipated never materialized. Instead, you offered thoughtful observations, quiet support, or sometimes, just a comfortable silence. He’d found you, more than once, tending to a wounded crewmate with a tenderness that made even the gruffest pirates soften. You'd share your meals, offer comfort without being asked, and your eyes held a depth of understanding that surprised him. You didn't demand his attention, but your quiet acts of kindness drew it anyway.

You didn't just shine; you fluttered. You were a vibrant, living thing, a soft current of light that seemed to effortlessly navigate the harsh realities of Whole Cake Island. He found himself, against his better judgment, observing you. How you'd hum a soft tune while organizing supplies, how your laughter, soft and genuine, could cut through the usual cacophony of the island. He’d catch himself, on rare occasions, feeling a faint, unfamiliar stir in his chest when you’d offer a gentle smile his way. He'd expected a burden, a heavy weight to bear. What he got was… something akin to light. A light he hadn't known he needed, but now, he found himself, in his own silent way, watching, almost waiting, for its gentle, steady glow.

You had an uncanny knack for anticipating needs, a quiet magic that hummed beneath your gentle demeanor. Katakuri would find his favorite tea brewed just so in the mornings, a small, thoughtful gesture. Or, on days he was particularly swamped, he'd discover a meticulously packed lunch waiting for him – often including those subtly sweet mochi he favored, even though you’d never seen him eat them openly. It wasn't just for him, though. Your kindness was a boundless well. You'd often prepare extra portions, enough for his siblings, even a specially made sweet for Big Mom herself, always left in a place where it would be easily found, without any fanfare or expectation of thanks. You simply did.

One sweltering afternoon, a sudden, torrential downpour erupted over Whole Cake Island. Katakuri had been in a particularly intense training session, his usual stoicism even more pronounced as he pushed himself. He’d barely paused for breath, let alone considered the oppressive heat or the sudden chill the rain brought. His siblings, too, were scattered across the sprawling complex, many caught off guard by the unexpected shift in weather.

As he finally wrapped up, Mochi sticking to his skin from the exertion, he started towards his usual post. But when he arrived, there was a small, steaming cup waiting. Not just for him, but several, strategically placed for others who would soon be arriving. It was a ginger-lemon tea, perfectly warm, with a subtle sweetness that cut through the humidity and offered a comforting heat against the sudden dampness. Beside it, a stack of freshly folded, dry towels.

You weren't there, of course. You never were, not to receive praise or acknowledgment. But the faint scent of ginger and lemon lingered, a silent testament to your presence, your unwavering thoughtfulness. Katakuri picked up the mug, the warmth seeping into his calloused hands. He took a slow sip, and for a fleeting moment, a faint, almost imperceptible easing of his perpetually tense shoulders could be observed. You just… knew. And you acted, a quiet force of nature, making the world around you a little bit softer, a little bit kinder, without ever being asked.

You continued to weave your quiet magic into the fabric of Whole Cake Island life, a gentle counterpoint to its often chaotic rhythms. Katakuri, for his part, found himself in uncharted territory. He was accustomed to calculating, to predicting, to controlling. But you, with your unassuming kindness and innate ability to simply be, defied all his expectations. He couldn't quite categorize you, couldn't fit you into any of his established frameworks. It was unsettling, yet… not entirely unpleasant.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of territory patrols and dealing with a new batch of unruly subordinates, Katakuri returned to his private quarters. The air was heavy, the usual tension in his shoulders even more pronounced. He expected the familiar silence, the solitary decompression he always sought. Instead, the soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, and the scent of freshly brewed herbal tea, a blend he recognized as one that aided relaxation, wafted gently towards him.

You were there, of course, perched on a plush cushion, a book open in your lap. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, usually bright with warmth, holding a quiet understanding. You didn't speak, didn't offer effusive greetings or pointed questions about his day. You simply gestured to the steaming mug on his small table, then to another cushion opposite you.

He hesitated for a moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his face. He'd never truly shared this space with anyone, not in this way. But the subtle invitation, devoid of any demand, was strangely compelling. He settled onto the cushion, his imposing form making the furniture seem almost fragile. He picked up the mug, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold calculation that had dominated his day.

You returned to your book, yet your presence was anything but distant. It was a comfortable, silent companionship, a soothing balm to the weary edges of his mind. He found himself, for the first time in a long time, truly relaxing. The tension in his jaw eased, his shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. He didn't know what to call this feeling, this quiet sense of calm that settled over him. But as he sipped his tea, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you read, a thought, foreign and unexpected, drifted through his mind: perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't a burden after all. Perhaps it was… something else entirely. Something he was only just beginning to understand.

The silent tea-drinking evenings became a quiet ritual, a comfortable pause in the ceaseless rhythm of Whole Cake Island. Katakuri found himself anticipating them, the subtle shift in his mood almost imperceptible even to him. He’d never craved companionship, never sought it out, but your presence was different. It wasn’t a demand, but an invitation, a soft echo that resonated within his usually unyielding self.

The little interactions began to accumulate, tiny threads weaving a tapestry of connection. One blustery morning, you found him meticulously patching a tear in his scarf, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise flawless exterior. You didn’t comment, didn’t pry, but simply offered a spool of stronger thread from your own sewing kit. He grunted in acknowledgment, a sound that in anyone else might have been dismissive, but from him, it was a quiet acceptance. Later, he noticed the mend was virtually invisible, stronger than before.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic family meeting, a flurry of paper charts went tumbling, scattering across the floor. Before anyone else could react, you were already gathering them, your movements swift and efficient, organizing them back into their proper order without a single word of complaint or even a look for approval. Katakuri, observing from the corner, found a flicker of something akin to admiration stir within him. You weren’t just kind; you were competent, resourceful, and utterly unassuming in your helpfulness.

He even started to notice your preferences. The way you always took your tea with a dash of honey, not sugar. The quiet smile that played on your lips when you managed to coax a wilting plant back to life. He’d find himself leaving a small, perfectly ripe fruit on your table, or ensuring a particularly comfortable blanket was draped over your favored reading chair. These were not grand gestures, not yet. They were quiet acknowledgments, a recognition of your unique presence, and a subtle, almost unconscious desire to contribute to your comfort, just as you so readily contributed to the comfort of everyone around you.

This wasn't just an arranged marriage anymore. The rigid lines of their initial agreement were blurring, softening with each shared silence, each unspoken understanding. It was becoming something else, something real and unexpected. A quiet, blossoming partnership rooted not in duty, but in a burgeoning, unfamiliar warmth.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but Katakuri himself. His siblings, accustomed to his imposing, unyielding presence, might have noticed a slight softening around his eyes when you were near, a less rigid set to his shoulders. But for him, it was a profound internal reordering. The quiet comfort you brought wasn't just a pleasant diversion; it was becoming an essential anchor in his turbulent world.

One afternoon, a squall of minor, yet persistent, issues arose across the island. A supply shipment was delayed, a kitchen pipe burst, and two of his younger siblings were squabbling over a prized confection. Katakuri moved with his usual efficiency, dispatching orders, making calls, his mind a whirl of solutions. Yet, a low thrum of irritation persisted beneath his calm exterior. He found himself, almost unconsciously, seeking you out.

You were in the vast, labyrinthine library, meticulously cataloging old maps. The scent of aged paper and faint cinnamon clung to the air around you. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, as always, holding a quiet, welcoming light. You didn't ask what was wrong, didn't demand explanations. Instead, you simply offered a small, freshly baked cookie from a plate beside you. "They just came out of the oven," you said softly, a gentle invitation in your voice.

He took it, the warm, slightly crisp cookie a surprising comfort in his large hand. He ate it in two bites, the familiar sweetness a momentary balm. He then, to his own surprise, found himself recounting the day's minor frustrations, not in detail, but in a series of clipped, gruff sentences. You listened, truly listened, your gaze unwavering, a silent well of understanding. You didn't offer advice, didn't try to fix anything. You just were.

And in that quiet acceptance, the knot of irritation in his chest began to loosen. The problems hadn't vanished, but his perspective on them had shifted. He felt a quiet sense of calm, a subtle centering that he hadn't realized he craved until you provided it. When he finally rose to leave, the silence between you wasn't empty; it was full, a testament to the unspoken bond that was solidifying between you. He paused at the door, turning his head slightly. "Thank you," he rumbled, the words rough but sincere. It was a rare, almost unprecedented admission from him, a testament to how deeply your quiet presence had begun to affect him. The arranged marriage had indeed become something else entirely. It was becoming a haven.

The "thank you" had been a tremor, a subtle shift in the carefully constructed facade Katakuri presented to the world. For you, it was a confirmation, a quiet acknowledgment that the seed of connection you had diligently, patiently sown was beginning to take root. You didn't press, didn't exploit the rare moment of vulnerability. You simply offered a small, gentle smile, a warmth that resonated with the burgeoning shift within him.

The silent tea rituals evolved. Sometimes, you would softly read aloud from your book, your voice a calm murmur against the backdrop of the bustling island. Katakuri, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts, would often find himself listening, the words weaving through the usual strategic calculations in his mind. He even began to notice the stories you favored – tales of quiet heroism, of small acts of courage, of unexpected tenderness in harsh worlds. These were the stories that mirrored the silent strength he was coming to see in you.

One particularly stormy night, the type of tempest that rattled the very foundations of Whole Cake Chateau, the power flickered and died. The usual emergency lights clicked on, but the vast, opulent halls felt eerily dark and unsettling. Katakuri, ever vigilant, was already moving to check on security and his siblings. As he passed his quarters, however, a soft light caught his eye.

You were there, not with a flashlight, but with a collection of small, flickering candles, strategically placed to cast a warm, comforting glow. You were not fearful, not flustered. Instead, you were humming a soft tune, carefully placing more candles, your movements calm and deliberate. When he entered, you simply looked up, your eyes reflecting the candlelight, making them seem even brighter.

"It's easier to see," you murmured, "and… it's warmer."

He stood there for a moment, the usual tension in his shoulders finally loosening. The storm raged outside, the world felt chaotic, but in this small pocket of warmth and soft light, with you, there was an inexplicable sense of peace. He found himself, for the first time, simply existing in your presence, without needing to calculate, without needing to guard.

He sat on his usual cushion, and for the first time, you leaned in, gently resting your head against his arm as you continued your quiet work with the candles. He didn't flinch, didn't stiffen. Instead, a warmth, far deeper than the flickering candlelight, spread through him. It was a warmth that settled into his very core, chasing away the lingering chill of the storm and the ever-present weight of his duties. This wasn't just an arranged marriage, a duty to be performed. This was… home. And in that quiet, candlelit room, surrounded by the soft flutter of your presence, Katakuri, the unbreakable warrior, finally understood. This was real. And against all odds, it was beautiful.

BUGGY THE CLOWN ༘⋆𖦹 🎪 🎈

The Compassionate Heart and the Clowns Love (2,145 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped your (Y/N)'s hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. You were a beacon of kindness in a world often consumed by chaos and cruelty. Where others saw danger, you sought understanding. Where despair festered, you offered a comforting hand. You were the one who'd sit with someone through their darkest hours, patiently listening, offering words of encouragement, and lifting them back onto their feet. The thought of sacrificing your own well-being for another's safety wasn't a burden; it was simply who you were. You were a good soul, pure and unwavering, a testament to the best of humanity.

And then there was Buggy. He stood beside you on the ship's deck, his signature red nose twitching slightly in the breeze. He was a whirlwind of contradictions, a walking, talking paradox to your own serene nature. Where you were selfless, he was self-serving. Where you were gentle, he was… well, he was Buggy. Loud, theatrical, and prone to dramatic outbursts, he was the kind of person who'd trip over his own feet and then blame the ship for moving. He was undeniably chaotic, a clashing cymbal to your quiet melody. Yet, he was your best friend, a bond forged in the crucible of shared adventures and countless debates. What you didn't know, however, was that beneath all his bluster and clownish antics, Buggy held a secret close to his heart – a fervent, almost obsessive adoration for you. You, the kindest soul he’d ever met, the person who made his chaotic world just a little bit brighter.

You'd often find yourself tending to the small, potted tangerine tree you kept on deck, a splash of vibrant green against the endless blue. Each leaf was carefully inspected, every nascent fruit admired with a quiet joy. Buggy, ever the lurker, would pretend to be polishing his cannons nearby, his gaze, however, was fixed on you. He’d watch as your fingers, so gentle and sure, brushed away a stray speck of dust or tested the soil's moisture. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh would escape his lips as he saw the soft, contented smile that graced your face. "What a weirdo," he’d grumble to himself, but the words lacked any real bite. Instead, a familiar warmth would spread through his chest, a feeling he refused to name but cherished all the same.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit, still green and seasick, stumbled against the mast, dropping a tray of freshly baked bread. The loaves, a rare and cherished treat, scattered across the grimy deck. The recruit's face crumpled, tears welling in their eyes, anticipating a harsh reprimand. Before Buggy could unleash one of his famously theatrical tirades, you were there. You knelt, not to scold, but to gather the ruined bread, your voice a soothing balm. "It's alright," you murmured, your hand gently resting on the recruit's shaking shoulder. "Accidents happen. We'll just bake more." You even managed a small, reassuring smile, and the recruit's tears slowly subsided. Buggy, his mouth agape, watched the entire exchange. His planned tirade died on his tongue, replaced by a strange, almost painful ache in his chest. He'd never seen anyone react with such pure, unadulterated compassion. It was in moments like these, witnessing your boundless empathy, that Buggy felt himself tumbling further, irrevocably, in love with you.

You knew Buggy's temper was as short as his stature, and often as explosive as his Buggy Balls. There were countless times his face would contort into a mask of fury, his voice rising to a theatrical roar, usually over something trivial like a misplaced map or a particularly unflattering comment about his nose. Most of the crew would scatter, wisely giving him a wide berth. But not you.

One sweltering afternoon, a clumsy crewmate tripped, sending a precarious stack of Buggy's meticulously polished cannonballs clattering across the deck. The sound of metallic chaos was immediately followed by Buggy's indignant shriek. "You imbecile! Do you know how long it takes to buff these beauties?! They're practically jewels! I'll chop you into a hundred pieces and feed you to the Sea Kings!" His body began to separate, his disembodied hands already twitching with menace.

The poor crewmate, pale and trembling, braced for impact. But then, a calm, steady hand rested on Buggy's arm. It was yours. "Buggy," you said softly, your voice cutting through his enraged bellow like a soothing breeze. "It was an accident. Look, no real harm done. We can gather them up, and I'll even help you polish them again. We have plenty of time."

Buggy's separated limbs paused, his furious eyes blinking. He looked from the scattered cannonballs to your gentle face, then back again. His anger, so quickly ignited, seemed to deflate under your unwavering calm. He let out a dramatic huff, reassembling himself with a flourish. "Hmph! Fine! But only because you asked, (Y/N)! And you'd better polish them until they gleam like my magnificent nose!" He still grumbled, but the genuine threat had vanished, replaced by a theatrical show of lingering annoyance. You simply smiled, already kneeling to pick up the cannonballs, and Buggy, despite himself, found his heart doing a strange little flutter.

Another time, during a particularly frustrating negotiation with a shady merchant, Buggy found himself completely outmaneuvered, his grand plans unraveling before his very eyes. He'd stormed back to the ship, red-faced and fuming, kicking at anything that dared to be in his path. He paced the deck, muttering curses and slamming his fist into his palm. "That conniving weasel! How dare he! He'll regret this! I'll send a Buggy Bomb right through his wretched shop!"

The crew kept their distance, knowing better than to interrupt a Buggy tantrum. You, however, approached him, a mug of steaming tea in your hands. "Buggy," you said, offering it to him. "You look like you could use this."

He glared at the mug, then at you. "What do I need tea for, (Y/N)?! I need revenge! I need to show that miserable flea who he's messing with!"

You gently pressed the warm mug into his hands. "Sometimes," you said, your voice soft and understanding, "a moment of calm can help you think clearer. Besides, you're the greatest captain on the Grand Line. You'll figure out a way to get what you want, without resorting to blowing up perfectly good shops."

Buggy stared at the tea, then at your encouraging expression. The rigid tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly. He took a hesitant sip of the tea, then another. He still looked disgruntled, but the wild anger in his eyes had softened into a frustrated pout. "Hmph. Fine," he mumbled, taking another gulp of tea. "But I'm still getting my revenge. Just… after this." He never did end up blowing up the shop that day. And as he watched you walk away, a faint, almost imperceptible blush crept onto his painted cheeks. Every time you treated him with such quiet understanding, such unwavering belief, he felt a pull, a warmth that had nothing to do with the Grand Line's sun, and everything to do with you. He was, completely, hopelessly, madly in love.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A gentle breeze rustled the ship's sails, carrying the scent of salt and adventure. You were sitting by the railing, gazing at the glittering expanse of the sea, a quiet contentment settling over you.

Buggy, however, was a whirlwind of nervous energy. He paced the deck, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the fading light. His mind was a battlefield, warring between his usual theatrical bluster and a sudden, crippling shyness. He'd rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, each version more dramatic and magnificent than the last. But now, with you so close, so calm and effortlessly kind, all his carefully constructed speeches dissolved into a jumbled mess.

He stopped abruptly, facing away from you, his hands clenched at his sides. "Y-Y-You know, (Y/N)!" he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. "I... I'm the greatest pirate captain on the Grand Line! The magnificent Buggy! No one can compare to my genius, my charisma, my... my incredible nose!" He gestured wildly to his face, but his usual confidence was noticeably absent.

You turned, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. "Of course, Buggy," you said, your voice soft and patient. "No one doubts your magnificent qualities."

His shoulders sagged slightly at your gentle tone. This wasn't going as planned. He spun around, his face a dramatic mask of internal turmoil, his cheeks a surprising shade of crimson beneath his make-up. "B-But... but there's something else! Something... something even more magnificent than my incredible powers and my vast treasure!" He took a shaky breath, his eyes darting to yours, then quickly away. "It's... it's you! You're... you're the most amazing, kindest, most infuriatingly selfless person I've ever met! You make my heart feel all... all weird and tingly! Like a hundred tiny explosions going off at once!"

He finally looked at you, his normally boastful eyes wide with a raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I... I think I'm in love with you, (Y/N)! Madly, completely, utterly in love!" The words tumbled out in a rush, leaving him breathless. He stood there, frozen, waiting for your reaction, his painted smile feeling incredibly stiff. The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, and the frantic pounding of Buggy's own heart.

The silence that followed Buggy's confession hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the ship. Buggy, for once in his life, was utterly still, his eyes wide and vulnerable, fixed on your face. He braced himself for a laugh, a bewildered stare, anything but what came next.

A soft, genuine smile bloomed on your face, a warmth that seemed to banish the last vestiges of twilight from the deck. You stepped closer, your hand gently reaching out to touch his arm. "Buggy," you said, your voice a calm, steady melody that quieted the frantic beating of his heart. "You really are something else."

His breath hitched, and he stared at you, waiting.

You chuckled softly, a sound that sent a strange, delightful shiver down his spine. "Those 'weird and tingly' feelings? I get them too, with you." Your gaze, so open and honest, met his, and he felt a jolt, like a tiny electric current passing between you. "And yes, Buggy. A thousand times yes."

Buggy's jaw dropped. His eyes, usually so expressive in their theatrical fury, were now wide with pure, unadulterated shock. "Y-Y-You... you mean it?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "You're... you're not just being kind?"

You laughed again, a fuller, more joyful sound this time. "No, Buggy," you affirmed, your grip on his arm firm and reassuring. "I'm not just being kind. I really do feel something for you. All of you. Even your magnificent nose." You squeezed his arm gently, your eyes sparkling with affection.

A colossal grin, wider and more genuine than any of his usual theatrical displays, spread across Buggy's face. He let out a whoop of pure delight, so loud it probably echoed across the silent ocean. In a flash of spontaneous joy, he found himself doing something utterly uncharacteristic: he pulled you into a surprisingly gentle, yet firm, hug. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for a moment, the notorious Pirate Captain Buggy, the loud and bombastic clown, was simply Buggy, a man completely, blissfully, and truly in love.

The news spread through the crew like wildfire. Initially, there were whispers, then outright disbelief. "Captain Buggy? In love? With (Y/N)?" But as days turned into weeks, the evidence was undeniable. Buggy, while still prone to his dramatic outbursts, seemed to have a new spring in his step. His threats of dismemberment were often softened by a glance in your direction, and he'd even been caught, on more than one occasion, looking at you with an expression so ridiculously fond it made the crewmates snicker.

You, meanwhile, remained your steadfast, compassionate self, but now there was an added layer of warmth, a quiet joy that resonated with Buggy's newfound, if still chaotic, happiness. You'd still calm his tantrums, still offer gentle guidance, but now, there was an unspoken understanding, a shared tenderness that had blossomed between the kindest soul on the Grand Line and its most theatrical pirate captain. Their journey continued, but now, it was a journey shared, two vastly different individuals sailing under the same flag, bound by a love as unexpected and vibrant as the Grand Line itself.

ROB LUCCI 𓇢𓆸

Kind Soul, Cold Hearted Love (2,158)

A salty breeze ruffled your hair, carrying the scent of the sea and distant islands. It was a familiar comfort, one that always managed to soothe the edges of your heart, no matter the turmoil within. And there was often turmoil. Not from your own spirit, which was a wellspring of empathy and unwavering support, but from the stark contrast of the world around you, and more acutely, the man by your side.

You, dear soul, were a beacon of warmth in a world often shrouded in shadow. You were the soft hand that cradled a weeping friend, the gentle voice that whispered encouragement when hope seemed lost, the unwavering presence that offered solace even at the cost of your own comfort. You would readily throw yourself into harm's way for a stranger, your kindness an almost tangible force, a quiet strength that made you truly one of a kind. You loved with a fierce, unconditional devotion, and that love was currently anchored to a man who embodied everything you weren't.

Rob Lucci. His presence was as cool and unyielding as the deepest ocean, his gaze often distant, calculated. He moved with a predatory grace, his actions driven by a harsh, singular vision of “justice” that frequently left collateral damage in its wake. There was an edge to him, a contained aggression that simmered beneath his composed exterior, a coldness that could send shivers down the spine of even the bravest marine. You were a vibrant bloom, and he, a jagged, beautiful shard of ice. How could two such disparate souls find their way to each other? And more importantly, how could a heart as open as yours navigate the guarded complexities of his? This was the story of your love, a testament to the fact that even the coldest hearts can be touched by the purest kindness, and perhaps, even find a strange, unsettling warmth.

It wasn't a grand, sweeping gesture that drew Rob Lucci to you, but rather a slow, insidious erosion of his carefully constructed indifference. He had always seen the world in stark black and white, good and evil, with himself as the unwavering instrument of the latter's eradication. Emotion was a weakness, compassion a luxury he could not afford in his pursuit of "Absolute Justice." Yet, you, with your boundless capacity for kindness, began to chip away at that hardened resolve.

He first observed it during a mission – a tense standoff in a bustling port town. A stray shot had sent a wooden crate tumbling, threatening to crush a small, frightened child. Before anyone else could react, before even he, with his heightened senses and lightning reflexes, could fully process the danger, you were there. You didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. You simply threw yourself forward, shielding the child with your own body as the heavy wood splintered against your back. A gasp rippled through the crowd, quickly followed by a collective sigh of relief. You, however, merely offered a wobbly smile to the child, brushing dust from their hair as if nothing untoward had happened.

Lucci, perched silently on a rooftop, had watched it all, his eyes narrowed. He processed the data: illogical, inefficient, entirely self-sacrificing for no strategic gain. And yet... the genuine relief on the child's face, the murmurs of gratitude from the onlookers, the soft, unburdened light in your eyes. It was utterly alien to his understanding of the world.

Later, he found you tending to a wounded Marine soldier, your brow furrowed with concern as you carefully bandaged his arm. The soldier, usually gruff and stoic, was speaking softly to you, a rare vulnerability in his voice. You listened, truly listened, offering quiet words of comfort that seemed to possess a strange, healing quality. Lucci felt a peculiar flicker in his own chest, an unfamiliar sensation. He dismissed it as an anomaly, a momentary distraction.

But the anomalies continued. You were always there, a quiet presence of solace amidst the chaos. You offered a drink of water to a tired guard, shared your meager rations with a hungry street urchin, even risked admonishment to gently correct a superior who was being unnecessarily harsh to a subordinate. Each act, small and seemingly insignificant, was a direct contradiction to the ruthless efficiency he embodied.

He started finding excuses to be near you. Not overtly, of course. He would be "observing" a sector you were in, or "analyzing" the crowd near your position. He'd catch glimpses of you, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, but always radiating that same unwavering warmth. He noticed the way people gravitated towards you, drawn by your innate goodness. He saw how even hardened criminals, when faced with your unvarnished compassion, would sometimes falter, a flicker of something human crossing their eyes.

One evening, under the pale glow of a distant moon, you found him alone, perched on a deserted dock, Hattori nestled on his shoulder. You didn't question his solitude or his presence. Instead, you simply sat a respectful distance away, drawing your knees to your chest, and looked out at the tranquil water. After a long silence, you spoke, your voice soft as the lapping waves. "Sometimes," you murmured, "even the strongest need a moment to just... be."

He didn't reply, didn't even turn his head. But Hattori, his ever-present companion, ruffled his feathers and cooed, a soft, approving sound. You didn't press him, just continued to sit, a silent, comforting presence. It was in that quiet, unassuming moment, amidst the salty air and the vast, indifferent ocean, that something shifted within Rob Lucci. It wasn't a sudden burst of emotion, but a slow, almost imperceptible thaw around the edges of his frozen heart. He didn't understand it, couldn't categorize it, but he knew, with a chilling certainty, that he wanted you near. He wanted that inexplicable warmth to continue to exist in his desolate world, even if he couldn't yet comprehend why. And that, for a man like Rob Lucci, was the beginning of everything.

The stark contrast between you and Lucci was a chasm you, in your boundless optimism, barely perceived. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes, the almost imperceptible softening of his posture when you were near, and mistook it for burgeoning tenderness. You were a creature of pure, unadulterated light, and to you, everyone possessed a spark of that same light, even if it was buried deep. Lucci, however, saw the truth with chilling clarity. He was a predator, a tool forged in the fires of ruthless efficiency, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he didn't deserve your softness.

He'd watch you sometimes, when you thought he wasn't looking. You'd be helping a junior agent untangle a complicated knot, your brow furrowed in concentration, a gentle smile playing on your lips when they finally succeeded. Or you'd hum softly to yourself while mending a torn piece of equipment, your movements deliberate and caring. You saw worth in everything, from the smallest insect to the most hardened criminal. Your compassion was a balm that seemed to soothe the raw edges of the world, and it infuriated him, even as it drew him in.

He’d tested it, subtly at first. He'd purposely use a harsher tone with a subordinate in your presence, expecting your gentle rebuke, perhaps even a look of disapproval. Instead, you'd simply offer a quiet suggestion for a more efficient, less confrontational approach, your gaze unwavering, devoid of judgment. It was like trying to chip away at a cloud with a hammer; your kindness simply absorbed the impact, leaving him bewildered.

There was one incident that truly solidified his internal conflict. A subordinate, terrified of Lucci's notoriously short temper, had botched a critical task, leading to a minor but irritating setback. Lucci's gaze had sharpened, his usual calm replaced by a cold fury that promised severe repercussions. The subordinate visibly trembled, bracing for the inevitable. You, however, had stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on the man's arm.

"It was an honest mistake, Lucci," you'd said, your voice surprisingly firm, "and easily remedied. Perhaps if we approach it from this angle..." You then calmly outlined a solution, one that was both effective and avoided any further humiliation for the blundering agent. Lucci had simply stared at you, his internal algorithms struggling to process this anomaly. You had, without even realizing it, diffused a volatile situation, protected someone from his wrath, and offered a better path forward – all with a simple, genuine act of kindness. He'd dismissed the subordinate with a terse nod, but his eyes remained fixed on you, a strange mix of grudging admiration and self-loathing swirling within their depths.

He knew he was cold. He knew he was aggressive. He had seen the fear in people’s eyes when he entered a room, the way they instinctively recoiled from his presence. And he had accepted it, even cultivated it, as a necessary shield in his brutal world. But you… you saw past the shield. You saw something he himself barely recognized, a glimmer of humanity he had long since suppressed. And the terrifying part was, your gentle touch was starting to make him feel it too. He didn’t deserve it. He was a monster, a weapon, and you were everything good and pure. The thought of tainting you, of dragging you into his darkness, was a stark reality he grappled with every waking moment. Yet, the thought of letting you go, of existing in a world without your unwavering light, was far more unbearable.

The quiet moments became more frequent, the unspoken understanding between you and Lucci deepening with each passing day. Your love didn't burst forth like a supernova; instead, it bloomed slowly, like a desert flower coaxed open by persistent, gentle rain. It was built on the small, almost imperceptible acts of kindness you showered upon him, acts that, to anyone else, might seem trivial, but to Lucci, were profound in their foreignness.

He'd often find a small, meticulously folded napkin tucked into his coat pocket, a fresh fruit or a precisely cut piece of meat wrapped inside – a quiet acknowledgment of his often forgotten meals amidst the chaos of his duties. You never made a show of it, never asked if he’d eaten it. You simply left it, a silent offering of care that gnawed at the edges of his rigid self-sufficiency.

There was the time he'd returned from a particularly brutal mission, his clothes torn and stained, his usual impassive demeanor betraying a hint of weariness. You didn't question, didn't pry. Instead, you simply set out a basin of warm water and a clean cloth, and without a word, began to gently tend to a superficial cut on his arm. Your touch was feather-light, your gaze soft and unwavering. He'd stood there, utterly still, a strange vulnerability washing over him as your fingers, so utterly unlike his own calloused ones, cleaned and bandaged his wound. He couldn't remember anyone ever tending to him with such tender care.

You also had an uncanny knack for anticipating his needs, even before he recognized them himself. If he’d been hunched over mission reports for hours, a slight tension in his shoulders, you’d appear with a steaming mug of tea, or a quiet suggestion for a brief walk. You never demanded, never insisted. It was always a gentle offer, a soft invitation to ease the burden he so stubbornly carried. He'd find himself accepting these small gestures, a foreign warmth spreading through him each time, even as his logical mind struggled to reconcile it with the cold, hard reality of his existence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling assignment, he found you waiting for him in his dimly lit quarters. You weren't imposing or loud; you were simply there, a quiet anchor in his turbulent world. You had a book in your hands, not reading, but simply holding it, your presence a soft counterpoint to the harsh silence. When he entered, you merely offered a small, knowing smile. You knew he needed to decompress, to shed the day's brutality, and you instinctively understood that your quiet, non-demanding presence was exactly what he needed. He didn't speak, nor did you. He simply sat, and for the first time in a long time, the ever-present tension in his jaw began to ease.

These small, constant acts of profound kindness, delivered without expectation or judgment, began to chip away at the fortress he had built around his heart. He saw the world through your eyes, if only for fleeting moments, and in those moments, it didn't seem so bleak, so entirely unforgiving. He knew he was undeserving of such grace, that his darkness could easily eclipse your light. Yet, the thought of your unwavering goodness, of your gentle touch, had become a silent, undeniable craving. He wasn't sure what this unfamiliar feeling was, but every fiber of his being now yearned for the quiet solace you brought.

KID જ⁀➴

Kind Soul, Ruthless Pirate (2,040 words)

The salty spray of the Grand Line was a familiar kiss on your cheek, the chaotic symphony of the waves a lullaby you’d grown to love. You were, by all accounts, a beacon of warmth in a world often consumed by darkness. If someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand; if tears fell, your shoulder was a ready haven. You’d sacrifice your own comfort, even your safety, without a second thought if it meant easing another's burden. Your heart, a vast and boundless ocean of kindness, was truly one of the greatest treasures on these seas.

And then there was Eustass Kid. The man who stood at the helm of the Kid Pirates, his crimson coat a stark contrast to your gentle spirit. He was a supernova, a name whispered with a mixture of fear and awe. Cruel, aggressive, and utterly ruthless, he was everything you weren’t. The world often wondered how someone like you could ever find solace, let alone love, with a man like him. Yet, beneath the clanging metal and the fiery glares, there was a different kind of connection—a silent understanding that defied logic. You were the calm to his storm, the quiet anchor that kept him from drifting too far into the abyss. It was a bizarre, beautiful dance, and somehow, it worked. You loved him, and in his own fiercely protective way, he loved you too.

The scent of ozone always clung to Kid, a mix of his devil fruit and the sheer force of his presence. You’d often find yourself unconsciously leaning into it, even when he was grumbling about some perceived slight from Killer or the stupidity of a Marine patrol. One afternoon, you were patching up Heat's torn jacket, a task you'd taken on countless times for the crew. The needle was finicky, and you let out a soft sigh of frustration. Without a word, a large, calloused hand, usually reserved for crushing metal or enemies, reached over and deftly threaded the needle for you. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but the small gesture, the unexpected tenderness in his rough movements, spoke volumes.

Later, as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you sat on the ship's railing, watching the endless expanse of the sea. Kid, usually pacing or shouting orders, found his way beside you. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the railing, his arm brushing yours. The silence between you two was never awkward, but comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. You traced patterns on the weathered wood, and then, almost imperceptibly, his pinky finger hooked around yours, a silent anchor in the vastness of the ocean. He'd never admit to such a soft gesture, but you felt the gentle pressure, a quiet affirmation of his presence.

And then there were the nights after a particularly brutal encounter, when the ship was still humming with the aftermath of battle. You’d be tending to the wounded, your hands steady and soft, your voice a soothing balm. Kid, covered in grime and dried blood, would always find you. He wouldn't ask for help, or even acknowledge your efforts directly. Instead, he’d simply plant himself nearby, leaning against a bulkhead, his good eye fixed on you. Sometimes, he’d just watch, a silent, almost possessive vigil. Other times, he’d gruffly shove a mug of hot tea into your hands, or a piece of scavenged fruit, his way of making sure you were taken care of, even as he was still dripping with the fight. Those were the moments that reminded you, and everyone on the crew, that beneath the rage and the metal, there was a fierce, unwavering devotion that only you could truly see.

You knew the signs. The clenching of his jaw, the subtle tremor in his metal arm, the way his voice would drop, becoming a dangerous rumble just before the explosion. It usually started with a trivial insult from a rival captain, a faulty navigational chart, or even just a particularly stubborn knot in a rope. Whatever it was, when Kid's temper flared, the entire crew braced themselves. But you didn't brace; you moved.

One blustery afternoon, a smaller pirate crew dared to challenge Kid's authority, their captain spewing arrogant taunts across the choppy waves. Kid’s hand immediately shot to his hilt, his muscles coiling, the air around him crackling with suppressed magnetism. Before he could make a move, you were there, your hand gently but firmly placed on his bicep. Your touch was like a cool stream against hot iron.

"Kid," you said, your voice soft but clear, cutting through the rising tension. Your eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the raw fury in his gaze softened, just for you. "They're not worth it. Let them learn their lesson another day, in a way that doesn't stain your coat." You offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He glared at the retreating ship, his chest still heaving, but he didn't move. He simply growled, a low, frustrated sound, and the crew collectively exhaled.

Later, after a particularly brutal clash with a Marine patrol, Kid was pacing the deck, the adrenaline still coursing through him. He was muttering darkly, kicking at stray debris, his good eye gleaming with a restless energy that bordered on destructive. The crew gave him a wide berth, understanding the danger. You, however, approached without hesitation.

"You're going to wear a hole in the deck," you remarked, a hint of playful exasperation in your tone.

He stopped, turning his furious gaze on you. "They almost got Killer! And they dared to call us rabid dogs!"

You walked closer, reaching up to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble. His skin was warm, flushed with anger. "And you showed them they were wrong, didn't you?" you soothed, your voice a calm melody. "You protected your crew, like always. You were incredible out there." You could feel the tension slowly drain from his body under your touch. He leaned into your palm almost imperceptibly, his rage slowly dissipating into a simmering warmth. He wouldn't admit it, but your praise, your unwavering belief in him, was the only thing that could truly rein him in.

There were countless other moments, small and significant. A whispered word when he was about to rip someone’s head off for a minor infraction, a steadying hand on his arm when his temper threatened to consume him. You were his anchor, his quiet strength, the one person who could calm the raging storm that was Eustass Kid. And in return, he was fiercely, undeniably yours.

Life on the Grand Line, even with your calming presence, was relentlessly harsh. There were days the storms were less about the weather and more about the weariness that settled deep in your bones. After a particularly harrowing escape from a tenacious Marine Vice Admiral, the entire crew was exhausted, you most of all. You’d spent hours tending to the wounded, your energy completely drained.

You finally collapsed onto a coil of rope, too tired to even make it to your hammock. The salt-laced wind was biting, and you shivered, pulling your worn jacket tighter. Just as you were about to drift into a restless sleep, a large, heavy mass was draped over you. It was Kid’s signature crimson coat, still smelling faintly of ozone and his unique, metallic scent. You opened your eyes to see him standing over you, his back to the railing, seemingly engrossed in the churning waves. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at you, but the warmth of his coat was immediate and comforting, a silent acknowledgment of your fatigue. It was a gesture so unlike his usual aggressive demeanor that it spoke volumes.

Another time, a small, intricate wooden bird carving you'd been working on for weeks—a gift for a tiny, shy islander you’d befriended—slipped from your grasp during a sudden lurch of the ship. It skittered across the deck, heading straight for the churning sea. Your heart leaped into your throat. Before you could even react, Kid's metal arm shot out with lightning speed, snatching the delicate carving mere inches from the edge.

He retrieved it, his fingers, usually so destructive, surprisingly gentle as he held the tiny bird. He squinted at it, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in his eye, before he simply placed it back in your hand. He didn’t comment on your relief, didn't tease you for your clumsiness. He just averted his gaze, as if catching himself in a moment of unexpected tenderness. The crew who witnessed it pretended not to see, a silent testament to the rarity of such a display from their captain.

And then there were the nights when nightmares, remnants of past dangers or the ever-present threats of the sea, would steal your peace. You’d wake with a gasp, heart pounding, the phantom chill of a near-death experience clinging to you. You’d try to calm yourself, but sometimes the fear was too overwhelming. It was during one such night that you felt the gentle dip in the hammock beside yours, and then, a warm, heavy weight settle over your hand. Kid, ever the light sleeper, had noticed your distress. He didn't speak, didn't try to comfort you with words. Instead, he simply stayed there, his large hand enveloping yours, his presence a silent, immovable anchor against the tide of your fears. In those moments, his rough exterior melted away, revealing the unwavering support of the man who, despite all odds, was undeniably there for you.

Their relationship wasn't a grand, sweeping romance, filled with dramatic declarations or public displays of affection. It was built in the small, almost imperceptible moments that stitched their vastly different worlds together.

You often found yourself sketching, capturing the fleeting beauty of the Grand Line on whatever scrap paper you could find. One lazy afternoon, while you were engrossed in drawing a particularly striking sunset, Kid approached. Instead of his usual booming voice, he merely grunted, pulling up a barrel to sit beside you. You braced yourself for a critique, perhaps even a sarcastic jab about your "childish hobbies." Instead, he simply watched, his single eye surprisingly intent on your work. When you finished, he reached out, not to grab, but to gently tap the drawing with a metal finger. "Good," he grunted, a rare, genuine compliment. It was a small word, but from Kid, it felt like a symphony.

Food was another surprising avenue for their connection. While Kid was a notoriously unpicky eater, devouring anything put in front of him with aggressive efficiency, you knew his quiet preferences. If there was a specific, less common fruit scavenged from an island, you'd make sure a portion was always set aside for him, even if it meant foregoing your own. He'd never acknowledge it with words, but you'd catch him sometimes, a fleeting glance in your direction, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of thanks as he devoured his share.

One chilly evening, after a particularly rough storm, you were bundled up on deck, shivering despite your layers. Kid, who rarely seemed affected by the elements, walked by, then paused. He disappeared for a moment, only to return with two steaming mugs of heavily sweetened tea, a rarity on the ship. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing yours, a silent warmth passing between you. He then settled down beside you, not too close, but close enough that the heat radiating from his large frame offered extra comfort. You drank your tea in comfortable silence, the quiet companionship a testament to the deep, unspoken affection that thrived between you both.

These were the moments that defined your love for Kid: the unexpected acts of consideration, the silent understandings, the unwavering presence. You were his gentle compass in the storm, and he, in his own gruff, powerful way, was your steadfast anchor. It was a love forged not in commonality, but in the profound acceptance of each other's contrasting natures, a testament to the idea that even the fiercest of flames could find solace in the kindest of breezes.

BARTOLOMEO ༉‧₊˚.

Gentle Soul, Boisterous fanboy. (1,925 words)

A soft breeze ruffled your hair as you looked out over the sparkling expanse of the Grand Line. You were a gentle soul, known across islands not for grand feats of strength, but for the quiet power of your compassion. When someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand. When tears fell, your embrace was a comforting harbor. You'd willingly stand in harm's way if it meant another's safety, a quiet guardian in a chaotic world.

And then there was Bartolomeo. Your Barty. He was… different. Where you were a gentle ripple, he was a crashing wave, all boisterous declarations and unwavering devotion, particularly when it came to the Straw Hats. His love for Luffy and his crew was a force of nature, often expressed with a protective snarl towards anyone who dared disrespect his idols. He was loud, he was brash, and sometimes, he was absolutely infuriating. Yet, beneath the thorny exterior of the Straw Hat fanboy, you knew there was a fierce loyalty and a heart, however uniquely expressed, that beat just for you. It was a strange harmony, your quiet grace and his roaring passion, but somehow, it worked.

The first time Bartolomeo saw you gently coaxing a frightened stray dog out from under a market stall with soft whispers and a piece of your lunch, he stopped dead in his tracks. He’d been in the middle of a rather loud, one-sided argument with a street vendor who’d dared to suggest "Straw Hat Luffy was just a pirate." His own booming voice had faltered, his eyes fixed on your serene face as the dog, tail wagging, licked your outstretched hand. He felt a strange lurch in his chest, something entirely unfamiliar to the usual surge of fanboy rage.

"Oi, what're you doing with that mutt?" he'd gruffed later, sidling up to you as you shared your water with the now calm animal.

You’d simply smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "He was scared, Bartolomeo. He just needed a little kindness."

He'd grunted, shuffling his feet. Kindness wasn't exactly in his usual repertoire, especially not towards a mangy street dog. But watching you, it seemed… right. Later that day, you found a surprisingly fresh, if slightly squashed, fish left discreetly beside the dog you’d befriended. You knew exactly who it was from, even if he'd never admit it.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit to Bartolomeo's crew, overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated chaos that often followed in the wake of the Straw Hat Fan Club, broke down. He was curled up in a corner, sobbing quietly, convinced he wasn't cut out for pirate life. Bartolomeo, for all his bluster, looked genuinely perplexed, his usual bravado deflating slightly. He just stood there, hands on his hips, completely unsure how to handle a crying man.

You, on the other hand, moved without hesitation. You knelt beside the man, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. "It's alright," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to take in at first, isn't it? But you're stronger than you think. We're all here to help each other."

You stayed with him, talking softly, until his sobs subsided and he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Bartolomeo, watching from a distance, felt that familiar, strange lurch again. You had a way of seeing past the surface, of finding the vulnerable core that he, with all his walls and his loud exterior, often missed. He might not have understood how you did it, but he knew he was endlessly grateful that you did.

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the screech of gulls as your small ship, the Kind Heart, bobbed gently on the waves. Bartolomeo, as usual, was perched on the figurehead – a surprisingly well-carved depiction of a smiling sheep – his green hair whipping in the wind. He was excitedly pointing towards a hazy island on the horizon, a place rumored to hold a legendary, incredibly rare type of cola that even the Straw Hats hadn't tasted.

"Y/N! Look! That's gotta be it! The Isle of Fizz! I can just imagine how stoked Boss Luffy will be when I tell him I found cola even he's never had!" Bartolomeo's voice boomed across the deck, his enthusiasm infectious despite its volume.

You chuckled, adjusting the worn map in your hands. "The legends also say it's guarded by some rather… enthusiastic creatures, Barty."

He scoffed, slamming a fist into his chest, a green barrier momentarily flickering around it. "Hmph! What kind of weaklings could stand against the great Bartolomeo?!"

You smiled softly. His confidence, though often over the top, was also strangely reassuring. You knew that beneath the bravado, he would always have your back.

As you drew closer to the island, the lush green foliage gave way to towering, oddly shaped rock formations that seemed to bubble and fizz at their peaks. The air grew sweeter, carrying a faint, almost sugary aroma. Suddenly, a volley of sticky, brown projectiles rained down on your ship.

"Cola bombs!" Bartolomeo roared, deflecting the sticky globs with his Barrier-Barrier Fruit. "See, Y/N? I told you there'd be a challenge!" He actually seemed thrilled.

You, however, were more concerned about the creatures launching the attack. They were small, furry beings with large, bulging eyes and what appeared to be miniature cola bottles attached to their backs. They chittered and screeched, their tiny hands furiously squeezing more cola bombs.

"They seem more scared than aggressive," you observed, noticing how they retreated slightly whenever Bartolomeo's barrier appeared. "Maybe we should try talking to them?"

Bartolomeo stared at you like you'd grown a second head. "Talking? To fizzy furballs that are trying to glue us to the deck?"

"Well, fighting them doesn't seem to be getting us any closer to the cola, does it?" you pointed out gently.

With a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, Bartolomeo relented. "Fine, fine. But if they try anything, they're getting a face full of barrier!"

You carefully approached the edge of the ship, offering a piece of the sweet bread you'd baked that morning. "Hello there," you called out softly. "We just want to see the cola. We won't hurt you."

The furry creatures paused their attack, their large eyes blinking curiously at the bread. One particularly bold one crept closer, sniffing cautiously. You held your breath as it tentatively nibbled at the offering. Soon, others followed suit, their chittering softening into more curious sounds.

Bartolomeo watched the scene unfold, his usual boisterousness replaced with a quiet fascination. He saw how your gentle demeanor and genuine kindness were having a far greater effect than any display of strength could.

Eventually, one of the creatures, seemingly the leader, gestured with a tiny paw towards a path leading into the island's interior. It made a series of bubbling noises, and you had a feeling it was inviting you to follow.

"Well, Barty," you said, turning to him with a smile. "Looks like they're willing to show us the way."

He grunted, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Hmph. Guess being nice ain't always a bad strategy, huh?" He still looked ready to deploy his barriers at a moment's notice, but for now, he followed you onto the Isle of Fizz, a strange blend of gentle diplomacy and impenetrable defense venturing into the unknown.

You lay on the makeshift cot in your ship's infirmary, a bandage wrapped around your arm. The scent of medicinal herbs filled the small space, a stark contrast to the sweet, fizzy aroma of the Isle of Fizz that still clung faintly to your clothes. Bartolomeo paced back and forth in the cramped room, his usual swagger replaced by a tight furrow in his brow.

"I just… I don't understand, Y/N!" he exclaimed, his voice rough with a mixture of worry and exasperation. "Those cola geysers were strong! One wrong step, and – and you just jumped in front of that little fur ball! Why would you do that?!"

You offered him a weak smile. "He looked so scared, Barty. And he was just trying to protect his home, just like we would."

"Protect his home?!" Bartolomeo threw his hands up in exasperation, his green hair swaying wildly. "Y/N, you could have been seriously hurt! That cola could have burned you something awful! And for what? Some… some fizzing rat!"

"They weren't rats, Barty," you said gently, wincing slightly as you shifted. "They were just trying to defend their treasure. Besides," you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him, "you were right behind me. I knew you'd protect me."

Bartolomeo stopped pacing, his face softening slightly, though a hint of his frustration remained. "That's not the point! I shouldn't have to protect you from your own… your own selflessness! You can't just keep throwing yourself into danger like that!"

He knelt beside your cot, his large hands hovering awkwardly above yours, as if unsure whether to touch you. "You're… you're too kind, Y/N. Too good for this world sometimes. And it scares me." His voice was softer now, the booming edge gone. "What if I wasn't fast enough? What if my barrier didn't hold? What would I do then?"

You reached out, your uninjured hand finding his. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. "You would have found a way, Barty. You always do. And besides," you squeezed his hand reassuringly, "I know my limits. I wouldn't do anything truly reckless."

He looked down at your hand in his, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew your heart was pure, that your every action was guided by an innate desire to help others. It was one of the things he loved most about you, this unwavering compassion. But it also terrified him. The Grand Line was a dangerous place, and your tendency to put others before yourself was a constant source of worry.

"Just… just be more careful, okay?" he mumbled, his gaze still fixed on your hand. "Think about yourself sometimes too. You're important, Y/N. More important than any fizzy cola or scared little creature in the world."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. For all his bluster and obsession with the Straw Hats, Bartolomeo cared deeply. In his own loud, protective way, he loved you fiercely. "I will try, Barty. I promise. But you have to promise me something too."

He looked up, his green eyes questioning. "What's that?"

"Promise me you'll never stop being you," you said softly. "Your strength, your loyalty… even your crazy fanboy moments. That's all part of why I love you."

A faint blush crept onto Bartolomeo's cheeks, and he looked away, a rare moment of bashfulness. "Tch. Of course not. Who else would protect Boss Luffy's honor with such… enthusiasm?"

But as he looked back at you, a genuine, heartfelt smile touched his lips. He squeezed your hand gently. "Just… try not to give me so many scares, alright?"

You chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through you despite the ache in your arm. "I'll do my best, you big softie."

He scoffed, puffing out his chest. "Softie?! I am the great Bartolomeo!" But the grin on his face betrayed him. In the aftermath of the cola geyser and your selfless act, a deeper understanding had settled between you, a quiet acknowledgment of the contrasting forces that somehow, beautifully, held you together.

[lazilybeinglassie]

Silly Little Dummy (Shadow Milk x Reader)

CW: Hypnosis, possessiveness, bad ending

You get what you read and you read what you get, this is your only warning!

The halls were endless. Stairs with no beginning or end. You had no way of navigating the chaos. You were so certain you found a way out, only to be tricked by those minions of Shadow Milk.

Of course you had to screw up and find your way trapped in this hell hole. Why couldn't you have left with the others.

After a couple of turns however, you found yourself at a dead end. Frustrated, you hoped to turn around and try again. Only for a familiar face to appear in front of you.

"My my, what do we have here~?"

Reflexively, you stumble back, hitting the wall behind you. Fear crawling through your skin as you stare wide eyed at the beast. His expression delightful as though he were playing an innocent game.

"Another one of Silly Vanilly's buddies? Lost and alone? Strayed from the path?" Shadow Milk snickered darkly. "I will admit, amongst those on the list, I didn't expect you to show up. Ah well! That's what improve is for!"

Looking around for a way to slip away, you don't even notice the vines on the stone wall crawling out. In an instant they snag your limbs and hold you still as you struggle. You're growls of protest are not lost to the villain as he hovers closer.

"There's no need to fret. I'll give you such simple stage directions. All you need to do is listen and watch me."

His hand grabs your chin as he turns your face to look at him. Eyes making contact, you glare in defiance. As you watch him, you notice his bright eyes and how they seemed to be glowing. An intense, radiating glow that wasn't blinding, but it was distracting.

The pupils seemed to dilate a little, looking a little fuller than usual. Then they started to pulse. Rings of blue, white and black growing like ripples in water. At a steady beat, it continues on and on in a mesmerizing pattern. Ring after ring, you couldn't do anything aside from watching it continue.

Your heart beat slows, and your panic seems to diminish. What for? Aren't you in trouble? What was it that was calming you down?

Another pulse. You breathe calmly.

Shadow Milk hums. "There we are. No need for all that fuss. All that running just seemed to have worn you out, hasn't it?"

You stammered as you blinked. "Wh-No! I-"

He uses his other hand to shush you. "Shhhhhh. No more talking. Just listen and watch."

Another pulse. Your attention is drawn back to his eyes. The aura appearing bright and soft. You don't know why, but it's all so captivating in the moment. Blue, black and white, looping over and over and over.

Your body tenses when it feels something brush your cheek. "Listen closely. Listen to every word I say now. Focus on my voice and do not stray. Feel yourself drawn to my enchanting voice."

Another pulse. Your body relaxes. Shadow Milk's tone was gentle and sweet. Caressing your eardrums as you continue to stare. There was hardly anything else you felt like doing. Just staring into those eyes. Those captivating eyes.

Blue, black and white.

A small part of you tried to speak up. Not much came out. Stutters and noises. But hardly any words. "I- . . . uh, I . . . "

"Awwww, look at yourself. Trying to tell me something?"

"I . . . um . . . "

"Do you feel tired, perhaps? You've been running for a while now. So much running, so much worry. Doesn't it feel exhausting?"

The feeling of something holding your chin disappears. You don't look away from his entrancing stare. The beast's head nods, you mimic the movement. He giggles at that.

As that happens, the vines start to coil you more and more. Pulling you away from the wall as your wrapped in a cocoon of plants. Leaves start to fall off of them and scales start to grow. Changing into serpents that wrap around you from your shoulders to your feet.

Another pulse. You sigh as your body sinks into the cocoon.

"Just too many thoughts in that little head of yours. Crowding all that space up there." Shadow Milk places a hand on the top of your head. Then slowly strokes down the back soothingly. Once he pulls his hand away, he puts it back on top and repeats the motion. "Let them go for now. Little by little, piece by piece. Empty your mind for me."

Each stroke, you feel yourself settle and sigh. Your clouded mind, so fuzzy and blurry, starts to clear bits at a time. Parts where you were worried and scared start to fade away. Parts where you thought of escaping dim to nothing. Pure Vanilla. Gingerbrave. Strawberry. Wizard. White Lily. Those names slip from your consciousness one by one.

Shadow Milk grins as he tilts your face up. Looking deeper into his eyes, you feel as though the light had enveloped your vision. Endless ripples, colors bleeding into every direction. What once there were two pupils, now merged into one as they continue to captivate your mind.

Breaking eye contact, Shadow Milk floats genlty to your side. You remain focused in one direction as though he never left. But the beast leans close to your ear as he whispers to you softly.

"Nothing left in there now, huh?" You don't respond. "Why don't I take things from here? Does that sound nice?"

Absent mindedly, you whimper as though you want to say something. Whether it was a yes or a no, you couldn't tell.

"Oh I bet it sounds wonderful. You love hearing my voice, don't you?"

Another noise comes from your throat. "mmmmmhmmmmmm . . . "

"You don't mind my touch either. It makes you feel happy, right?"

Stroking your cheek, he looks to you for a reaction. You exhale and smile contently.

"There is nothing more you want to do that hear my voice and let me hold you close. Your mind is always open to me, and you always will obey my will. Because it's everything you could ever want."

Another pulse. Your will shatters.

It doesn't take long before your own eyes start to glow blue with their own ripples dancing inside. Looking dazed and empty, you stare at nothing as the colors claim what is left of you.

Shadow Milk grins in victory. "Much better, my dear."

The serpents slowly release you, placing your body standing up. You lean forward, slouching a bit, only to feel threads straighten you up.

"Now then, I believe we have an audience to appeal! You know your place, right?"

He strokes your chin. Leaning into the touch, you blush and melt. "Uh-huh."

Shadow Milk's grin widens. "Wonderful~!"

[mingiswow]

Little flower | Song Mingi

Pairing: vampire!Mingi x afab!reader

Genre: modern fantasy, romance, smut (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 12,6k

Summary: Mingi has lived almost 500 years yet he never felt anything like he felt for you, the innocent kind barista he met at a charity event.

Content Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of food, feeding from humans, mentions of killing/hunting humans, reader suffers attempt robbery with physical attack, Mingi call reader my dear an insane ammount of times

Smut warning: porn with plot, tit sucking, oral (reader recieving), piv, unprotected sex (don't do that kiddos), creampie, Mingi big dick agenda

⚠️ English is not my first language, so sorry in advance if there’s any mistakes

The beep of your wristwatch and the bell of the door rang at the same time, announcing it was 3 pm and your regular customer was right on time. Again. 

He entered the shop and the whole atmosphere seemed to change, the few people that were there looking at the mysterious man that seemed to come out straight out of a period movie. He was tall, handsome, his hair was on the longer side, always slicked back perfectly, except for a single strand that fell on his forehead, he always dressed in long black clothes, even if it was spring or summer, the clothes seemed tailored for him, customized for his lean body. He always wore a pair of red sunglasses that hung low on his nose so his dark eyes could look at you like he was staring into your soul.

“Welcome back, sir? Your usual?” you asked behind the counter, the smile Mingi grew to be obsessed with on your soft lips. He nodded.

Mingi hated the taste of coffee, yet he found himself going to your little coffee shop everyday at 3 pm, asking for the same decaffeinated espresso just so he could interact with you even for a few seconds and stare at you. 

The man met you for the first time at a charity event he and his friends were sponsoring, and you were there with your little booth distributing coffee and baked goods for the people, always with that sweet smile of yours. He couldn’t help but be captivated by your innocence, by the way you’d move so smoothly around as you belonged to the place, by the way you were so kind to everyone, by how skin looked so smooth and soft and your neck seemed to call for his name exposed by your tied up hair. So he made his little ritual after that day to pay a visit to you in the coffee shop you worked at just so he could admire you.

“Here you go, sir” you handed him the little mug.

“I already told you to call me Mingi” you felt your cheeks heat up at his intense stare, his lips curved slightly upwards in a hint of a smile. You just nodded, not really sure what else to do, he always broke you with his eyes.

He sat at the same table he always sat, the one slightly beside the counter where he had a perfect view of you. You were so delicate, so precious, a flower in the bloom. You looked so beautiful even with the large shirt of your uniform and the apron over it, your hair tied up in a ponytail, and that beautiful smile of yours always on your lips. He admired you from afar as you laughed at something silly your coworker said, the bitter taste of the drink contrasting to the sweet view of you.

“He’s looking at you again” Jaemin, your coworker, commented as he cleaned the espresso machine. “I’m telling you, he’s obsessed” you shook your head.

“I think you are seeing things” you leaned on the counter looking at your friend. “I just think he’s a very meticulous man” you shrugged.

It has been a while since Mingi started to go to the shop, he wasn’t your only regular, but he was definitely the most amusing one. You thought you were getting delusional when you started to think he was staring at you one day, but Jaemin also noticed, and since that day you started to notice a pattern in his behaviour. He always came by the same time, always sat at the same table and would stay looking at the counter, more specifically, you. 

You tried to shake those thoughts, but your coworker kept bugging you that he was indeed going to the shop to watch you. He even tried to convince you to have a conversation bigger than the usual ones, but the man always broke you, especially the way he would look at you through his tinted sunglasses. 

When Mingi finished his coffee, he lingered a little longer, playing with the mug, before getting on his feet to leave. As always, he went to you to give his tip, he would always give the tip later just so he could say his goodbye to you, and left. But as soon as he left the shop he felt something, a tingle in his head, an omen. 

As the night fell and the last customers left the shop, you decided to finally let Jaemin go, since he was already late for his date, and closed to shop alone. When you were locking the last lock you felt something hit your head and all went black.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The smell of melted candle invaded your nostrils as you slowly woke up, your eyes gradually opening. As soon as your sight was fully focused, you took a look around where you were and did not recognize it, that definitely wasn’t your room. The room was dimly lit, the main lamp turned off, just a lampshade turned on by your side shining an indirect shade of warm yellow and a few candles by the desk in front of the bed. The bed was bigger than king size, you seemed so little in the middle of it, the soft covers in a dark shade of burgundy, the pillowcases in a matching tone of silk. The big windows by the side were closed by the thick black curtains, covering any sign of sunlight. 

You tried to move but the pain in your body was big, and the events of the night before came back to you. 

You heard footsteps coming by and watched attentively at the open door. 

“I see you woke up” it was Mingi, and he was smiling.

You almost didn’t recognized the man, he was wearing a more casual attire, with dark blue dress pants and a white button up shirt with only half of the buttons buttoned, leaving part of his chest to show, his hair was left natural, falling into his forehead, his usual dark and hidden eyes held a soft and warm gaze, almost caring. You couldn’t help but stare at him for a little, he was certainly gorgeous.

“Does it still hurt?” he calmly entered the room, hands in his pockets. You nodded. “They hit you pretty hard, huh?”

“What happened after they hit me?” you asked, now sat on the bed.

“You fainted, gladly I was passing by and saw and, well, now you’re in my house”

“Thank you, really” you bowed to him. 

“No need to thank me, I’m glad you’re safe and well” he came closer and suddenly you felt too aware of yourself. “Now let me see that bruise” he gently grabbed your head, turning to the side, you hissed a little out of pain when he passed his fingers over the spot the man hit you. “Let me put some pomade for you here, okay?” his long fingers were gentle, delicate, featherlike.

“Truly, I don’t know how to thank you enough” you shied. “You saved my life and probably the shop. If there’s any way I can thank you, please, let me know”.

Mingi pondered for a while, should he? It was dangerous, yet, he would love to have such an exquisite thing like you as his companion. If he wanted to get closer to you more than admiring you from afar, to get to know you, it was the perfect opportunity. His friends would call him nuts, but it was his chance to have his way with you.

“If you want a way to thank me” he started, “I know a way” you turned to look at him, your innocent eyes expectant. Oh how he wanted to corrupt you. “Next week a friend of mine will host a party, a ball if you will, and I’d love you to have you as my companion” you blinked a few times, was he asking you on a date? “Only if you feel comfortable… obviously” he added. “It’s a way for you to thank me and also help me”

“Help you?” you cocked your head at him.

“You see, I’m getting at an age where you are expected a few things of, and having you with me would shut the annoying questions” 

“How old are you? I think you’re still young to be pressured into marrying” he laughed humorously and you smiled, his laugh was adorable.

“Let’s keep my age a secret for now, dear” he lifted from the bed. “But I’ll give you time to think, no rush” he started to leave the room, but turned around one more time “also, feel free to stay as much as you need, I’ll be at the living room down the hallway if you need me, rest well”

You muse over his invite. It is tempting. Mingi is a very handsome young man, you can’t deny that, and he also saved your life, so helping him to handle annoying acquaintances wouldn’t hurt you. Sure, he was a very refined man, he seemed to come from a very wealthy background, you didn’t even know if you’d have a proper outfit for the occasion, but helping him could be fun, you’d go to a fancy event, a ball even! 

You got out of the bed, body still hurting a bit, and slowly walked down the corridor, admiring the beautiful architecture and decoration of the place, he was for sure a wealthy man. 

Mingi was sitting in a big armchair by the window, even though it was closed, his eyeglasses hanging on the tip of his nose and he read a book, a cup of wine on a coffee table by his side. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful, ethereal even, yet there was something about his aura that lurked in the corners of his soul. And that intrigued you. 

He slowly raised his gaze from the book to you, a playful smile on his lips as if he knew you were looking at him for longer than you should. You suddenly felt shy under his strong stare, cheeks warm, your fingers playing with each other like you were some kid. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone playful, almost provocative. 

“I’ll go” you blurted out, shier by the minute he kept his stare at you.

“Go where?” he provoked, he knew what you meant, but he was loving seeing this side of you, you were indeed an innocent flower. 

“I’ll go with you to the ball” you said lowly, voice above a whisper. He smiled.

“I’m glad to hear that” he grabbed his wine and took a sip out of it, his Adam apple bobbing beautifully. “I’ll tell you the details later this week. Also, don’t worry about outfits, I’ll have my tailor making something for you. And yes, that is needed” he added when you were about to question him. “I invited you, so only fair I provide the things for you” you nodded, holding a silly happy smile to appear on your lips.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The week seemed to pass slower than ever, maybe it was because you were excited, nervous, anxious. Mingi appeared at the shop everyday at 3 pm, asked for his usual coffee and sat at the same table. His routine didn’t change, but your interactions were longer, more friendly, more intimate. 

“You guys seem to be getting along pretty well” Jaemin noted as he wiped a table, a smirk on his lips.

You just shrugged. You told him about the incident but not about the invitation knowing pretty well he was going to tease the hell out of you if you told him. 

“I think he likes you” he stated, putting the cloth he was cleaning back inside his apron’s pocket and walked over to you at the counter. “Like likes you” you felt a heat crawl up to your cheeks at the thought.

“No way a man like Mingi would like me” you observed, suddenly aware of the fact that, yes, he invited you to his event, but only because of convenience. 

“What do you mean? He comes here everyday just so he can look at you” he rolled his eyes at your innocence. “I bet he’s just cautious and it’s waiting for the right time to attack. Listen to the voice of experience” you laughed and shook your head. 

As if the man himself was listening to your conversation, he sent you a message, the first time since you exchanged numbers that day at his house. 

Mingi: Hi, hope I’m not bothering you at work Mingi: But my tailor said your outfit is ready Mingi: Do you feel more comfortable for me to send it to your work or to your house? 

You smiled childishly at your screen, feeling your stomach take a few turns but you blamed your anxiety to see the garment he prepared for you. 

You: Hii You: not bothering at all today’s quite slow after you left You: you can send it to my house, no problemo You: here’s my address You: thank you so much again, you didn’t had to Mingi: No need to thank me Mingi: You deserve it Mingi: Hope you like it

With that you put your phone back in your pocket, a silly smile never leaving your lips, what had he prepared for you? To say you were excited and anxious was an understatement. Jaemin noticed the shift in your behaviour and he was sure it had to do with a certain mysterious costumer, your smile whenever you talked to or about him was unmistakable. He was curious but he didn’t want to chime into your business, so he let it be, waiting for you to tell him your secrets on your own time.

The afternoon seemed to drag on, your anxiety eating you alive. You looked at the clock on the wall every fifteen minutes, the time slower than the normal. When it was finally time for you to close the shop, you rushed, cleaning everything in record time, leaving Jaemin impressed. 

Your friend insisted on walking you home every day since the attack, so the two of you walked side by side. It was actually really helpful for your mind to have Jaemin talking your ears off all the way home, easing your anxiety a bit, making your mind leave Mingi and his surprises. 

You and the boy said your goodbyes and you entered the building, the doorman greeting you.

“You have a few packages for you, they were delivered this afternoon” you nodded excitedly. “I think you’ll be needing help to take all this to your apartment” when you looked over to the desk there were three enormous boxes and a bag. Mingi was nuts!

“If you don’t mind, I’d love help” you chuckled shyly.

The man grabbed two of the biggest boxes while you grabbed the smallest box and the bag and headed to your apartment. You left it all at your coffee table in the center of the room and inspected the packages. The boxes looked fancy, out of a sturdy cardboard covered in dark green suede paper with a black satin ribbon. The bag was painfully white, it could almost reflect light, with a matching black satin ribbon. 

The anxiety was eating you up, yet you felt nervous to open those boxes. You took a deep breath and decided to open the biggest one first, assuming it was the garment. And you were right.

Your eyes couldn’t believe the sight in front of you. When he said it was a ball you did not imagine you’d dress for such. The dress was absolutely stunning, breathtaking, you have never seen something so beautiful in your life. It was a long red dress, the bodice and part of the skirt were hand embroidered with silver beads, the chest had a net that connected the collar to the rest of the dress, a red cross hanging from the collar. The skirt had a high slit where a black embroidered lace was seen underneath, making part of your leg see through. The back was even more beautiful, the bodice had a low cut, almost reaching your bum, and tied up with a satin ribbon of the same shade of red. The net had more embroideries in it. 

You looked at it in complete awe. It was more than you could ask, more than you could imagine. You were shy at the thought of Mingi buying these expensive things for you. 

You grabbed the next box, not knowing what to expect, and opened. Inside laid a gorgeous high heeled pair of shoes. Black with the red soles, matching your dress perfectly. The leather shining on the light of your apartment. He was really going to buy you the entire outfit? Answer was yes. When you opened the last box you surprised yourself. It was a tiara, a crown almost, studded with white, black and red gems. It was exquisite, the gems going up in teardrops shape, some silver spikes in between them giving a gothic vibe to it. It matched Mingi’s style. 

Lastly, there was the bag. You gently opened it, not wanting to ruin it, and inside there were a few makeup items such as eyeshadow palettes, highlights, blushes and lipsticks. You were going insane. He went all the way to even buying you makeup. How were you going to make it up for all of this? How were you going to pay for all of this? 

You decided to send a message to Mingi to thank him for everything, still shocked, shy at his generosity. 

You: I just received the packages You: I don’t even know what to say Mingi: Did you like it? You: I LOVED You: thank you so much You: you didn’t had to go all this way tho Mingi: Only the best for my girl

My girl. You giggled like a teenager and threw yourself on the sofa, legs bouncing. You were his girl. You liked this. You could be used to this.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The rest of the days were odd, Mingi didn’t appear at the shop the whole week. You didn’t want to admit it, but you missed his eyes on you. You longed for him every day at 3 pm. You pondered sending him a message but decided not to, not wanting to seem annoying or nosy. The day of the event was due and he didn't give you any heads up anymore. You were getting nervous.

“You seem uneasy” Jaemin acknowledged, his hands cleaning a cup. “Is it because your man hasn’t shown up this week?”

“He’s not my man” you responded, not really paying much attention to him. Your mind wandering from Mingi to the ball to the dress carefully kept in your house. 

“Yet” you rolled your eyes to him, but deep down you were wondering if he meant it when he called you his girl. If he intended to make you his. Because truth be told, you'd give yourself to him if he asked for.

You and Jaemin were closing the shop when you felt a sudden cold breeze, you looked to the side and a dark shadow lurked in the corner as if it was watching you. You tried to not pay much attention to it, it was probably just some shadow formed by some boxes and stuff. But as soon as you and your friend started to walk towards your house, you felt as if the shadow was following you every step, a growing tightness in your chest.

“Min…” you called your friend, who seemed unbothered by it all. “Have you noticed something following us?” he looked behind you, scanning the perimeter.

“I see nothing. Are you okay?” you looked around you two too, the shadow seemed to disappear, a deep breath leaving your lungs. “That day really left scars on you, huh?” he hugged you by your side, keeping you close to him.

But you couldn't shake the feeling of the shadow that followed you was still there. Watching you every step. 

You threw yourself in your bed as soon as you arrived home, your heart racing, legs shaking, you were at the edge of something you didn't know how to name. You closed your eyes, doing your breathing exercises and trying your best to remain calm. you were home, nothing could reach you there. 

Deciding not to let those feelings win, you opened your favorite playlist, put it on the maximum volume and went on to take a shower. You felt your whole body relax when the warm water hit your scalp and fell down your back. You imagined all the bad thoughts, all the bad feelings and sensations leaving your body as if they were a black paint being washed by the water. You carefully soaped your skin with the soap, the lovely smell of lavender invading your senses and helping you calm even more.

At the corner of your eye you saw it again, the black shadow, but when you turned to look at it, it wasn't there anymore. “It's just your imagination” you kept repeating to yourself, but the sudden cold breeze that invaded your bathroom and the feeling of being watched wasn't helping at all.

Resuming your shower quicker than you intended, you decided you didn't want to spend the night alone, you were going to call Jaemin or any other of your friends. You left the shower, dried yourself quickly and put on a robe, ready to send a message to your friend when your doorbell rang. 

When you opened the door you saw Mingi in his usual attire, a long black coat covering his body. His complexion seemed more pale than the usual and his lips were a crimson shade of red, plumper than his normal shape. His eyes looked like they weren't there, looked lost. He appeared distressed. 

“Mingi, hi, are you alright?” you asked, analyzing him.

“Yes, I am alright. Thank you for asking” he smiled, a faint one. There was a moment of silence of you two just standing at the door before he spoke. “Aren't you going to invite me to come in?” 

“Oh my God, my bad, yes, come on in, how rude of me” you gave space for him to pass and he graciously did. “How can I help you tonight? Do you want something? Water? Coffee? Tea?”

“Just water it's okay” you went to the kitchen to grab a cup of water for each one of you. “I'm sorry I was absent this week, I was busy with… work and couldn't see you” he said, his words measured. 

“No need to apologize, it's your life after all” you smiled and gave the cup to him. You looked over at his hand and noticed blood in there. “Mingi, you're bleeding!” you almost shouted, and grabbed his hands to look at it, but it wasn't hurt, it was just blood, no signs of cuts or wounds.

“Oh I must have forgotten to clean it properly” he said embarrassed, retracting his hand from you and rubbing the already dry blood with a napkin he had in his pocket. “I had a case of a boy who have fallen of his bike, it must be his” 

“Oh, so you're a doctor?” you mused, never really having thought about his profession.

“You could say so, yes” you nodded with a smile and he smiled back at your innocence, he felt bad at lying to you but at least until the ball it was necessary. “So I came to discuss the matters of the party, if you remember, and I hope you do, it is tomorrow” you nodded, finally taking a seat at his side on the sofa, your body heat radiating to him. “You need to be ready by six, that’s the time I'll be picking you up, not a minute earlier not a minute later” you took a sip of your water and for a moment he lost his train of thought looking at your plump lips. “And I need to give you a bit of fair warnings about the people at the party. Some of those people are not trustable, not around people like you, so be near me at all times, do not leave my side, if you need anything please let me know that I'll get it for you with you, ok?” you nodded.

“Where are you taking me? you laughed a little, a bit nervous, a bit anxious, a bit to better the mood, but Mingi was being serious, his expression not softening. 

“I really want you with me tomorrow, but you need to be careful, soon you'll understand” you slowly nodded, his eyes staring at you.

His eyes always broke you. They could make you do anything with just one look, would that be blush or trust him undoubtedly. You felt your heart race not only at the way he was staring deeply into your soul but at the sudden feeling of being a small mouse entering the lion's cage. There was a sudden air of danger hovering in the air. Not you in danger in his presence but what was about to happen in the next 24 hours. Your skin prickled at the thought, suddenly the shadow in the corner didn't seem so bad. 

“I'll be there to protect you, no harm will be caused to you, my dear, you are my protected now” the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. His protected. His dear. His.  You felt a warmth in your belly you haven't felt in years at his words. He always spoke so articulately. Like a gentleman of a secret high society. It made you melt. 

“I’m sure you will, Mingi. I don't doubt you” you said genuinely, a hand gently being placed on top of his, and it was his turn to have his belly warm. The things you made him feel he couldn't remember the last he felt. Dead or alive. 

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You took the day off from the coffee shop so you could really take your time to relax and be ready. That if you could even relax. You were anxious to the max. You spent your entire morning deep cleaning your apartment, trying to keep yourself busy from remembering Mingi words from the night before. All the wait making you even more anxious.

It was little past 3 pm when you started to get ready, taking a long shower, adding extra steps into your normal routine. You were really going all the way to look extra good not only for Mingi but for the event as well. Since the outfit and the accessories already were showstopping, you decided on going for a classic soft smokey eye, trying not to go too heavy on it. 

When the clock hit 6 pm, you were going down the last stairs from the hall of your building when the big black car parked, and your stomach twisted even more if that was possible. The car, in opposition to Mingi's style, was big and modern. Then he left the car and you swore your heart stopped for a moment. Mingi looked even more refined than ever. He wore black fitted dress pants, red shiny shoes, his white blouse was fancy, puffy sleeves and a ruffled collar that was adorned with a ruby brooch, he wore a tight red vest that matched your dress, also embroidered with silver beads, and had two long tails hanging from behind his back. You couldn't even start to describe how handsome he was.

When he saw you coming from your building he couldn't believe his eyes. You were the most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on. The way the dress hugged your body highlighting all your beautiful curves, the way the soft of your leg was half hidden underneath the black lace left his mind wandering to dangerous places. Or how your neck was hidden by the collar, eliciting his desire even more. He was definitely going to be the luckiest man in the party.

“Good night” he said, offering his hand for you to grab, which you gladly accepted. He kissed your knuckles, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I think I don't even need to tell you how absolutely stunning you are looking tonight” you suppressed your high-schooler giggle.

“Thank you. You look absolutely amazing too, Mingi” if he didn't lack blood in his system he was sure he would have blushed too.

He helped you onto the car and sat by your side, telling the driver to finally go. The drive was pleasant, you two talked about how your day, how your past week was, how work was. It was a great way to break the ice and also help ease the tension. But the closer you got to a giant gothic mansion, the more your anxiety seemed to come back. Mingi, sensing your crippling anxiety, held your bouncing leg and squeezed softly the skin there.

“Hey, we can go back if you want” you denied with your head. “Remember, I'll be by your side at all times” you nodded. He left your leg and grabbed your hand, his cold ones helping reduce the temperature of your clammy ones. 

The car came to a halt, announcing you had finally arrived, and a man dressed like he was a royal guard opened the door for the two of you. Mingi was the first one to leave the car, once again helping you out.

Suddenly all eyes seemed to be on you, and you became too aware of everything around you, the place, the people, the aura. Everything felt too surreal, too much. You didn't belong there. And it wasn’t just a social class matter. It was a deeper thing that you couldn't quite pinpoint yet.

“Stay by my side” Mingi remembered you, his hand still holding you, grounding you. 

You walked past some people, their heads turning to look at you. Mingi guided you to a group of a few equally ravishing men, some of them were alone, others had companions as well. They all seemed pretty enthusiastic when the man showed up, making loud noises and greeting each other, grabbing attention from some people around. 

“Ah, Mingo, I see you finally you brought your rare flower” one of them spoke, shamelessly looking at you up and down. “I'm San, my love” he offered his hand, you accepted and he kissed your knuckles for longer than necessary. 

“We thought you'd never gather the guts to ask them out” another one spoke, taking a sip of wine while his other hand was around the waist of his companion. 

“Perhaps it was them who asked him first” they all laughed and you saw Mingi shake his head, a shy smile play on his lips, so he talked about you to his friends? How long was he trying to call you out? You found it absolutely adorable.

You squeezed his hand, that was still holding yours, and he looked over at you, his eyes a different shade of dark, you never saw it like that, and smiled at him. He could die right then and there, you were the most adorable thing to step on this Earth. Your innocence was something he cherished yet he wanted to corrupt and break you so bad. 

He excused himself from his friends and went to show the mansion to you, show you the architecture, the design, the history behind every brick. 

“You are the talk of the party today, my dear” he whispered to you when you stopped by a table to grab some wine for the both of you. You noticed he grabbed a different wine for him, but decided to let it slide. “I bet everyone is talking about your ravishing beauty” you felt your cheeks heat at his words.

“I feel like everyone here looks at me like they want to eat me or something” you chuckled at your joke.

“They might” Mingi whispered into your ear. “And I might want it too” you were so lucky there was no one around to see the way your body trembled at his words, the heat that was on your cheeks going dangerously low.

He pulled you once again back to where his friends were and engaged in a conversation with them, leaving you just listening to them while enjoying your wine. You looked down where your hands intertwined, where he still held you close to him, secured, safe. The heat was back at your cheeks at the thought of how you felt with him. Even though he had that mysterious aura, the atmosphere of secrets that surrounded him, somehow you felt like you could trust him, you could feel at ease with him, feel safe.

The chat suddenly stopped and you looked over from your hands, where your eyes were still glued, to the group of people and noticed a man walking over there. He wasn't old, but older than the boys, but he held an aura of power, of prestige. He was very well dressed and he held a cane in his hand, the dark wood carved into intricate designs, the tip golden. 

“My boys! Good to see you all here!” he greeted them with arms open and a wide smile, with was inviting but held a wicked vibe to it. He looked over at you, a smirk playing at his lips as he walked ever so smoothly to where you stand next to Mingi. “I see we have a new guest today, what an honour” he grabbed your hand that was holding Mingi's and kissed the knuckles delicately, featherlike. “Nice to meet you, young flower, I'm the host of this event” you bowed respectfully.

“Nice to meet you, sir. You have such a nice house and the event is esplendid” you answered trying to sound as polite as him, he made you nervous. 

“Thank you, dear, but you see, I think my house is missing some… flowers” he smirked, looking at Mingi, who pulled you by your waist in a possessive way.

“I'm sorry, Taegyu, this one is mine” the older man laughed at Mingi's reaction and swayed his hands saying it was a joke, but you didn't feel it was simply a joke. 

The way the Taegyu guy looked at you was weird to say the least, like he was about to devour you, you noticed that when he kissed your knuckles he took a sniff of your hands and his eyes fluttered as if you were a delicious piece of grilled meat. The entire conversation between him and the boys you noticed his stolen stares at you, the little smirks, the tap of his gloved fingers on the cane. He was making you feel uneasy, and Mingi noticed. 

Mingi knew he couldn't hide his secret for longer, not with the way your scent was especially strong that night, making him feral. And probably everyone else in the party. He should have given you the perfume but he forgot. He noticed how Taegyu was looking at you, desperate. But this time he knew you wouldn't exchange him for the man like the others did, with you it wasn't a question of status or power, he was sure of that. You weren't simply another blood bag, for him, you were more, and he wished he was more for you too. 

He didn't know how to approach you and tell you his secret, how to touch the subject without you running away from him forever, he didn't want to lose you, he couldn't afford to lose you, not now that he was so attached to you, so close to having you for him. In all his almost 500 years of life he never felt so lost, you did things to him that not even his first love had and he honestly didn't know how to react. You were too pure, too innocent, too sweet for him, yet he couldn't afford to let you go, he was a selfish man, he wanted you all for him, and for him only. 

“Mingi” you called him, making him wake up from his daydreams of you. “Can we talk? In private” you added when he nodded. 

He led you two to the second floor of the house and it was even more beautiful than the first one, if it was possible. All the walls were covered in a soft green wallpaper, many art pieces on top of that, expensive ones that looked like they came straight out of museums. Mingi took you to a more secluded balcony where you could listen to yourselves better. Under your feet you could see the party happening, the people looking tiny under you.

You watched the man in front of you, something about him was different that night, darker, more mysterious, everything about that night felt odd. 

“There is something you might want to tell me?” you started, heavy chest, breathing uneven. You honestly didn’t know what to expect. 

He looked at you trying to hide his astonishment at you, his hand casually in his pants’ pockets as he cocked his head at you, while deep down he knew this moment was coming, he just didn’t know it would be so soon.

“What do you mean, my dear?” Mingi tried to sound composed.

“I don’t know, you tell me” you started, voice a little bit higher than your usual tone, a sign you were nervous. “Everything about this place feels… weird, like it came out of a movie, like it is stuck in time. Everyone here spent the night looking like they wanted to devour me, like I was a prey being hunted. You and I drank different drinks, and yours smelt very odd to say the least” you stated, words coming out of your mouth fast. “Not to mention that when you were talking to your friends some of their companions asked me if I was your blood bag. What in the hell did they mean?” Mingi sighed and you saw the defeated look in his face. “You’re not a doctor are you, right?” he denied, his head hanging low.

“Look, I was meant to tell you but I didn’t even know how to start” you nodded, signaling for him to continue. “I’m not a doctor, not anything related, I actually don’t work, I don’t need to”.

“So you’re filthy rich? That’s it?” 

“Yes. And no” it was your turn to cock your head at him. “I am filthy rich, I accumulated a lot during my life. You see, I’m older than I look”

“How old? You don’t look that old, Mingi. Stop taking turns, and go straight to the point, please” he sighed.

“I’m 487 years old” you looked at him incredulously, eyes blinking before letting a loud and humorous laugh out, head hanging back. You looked at him again but he wasn’t laughing. Or smiling. 

“Mingi, c’mon, if you want to lie to me or mislead me so I can leave you alone, at least say something believable” you crossed your arms.

“I’m being serious. I’m 487 years old and I’m a vampire. All my friends are vampires, Taegyu is a vampire, most of the guests here tonight are vampires” you started to laugh again.

“Mingi, please, I’m not a teenager anymore, I might like twilight but I don’t believe in vampires or werewolves or any other magical creature. I don’t know what you are trying to do, if that’s a fetish of yours, but it ain’t working” you turned to leave but he held your wrist, an annoyed huff leaving you, he was wearing your patience thin. “Mingi, please, I…” you turned around to look at him and he had his fangs out. You rolled your eyes. “Nice little costume you have, can I go now?” he retracted his fangs back to his normal teeth and you blinked a few times. “How did you do that?” You went to his mouth and started searching for signs of dentures or any prosthetics.

“Because they are real fangs, I can do that all the time” he made the fangs appear and disappear again. “I know it’s crazy, I know it sounds stupid, but we are real. I don’t know about werewolves, unicorns or whatever, but we have been existing among humans for centuries now” you didn’t know what to believe, his fangs looked too real and he seemed too serious about it all. “This week, when I disappeared, I was weak, I needed blood, I was postponing because getting a blood bag felt like betraying you, but I couldn’t handle anymore, I was getting angry, dangerous, vicious without blood, and if I got too close from you I knew I wouldn’t contain myself” he explained to you in hope that you could understand and believe him. “You humans have a different smell, an intoxicating one for us, and the longer we are without blood, the stronger the smell gets” he came closer but you didn’t back up. “And your smell is rather special to me. You know why?” you denied, your head perched up so you could look him in his eyes, his dark eyes. “Because when we fall in love the smell changes, the scent gets sweeter, specific, and you, my dear, smell like coffee, freshly baked cookies and daisies, and only I can smell that” you couldn’t answer anything, he just admitted to be in love with you while also admitting to wanting to suck your blood. “That’s why I didn’t offer you to be my blood bag from the beginning, because ever since I saw you that day at the charity event I knew I had to have you for me entirely” he laced his arms around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest. Your heart was racing, you didn’t know what to think, he was alluring, absurdly handsome, charming, he had you in the palm of his hand. The way his dark eyes would stare at you, deep into your soul seemed as if he was hypnotizing you. “The way you are so innocent, so pure, so delicate makes me want to corrupt you, to show you things no man has ever shown. Makes me want to bite the delicate and soft skin of your neck and mark you mine. Forever. I want to make you addicted to the feeling of me feeding from you while you give yourself to me entirely, body and soul” his words felt like daggers in your body, hitting all the right spots, and whenever they hit you a warmth would spread at the place. Your whole body was hot, you were sweating from his words only.

Mingi moved slowly, testing your reaction, but you didn’t retreat, instead, you waited for him with your lips half open. He gently touched your lips with his and when you accepted he started to kiss you, moving his mouth with yours. You had thought about kissing this man so many nights and now that it was happening it felt so surreal. His lips were soft, plump and cold. His hands held your waist strongly, squeezing the flesh underneath the dress and pressing your body impossibly close to his. Your hands were messing with the hairs in the back of his neck, fingers intertwining with the long locks to pull his face close to yours as he deepened the kiss. You could feel not only his tongue in your mouth but his fangs too, the sharp tip deliciously scraping the inside of your lips but not enough to draw blood. He was a good kisser, a very good one. You didn’t want to stop, no, for you, you could have stayed kissing the whole night on the balcony. 

But air was still something you needed, so you had to break the kiss. You were panting a little, a silly smile on your face. You looked over at Mingi and his dark eyes were a dark shade of red. He looked divine with his hair disheveled from your kiss, clothes all scrunched up from moving and holding you. And he could say the same from you, you looked absolutely divine with your hair messed up, face tinted from the lack of air, lips swollen from action. He wanted to bite you so bad right then and there. 

“I don’t know if you believe me, but I hope that this was enough proof about my endearment for you, about my feelings for you” he caressed your hair, slightly fixing the strands that were out of place. “And I hope one day you can return them”.

Your heart ached in indecision. On one hand you did like Mingi, you adored him, he showed himself to be a gentleman, a kind being, and he grew into your heart each day more. The days he was away were longer because he wasn’t there, you missed him. On the other hand you didn’t know how to feel about the whole vampire thing, you needed more proof to believe him, more than fangs or blood bag talks. You were going insane, vampires did not exist, right? 

“I think I need some time to process it all, Mingi” he nodded, he knew that would come. “I still don’t know if I believe in you and that you are a vampire, but I like you, I really do” he felt relieved listening to your words, you liked him back, at least one step was taken.

“If you need more proof, when you are ready, come to my place, I can show you things that maybe can help”

“You're not gonna show me a coffin that you sleep in, will you?” you chuckled and he laughed, appreciating your sense of humour at times like these.

“We haven't slept in coffins for centuries now, that’s something that Hollywood gets wrong about us. But I do have some proofs about the centuries and places I lived in, if you’re interested in seeing them” you nodded. “I’ll give you all the time you need, when you’re ready just look out for me”.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Three weeks. It has been three weeks since the party at Taegyu’s house and the canonic event that changed your life forever. And was about to change even more. Since that day Mingi never went to the coffee shop again, earning Jaemin a million questions of why was that? Did you do something to him? Did you reject him? You wish you could tell him what happened but he would call the hospital on you, admit you into a mental facility. And to be honest, you were almost admitting yourself. 

You couldn’t take Mingi out of your mind, you dreamt of him almost every night. Some nights it’s him feeding from you, his long sharp fangs buried deep down your arm as he sucks the life out of you. Other nights it’s you and him having a domestic life together, a bubblegum sweet relationship as you share your lives together. And there are even other nights where you had wet dreams with him, his long body laid on top of you as he claimed you his, him buried deep down your walls as he bit the junction between your shoulder and neck, marking you as his forever. 

There were nights you swore you could see his silhouette in the corner of your room, or when you were going back home from work and you’d feel a presence behind you, the dark shadow that lurked in the corners seemingly following you. At that point you swore you were going crazy, but there was a little itch in your brain that told you that those shadows and silhouettes were real and they were Mingi watching you. Taking care of you from afar. 

You developed a little routine for not becoming crazier than you already were. You’d go to work early in the morning, spend the day at the cafe and, after work, you’d either go to the library to do your research on vampires. Searching on old books, late magazines, on the internet, podcasts, videos where people claimed to have encountered vampires before. You even contacted some of the people from the internet to see if they could help you but they all seemed a bunch of weirdos, some of them even admitting to have lied for views. You were losing your mind, really. 

One night, while in the library, you saw a man that you recognized as one of Mingi friends from the Party. You saw him talk to the librarian and both of them disappeared behind the shelves. Curious, you decided to follow them. Something telling you that your answer could be there. Carefully, you followed the two until what seemed like a storage. All of sudden, the man showed his fangs and bit the librarian’s arm. You had to cover your mouth to not let a gasp come out when you saw the scene. The man was doing exactly what you have dreamt of Mingi doing to you. You didn’t know how to react. Should you call someone? Should you intervene? A little while after, he stopped sucking the poor woman and sensually licked the place where seconds ago were his fangs, his eyes connected to hers. She was smiling, she seemed happy, satisfied, almost blissed. 

You left the place fast before they could see you and sat back at your table, heart racing, breath irregular. You grabbed your stuff and went fast home, not caring if the lurking shadow was following you or not.

That night you couldn’t sleep, all your thoughts surrounding the scene you saw and how would it feel if Mingi did that to you. 

The next day you found yourself walking a different path, automatically your feet took you to somewhere you only have been once but your heart has been ever since. The front of his house was as refined as him, the walls very white like they have been recently painted, and various flowers and plants adorning the garden. You rang the doorbell before you could run away.

After a few seconds a casual Mingi appeared, his face seemed to brighten when he saw you, a smile dancing on his lips.

“You came” he stated and opened the door for you to enter. “I was starting to lose my hope you’d appear” he admitted, his hand scratching the back of his neck, the muscles of his arm flexing under the t-shirt he wore. 

It was the first time you saw him wearing a t-shirt and he couldn’t look more ravishing. The way the fabric stuck to his muscles, outlining them and leaving you almost drooling at the sight in front of you. So he was hiding all of this under those frilly and thick clothes? You couldn’t help but feel a heat take over your body. 

And he felt it too. Your smell increasing as soon as you entered the house, your scent taking over the entirety of the room you were in, intoxicating him. He noticed the way you ogled him, at his body, your body heat rising. He felt his ego inflate a little.

He led you to his living room, pointing to one of his armchairs so you could sit comfortably. 

“Can I offer you anything? Coffee, tea, water? Wine?” 

“Tea is fine, thank you” 

He went to the kitchen for a while before coming back with a tray with a cup of tea. You took a sip feeling the soothing taste of lemon.

“How can I help you today?” he asked, sitting in front of you and crossing his legs. You took a deep breath.

“I think… I think I believe you” you stated and signaled for you to keep talking. “I did my research, even though they weren’t conclusive- why are you laughing?” you asked when you saw Mingi hold his laughter.

“You researched over vampires?” you nodded, embarrassed. “You’re painfully cute, you know that? Continue”

“Anyways, one night, at the library, I saw your friend, I think his name is San, and the librarian. And he was… feeding off of her. I followed them and saw it all, I know I shouldn’t but I felt like my answer would be there” you admitted.

“And how did you feel about it?” you looked over from your tea to him. Heat crawling up your cheek at your naughty thoughts about him. 

“I was shocked at first” you assumed. “But after I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the feeling of it” you confessed shyly.

Mingi would have died if he wasn’t already dead. You looked so cute admitting that to him, like you had just admitted committing a crime. Your innocence would always be something he would cherish until the day he would break. And he was hoping that day would be the day.

“Wanna know how it is?” you looked at him with widened eyes as if he had asked you the filthiest of the questions. “I can show you how it feels if you allow me”. 

“I…” your words were caught in your throat. You were torn between wanting to fulfill your dirtiest desires and fear.

“Why don’t I show you my collection of memories? If you’re nice enough I can show you my old coffin” he laughed and you nodded.

He guided you through the house, leading you to the third floor, which was more of an attic than an actual floor. It was full of things over the place, things that indeed seemed from centuries away. Some of them even were inside glass domes and boxes, protected from dust and anything that could ruin them. 

Mingi saw your eyes shine at the sight of his things and swelled with pride, he knew that at some point keeping so much stuff would be useful, even if it was to impress a woman. 

The man showed things one by one, explaining where and when it came from, telling you stories from that period he lived, how it was living in that period, how it was being a vampire during that time in history. 

“Did you guys hunt back then?” you asked, eyes fixated on a windchime from the Joseon Dynasty. 

“Yes, animal blood tastes terrible and vampires weren’t seen as magical creatures that people write romances about” you laughed at him and nodded. “Blood bags became common only in the late 20th century”.

“Must be terrible to hunt for humans” 

“It was, but sometimes I miss the thrill of it” he admitted with a chuckle. “There’s not much to do nowadays, we don’t need to work and we can’t work because of our need for blood and weakness for the human smell. If we stay in a place with too many humans, the smell becomes unbearable and we can’t control our instincts. So we just stay under the radar”

“If walking like you came out of Interview with a Vampire is under the radar for you I have some news to tell you” you joked, laughing, and he accompanied your laugh. 

“Maybe one day you can take me shopping so I can dress more accordingly to the time” you nodded eagerly.

“I’d love that”. A heavy silence fell upon you. Suddenly none of you saying anything. “So… are you hungry?” you asked to break the silence.

“I don’t eat” he answered. “But I can do something for you if you-”

“I wasn’t talking about food” you said, cutting him. It was his turn to look at you with widened eyes, his dark eyes gleaming with hope. You maintained his eye contact.

“Are you sure?” you nodded.

“I believe in you, Mingi” you got closer to him, your hands going to his chest. “More than that, I trust you”.

He took advantage of your already close proximity and leaned down to kiss your lips. The kiss was gentle, soft, slow, as if he was savouring you before actually tasting you. His hands held your waist gentler than the night at the party but you could still feel the possessiveness in him. Your hands were spread out on his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch and under your spell on him. 

“Let’s go back to the living room” he told after breaking the kiss, you nodded, following him back to the room. 

He led you to the bigger couch so you could be at a comfortable position and he could be sure you wouldn’t faint. You sat very close to him, your knee touching his. You gave your arm to him, still a bit hesitant. Mingi gently grabbed your arm and started peppering kisses all over the soft skin, going up your arm until he reached your face again. He kissed your lips again, making you melt on his touch. You discovered that not only his eyes broke you, but also his lips, everytime the soft muscles touched yours you felt like you could live there. He broke the kiss after a while and kissed your forehead, joining them after.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered against your lips and you nodded. You were a little scared but you truly trusted him. And the adrenaline, the rush of excitement, you were feeling from anticipation told you that there was more than just curiosity. “I need you to say with all your words, my dear, I need your consent”

“I want this, Mingi, I want you to feed from me” the words came a little shaken but you managed to say it, earning a last peck on your lips.

Mingi, ever so delicately, kissed a spot on your pulse, his nose deep inhaling your sweet scent. His fangs appeared and you held a gasp. He grasped the fangs slowly through your skin, the thin points tickling and making you shiver wherever they passed. He locked his eyes with yours one last time before sinking his fangs on your pulse. The sound that came from you wasn’t a scream or a gasp, it was borderline a whine. The sensation striking, painful, yet sensual, soothing. 

You felt your whole body weaken as if it had melted. And then it started, right when he started to suck your blood out of you, the heat spread in your whole body like you were with a fever, your legs starting to squeeze together, your mind cloudy and dizzy, your only thought was him, all you could think was the dirty dreams you had with Mingi, the things he would do with your body, the things you would do to his body. The more he sucked you, the more aroused you’d get, your lips agape, whines escaping from them with each suck. You managed to look to the side and the view was something to behold, Mingi with his eyes rolled back, his plump lips attached to your pulse while his hands grasped at your forearm as if his life depended on it.

And it did. You tasted like something he never had before. They always said that the taste of lovers' blood is different but now that he tasted you he couldn’t stop, no, he couldn’t let you escape from his grasp. And he could feel every emotion, every thought from you into your blood, he could feel how aroused you were, how much you were enjoying this, how hot and bothered you were by minute. 

Mingi didn’t want to stop, no, if he could he would feed from you until you were dry. But he had better plans for you. He wanted you by his side, well and healthy. So he stopped, with difficulty, but he did. Licking the place where he bit so his saliva would heal the wounds faster and stop the bleeding. 

Your breath was rapid, erratic, you didn’t know what to focus on. You noticed the sharpness of his fangs and the hardness of his suction were gone and you looked to the side, seeing a satisfied Mingi. His skin seemed fresher, glowing, almost as if you could see a pink tint to his cheeks. You wondered if it was all your imagination, he was dead after all. 

The man left the room and came back with a damp cloth and a drink. He started to clean your sweaty face, always ever so gentle with his touch as if you were a porcelain doll. And, to him, you were his doll.

“Drink this” he handed you the bottle of a pinkish drink. It tasted sour with a subtle aftertaste of peaches. “It’s a special drink for after we drink your blood, it will give your strength back in no time” he kissed your forehead and went to discard the cloth back in its place. 

When he came back he sat by your side, circling your body with his arm and bringing it to lay on his chest. You laid there, enjoying the silence as you watched the faint wound in your pulse, a mark of your trust, of your belief. He kissed the top of your head, caressing your arm delicately. You sighed.

“What that head of yours is thinking?” Mingi asked, head lowering to look at you.

“Just… How’s everything is so crazy right now” you turned to look back at him. “The man I like is a vampire who just sucked my blood, and more than that I enjoyed all of that”

“I could tell you enjoyed it, dear” he caressed your head. You looked at him puzzled. “I can taste everything through your blood, every sensation, every feeling, every thought” you widened your eyes. “It’s a blood connection after all”.

“You could see… everything? Even my t-thoughts?” he nodded slowly. 

You hid your face in your hands and he chuckled, grabbing your hands to take away from your beautiful face. He kissed your lips, his tongue easily entering your mouth and dominating you, his fangs scraping your skin, this time to draw blood just so he could lick it and kiss it. He pulled your lower lip to break the kiss.

“Why be shy, my dear? I can fulfill all your fantasies, only if you allow me” the way he spoke, his deep husky voice fanning air into your mouth, making the heat come back to your body, your legs squeezing together again. He looked at your legs and chuckled. “And by the way your body is reacting, I think you want me to, don’t you?” you nodded eagerly. “You know I work with words, darling”

“I want you, Mingi, I want you to make me yours” you whined, the need for him already clouding your mind.

“Good girl” he attacked your lips, but time was different, it was hungry, desperate, like he was going to eat you whole. “Let’s go to my room” you nodded and he grabbed you like you weighed nothing, taking you to his room.

His room matched him, it was dark, dimly lit, the windows covered by the same thick curtain that was in the room you stayed in the time he took you there. The bed was enormous, round, covered in a red silk sheet. He gently laid your body on top of the bed and hovered it with his big one. His eyes were darker than usual, if that was ever possible. 

Mingi started to kiss you again, his left hand holding his weight and his right one exploring your body. He was bold, you got to admit that. You, on the other hand, was a bothered mess underneath him, your body hot, whines escaping your lips between the kisses and shivers running down whenever he would touch even on top of the clothes.

But you wanted more. You needed more. Your hands started to enter underneath his shirt, feeling his cold skin under your palm, his muscles tensing under your touch. He understood your silent message and unlinked your lips, staying on his knees so he could take his shirt off. You shamelessly watched as he undressed, biting your lower lip as you saw his muscular torso.

“Like what you see?” you nodded, pulling him back to kiss you.

In a rush of confidence, you turned your bodies over, staying on top of him. You could feel his volume even underneath the layers of clothing and without much thought, you started to grind yourself on top of his crotch, earning a soft groan from him. 

His hands slid from your thighs to your hips to the hem of your shirt, playing a little with the fabric before starting to pull it up, taking off of your body, leaving you only with your bra in full display to him. You grabbed his hands and put them on top of your boobs, which he more than gladly did, squeezing and feeling the softness of them. Expertly, he unclasped your bra, tossing to the ground and looked at you, asking for permission. You nodded, throwing your head back and enjoying it all.

Mingi attacked your breasts with his mouth, sucking, licking, biting them. His fangs appearing to graze over the skin and make you shiver under his touch. He gave special attention to them, enjoying how your body was reacting to him, your little noises, your little wriggles, your grinding on him. Everything about you was perfect and he was addicted to your perfection.

After his assault to your chest, the man turned your position again, so he could enjoy his meal better. He started unbuttoning your pants and taking them off your body along with your cute pink panties, leaving you bare in front of him. If he wasn’t already dead he could die just at the plain sight of your naked body. You were the most magnificent thing he laid eyes on, he was sure of that before, but seeing you naked, rendered to him was the nail in the coffin he needed. The view of you alongside your intoxicating smell was driving him crazy. He was addicted, obsessed, he wanted you all for him, just for him. He wanted to have you everyday all day, and he was sure that the moment he tasted your nectar it would be more than over for him. 

Mingi looked at you searching for any sign of regret or withdrawal but no, you were sprawled on the bed, legs open waiting for him. And for him only. 

He started to kiss your legs, your pores bristling down the trail he passed by, going up until he reached your inner thighs. You wriggled in his touch, trying to close your legs, but he was stronger and kept them open. He wasn’t in the mood of teasing, not when he was starving. He planted a little kiss in your vulva, then another, then a lick, and then another. You whined at the feeling, fuelling Mingi to do more. He started to lick your vulva from bottom to top spreading your wetness along with his saliva. He started to suck your clit, moans starting to fly past your lips freely. The tip of his tongue drawing circles and figures eight from time to time, alternating between sucking and licking at your clit. All you could do was moan and moan, his name faintly a mantra coming from your lips. 

Mingi kept his assault on your clit for a while, your high building so fast. Until his tongue slid from your clit to your entrance, his tip started to fuck your hole, his nose hitting your clit deliciously. Everything too much for you. And you snapped, a high moan leaving your lips as your legs trembled on top of his shoulders. 

But he didn’t stop, no, he kept going. He drank up all your juices before bringing his fingers to join the fun. His index finger easily entering you, your walls hugging the finger deliciously, like a vice. He started to move it, slow at first, and speeding with time. Soon he added a second one, the stretch feeling so good you almost didn’t handle it. Mingi started to fuck you with his finger, his mouth back to your clit. His fingers curling deliciously, hitting that oh so sweet spot that was making you see stars. 

It didn’t take long enough for your second orgasm to hit you like a wave, your back arching, your eyes rolling and his name coming out of your mouth like a prayer, a promise. Again, he lapped at you nectar as if his life depended on it before you started to wriggle of overstimulation. 

He was satisfied, you were already a mess underneath him and he didn’t even had the chance to fuck you, his pride and ego swelling. The man hovered over your body again, his hand gently caressing your face, fixing the hairs that had stuck to your sweaty face. 

“Are you okay, my dear?” you slowly nodded. “Do you think you can keep going?” you pulled him for a kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips. 

“Make me yours, Mingi” the words seemed to waken up something darker inside him, something feral, as he went back to kiss you, teeth clashing, tongues fighting, the weight of his body on top of yours, but you couldn’t care less. 

You lowered your hand to the waistband of his pants, fumbling to try to open while still kissing, to no success. He lifted from the bed and took his own pants and underwear in one go, his member springing free from its confines. Your eyes widened at the size, but your walls squeezed onto nothing of excitement. You bit your lips, looking at it, thinking about the weight of it on your tongue. 

“You can taste it another day, my dear, today I’m too eager to be inside you” as if he could see right through you, he spoke, walking slowly towards you, like a hunter to its prey.

With your legs open, you welcomed him back to where he was on top of your body, his new home. He kissed you again, slowly, deeply, savouring you. Gently he started to enter you, just his tip stretching you deliciously, a crooked moan leaving your lips while a low growl left his. He knew he wouldn’t last long if your walls hugged him like that. Slowly he moved, entering more, shushing you, kissing all over your face to try to soothe the pain. 

Mingi was so gentle, caring, making sure you were okay all the time, waiting for you to give him the green light to move until he bottomed all, his whole length inside of you. Your both dreams coming true. He took more time for you to get used to the size and girth, to the feeling of being so full.

“Mo-move” your voice above a whisper, you were far gone, your mind hazy with lust and pleasure and him. 

He did as you asked, moving slowly, taking a little before putting back. Your mouth hanging open, no sound coming out of it. Little by little he started to take more and more before putting back in, his hips moving slow but deep, a delicious addicting dance.

The man started to move faster after a while, your body moving up and down with the strength he’d move. You wouldn’t last longer, your walls starting to squeeze around him more viciously, more strongly. Your moans louder, you weren’t holding anymore.

“Mingi! Make me yours” you managed to say between moans. “Mark me yours” a rush of adrenaline going through both of your bodies. 

Mingi felt like he was dreaming and he was hearing things.

“Don’t play with me, flower. Don’t make promises you can’t keep” he warned, his voice octaves deeper than usual.

“I’m not playing- God!” he gave a rather strong thrust. “Please, Mingi, I’m all yours, I wanna be yours forever” you pulled his face closer to yours so you could look right in his eyes. “Please” you pleaded like your life depended on it.

Mingi felt his dick twitch inside of you, the way your broken innocent eyes were looking at him with intent. You meant it. You wanted it. And he knew that. He could feel that. He could see through your eyes. He was about to break you forever, to fulfill his filthiest desires. 

His hand held your face, his lips planting a sweet kiss over your lips, his nose rubbing over yours. His mouth moved to the junction where your neck and shoulder met and left a few butterfly kisses there before looking at you again. You nodded, a smile dancing in your worn out face.

The man let his fangs out, and rubbed them over the sweet spot, he could smell your anticipation, your adrenaline, your need for him. And the he bit. The fangs sinking down the soft plush skin as a moan escaped your lips, the sensation of his dick fucking you and the bite stinging your body was something you couldn’t describe. You felt so full, so relieved, so happy, hazy, dizzy. 

He felt his dick twitch and he knew he would come, all the feeling of being complete was too much for him. He sucked a bit of your blood to seal the pact before licking the wound close. His hips haltering their movement as he came, his white ropes of cum filling you up to the brim, some of it spilling out as he kept fucking you until you came too, your walls squeezing him inside of you. 

Mingi laid by your side and brought you to nestle on his chest, your whole body molten, weak, fragile, happy, full, complete. Your breathings erratic from the action. He started to mindlessly play with your hair, while you draw abstract shapes on his chest. 

It took a while for you to get back to a seemingly normal state. Mingi left the room and suddenly you felt lonely, cold. But soon he was back with a damp cloth, a water bottle and another bottle of the pinkish drink from earlier. He cleaned you gently, taking care to not be too harsh to your delicate parts, the damp cloth cooling down your body temperature. You drank a bit of the water before drinking the juice, you definitely needed your energy back. 

The man discarded the cloth, the dirty sheet and got back at your side. 

“Fuck” you exclaimed. “I guess I’m yours now”

“Are you regretting it?” you denied.

“Not at all, I love being yours” you kissed his lips before nesting yourself in his chest again, a yawn leaving your lips.

“Rest, little flower, you need” he kissed the top of your head and with that you fell asleep.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The beep of your wristwatch and the bell of the door rang at the same time, announcing it was 3 pm and your regular customer was right on time. Again. 

Mingi entered the door and you smiled widely upon seeing him. He waved at you and came to the counter, landing a soft kiss on your lips. 

“How can I serve you today, sir?” you said with a smile.

“How about… my girlfriend’s juice?” he provoked, his voice low, a smirk on his lips.

“You guys are utterly disgusting, you know that?” Jaemin blurted, a disgusted face on before leaving to clean some tables.

“Good thing he doesn’t know I’m talking about your blood” you hit his arm as he laughed and you accompanied him. 

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